The Host of Morrigan Marches Again #poetry#ireland #pagan #deity #humour

For Lora O'Brien - mostly in jest....


The Host of Morrigan Marches Again


The recruitment drive was quietly done;
stealthy (by design)
signs were set, and entrails yielded omens.

Some of those conscripted in
didn't even know they were
til orders came and uniforms were donned.

"Onwards!" cried their leader
sword drawn, and battle eye a-gleam.
"Um, what's the plan?" one Private asked.

"I have a dream, " the curt reply. And
no one asked again, for who can argue
with the power of a well placed aisling?

She will be pleased, when She sees
the standards flying and the cauldrons
set again over flames -

the felling of great trees no longer
acceptable, the ranks improvised 
with government papers and utility bills -

and the red gold of the setting sun
over the smooth undulations of the land
sets fire to visions of a Nation's pride.

The Host of An Morrigu marches once again
though wanders might better describe
some of its progress towards the field of carnage

while some dance and sing and others still
sharpen pens and draw ink like blood
from their own veins.

Still they are a war-band, and they will fight
whatever weapons they choose
in this world or the others.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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The Joust

This poem was written as a result of a recurring dream. I suffer from several interesting sleep problems including clinical insomnia and lucid dreams; night terrors are a common occurance in my sleeping brain. Sometimes though my dreams are like movies, incredibly "real" and I experience them as if they were happening. The scene below is one that haunted many a dream until I found the words to write it. What it means I still don't know; is it something I saw in a past life or a symbol of feminist struggle in a patriarchal society that filtered into my subconscious? Or did I read it somewhere or was it that i ate too much cheese? All I know is on some level I did witness it, watched her walk, understood the story and its significance and I lay it out for you here.



The Joust

Holding a sword like a talisman
Weighed down
under it’s deadly weight
It’s cold beauty mocking her
Her arms aching
Straining every sinew to hold it high
As high as her head
as high as her heart

And across the courtyard she catches his eye
In shame he looks away
Only one person took the challenge
And the champion of the Queen
Was afraid
Held his life and watched her walk
Unsteady into the lists:
The queen’s own child, his princess,
His reproach.

And as the roar of the crowd
Swelled in disbelief
She swung once
With hope
Again
With honour
Once more
With pride
And all with faith.

Holding the sword like a talisman
She became legend
Warrior queen
Cold beauty mocking A haunting dream.

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