Hymn to the Morrigan by Isaac Bonewits 

O Morrigan, we call your name Across the dusty years. 
You speak to us, of blood and lust. You show us all our fears. 
You are a goddess, old and wise. Of holy power you have no dearth. 
Beneath your wings : Black, Red and White, We learn of death and birth. 

You walk about, this ancient land, Your hungers raw and clear. 
You make the crops, grow rich and strong, As well your geese and deer. 
A flirting maid, a lusty hag, A mother of great girth : 
Without the touch of your black wings, We cannot heal the earth. 

You float upon, a blood red wave, Of swords and spears and knives.
Your voice inspires, fear and dread, That you'll cut short our lives. 
You try the warriors', courage sore, Our inner souls unearth. 
Without the touch of your red wings, We cannot know our worth. 

You fly above the silver clouds, To Manannan's shining Gate. 
You lead the dead along that path, To meet our final fate. 
The joke's on us, we find within, A land of laughter and of mirth. 
Without the touch of your white wings, We cannot have rebirth. 

Morrigan Poem
by Anne-Christine Johnson 


When the crows shriek thier frightening warnings,
When autumn ends, and Winter falls,
You will see a Lady a wondering,weeping through the saddened fields.
She is turning the Silver Wheel of the seasons.

When the crows heed thier endless calling,
Look to the Moon to see a Lady, dancing in the blackened clouds,
And when at night you see her coming, fall in wonder of what
beauty she possesses, and shed your tears.
The Great Queen is walking her footsteps once again.
Morrighan, Morrighan, you'll call her by name.

When the old earth opens from beneath your feet,
crows will catch you before you fall and place you in Her cauldron,
where rebirth waits and death awakens,
your prophecy you will find.
What you see is Her, walking the shadows and howling to the Universe,
forewarning Her arrival.

Black hair falling to Her feet, fill the ocean and become the waves,
Her legs become the forest; Her breasts become the mountains.
Her womb becomes your ancient home.

Morrigan 
by angel 1-28-97

With closed eyes I look at you
Standing tall and regal,
Your hair blowing freely
In the swirling gusts of wind
The fire in your eyes
Could freeze the heart of an enemy
The firmness of your mouth
Spreads the tentacles of terror
Or the torrents of passion
Or both.


You stand with your arms
Around the sleek neck
Of your faithful, deadly battle Mare
Your weapons close at hand
Ready for battles
Of war or of love
Cold disciplined confidence
Surrounds you like a cloak
Of fine silk.


No one dares approach you
All stare with jealous admiration
Your identity screams 
For all to hear
Bad assed Bitch
Warrior, Amazon
Goddess, Morrigan.

Woman With A Crow, Pablo Picasso