The Washer Woman

The Morrigan, a Celtic Goddess, often appeared as a crow or a washer woman in the streams or rivers which are a metaphor for the boundary between life and death. There she washed the limbs of those hurt in battle to forgive them their sins before entering the next life. She is the crone, mother and maiden, all the embodiment of woman. The Irish have many names for her and she is present in much of their folklore.

I, Morrigan needed to changed media’s face
tired of the media lies,
absent of whys, wise, whys screamed,
“stop dividing us by label and race
your lies trap, things aren’t what they seem.
the only way to heal the worlds scar
is for you to remember; human we are”
in a playful vengeful battle staged
I unplucked feathers, threw
them upon his nose, they grew.
“now you will a blind Homer be
now I no longer will chastise thee.
I do this for Anthony Breeze,
all those you held on their knees.
for now you are all those you enslave
all those vulnerable powerless without wage
I do this as child/woman/ pikey, pakki,
blackie, homeless without shoe
for you to experience the world all anew
this is your one chance to restore your disgrace
then I return your original face.”

The Washer Woman

But Media with his cards plastic
bought the best surgical fan-tastic.
and with his media wires to encrypt
launched a new attack at those on benefit
He became mighty from manufacturing consent,
‘til the ignorant believed all life content.
SKY god came knocking at the shore,
robbing with hemp hands galore,
oozed a pussy paddle to web the stars,
heave hoed an empire ‘till endless night.
- As crow I sped over waves light,
urged by breathe of wind and mindless wars.
washer woman with stones in pocket.
to the stream for my mind to be unlocked,
then to wash the stream of all men’s debt.
I washer woman no more wept,
I awoke from sleepless times.
to one with a vengeful manic mind,
flowed from mountains of my eye
towards SKY, with great mouth from all sea.
I tripped him from an heel, in me
cackled a handbags bounty and held
a stream of tears, mirror to reflect, he yelled:
his own head severed dangling from locks.
I goaded him reveal his human form: MURDOCK.
shocked at his bloody locks,
at all his men’s blood he took stock,
in his wish to die up right ,
he tied his entrails to a rock
with his death slow in sight
he said death's responsibility lay with me.
Uncrowed Norrigan I said this cannot be,
‘tis not me that numbed them dead,
twas the TV dinner that you fed.

The Washer Woman

I do not harm a hair on their heads,
behind you the revolt is lead.
I merely wash their bloody limbs,
absolve men their mortal sins,
show you the cost of empire building whims.