Kill. Maim. Torture. Mutilate. Traumatise.

All in the Name of She, that Mother with infinite names because she is known

In all ages in all world cultures.

Today we’d say she’s a child-abuser, unfit to bear children let alone raise them,

A bloodthirsting cannibal who should’ve been aborted in her mother’s womb

But in all of history she is known as Goddess.

And now she, the insatiable, demands to be satiated again.

Like a banshee on the loudspeaker she screams, “I fed you the liquid of my breasts

So you owe me the liquid of the veins, of the brow and of the eyes.

You owe me life, and I don’t care if it’s your enemies’ or yours or both.


As a spirit intoxicating and haunting her children’s memory banks she prompts them

To relive and replicate the motherly hate she downpoured on them,

To prove how much they love her eve if they’d gladly slit her throat with a rusty chainsaw,

To defend the Mother-land.

Life is her right, death is her other right, and suffering is the very centre of her being.

By guns or tanks or A-bombs or even swords and fists like in olden days

She will exercise her rights. She is the battlefield,

She is the colonels, lieutenants, presidents & prime ministers strategising

Where and how to wage the next mutually destructive war,

She is the throngs of civilian witness egging their boys on to fight or die for them.

For her.

Anywhere in the world someone has blood on their hands she licks it clean for them,

And American government fingers are especially finger-licking good.

When she demands the liquid of the veins, her children’s injuries scar over – acute and chronic alike,

And with semi-devotion they raise their arms to give Mother what she needs

Yet again.

© One Tawny Stranger 2014

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