Tag Archives: war

POEM: The Matriot

(finished version of the poem from my story The Matriot)

Patriots are attached to the land of their forefathers,

Yet mothers gave nativity to the new-borns of the nation

While fathers gallivanted forth for fresh virgin


Which land are they attaching to?

Our planet’s wasting its time growing food to keep them alive

Since they want to die for their homeland.

They draw divisions between Black, Red, White & Mediterranean


But how do you tell the difference between water and water?

Patriots claim this is our airspace, that is your airspace,

Can they stop the wind from trespassing?

The masculine principle breathes “May I?”

The feminine exhales “Yes!”

Before he blows into her

Yet they reserve the right to storm others’ sacred space without consent

And dare to draw comparisons?

Patriots say Fatherland like the world is a man.

How can that be when

It has curves like a woman,

Its waters churn under menstrual

I.e. moon-thly influence like a woman,

Seeds incubate and germinate within it like a woman?

Have you ever heard of Father Nature?

Patriots wage pre-emptive wars on other parts of the world

But it’s the same world regardless.

So aren’t they attacking their father?

That’s the fate he indicted on himself though.

He wrote the unwritten rule that

Sons must dethrone their ancestors before ascension

And we all know the sword is mightier than the pen.

The spirit of his law is chiselled letter by letter

Into the bedrock of his children’s collective unconscious,

He authors violence,

She is always written as the violated.

That’s why I’m not one of them.

I’m a matriot,

Violating patriots’ right to violence,

Washing their chisel-scarred brains

With her churning holy waters,

Answering Helena’s request from ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’

I provide virgins means to wage post-emptive warfare on gallivanters

Forcing a different shade of green on her secret gardens,

When we succeed where Guy Fawkes failed

To blow up the parliament of nationalism,

And blow its ashes to the four cardinal directions,

We’ll cooperate to procreate better progeny

Epigenetically engineered with the ingenuity

To recognise re-genesis of life, love and liberty

As a generic duty on their generation.

To summarise for future editions of the Oxford Dictionary:

Matriot (noun) – a human incarnation of the nurturing maternal instinct,

Raised to fight for the rights of the wronged

Against those who believe in violation.

And won.

© One Tawny Stranger, April 2015


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

More insights into misogyny, genitals and general gender relations

A partial continuation of my earlier post on misogynyBased mainly on Tom Hickman’s God’s Doodle: The Life and Times of The Penis, ISBN 9780224095532, and various articles from PsychoHistory


I’d always heard misogyny was based on hatred and/ or fear of women. I admit, though I never denied the existence or extent of misogyny, I was sceptical of the hatred part and outright didn’t believe the fear part. I’d never heard of a man who was genuinely afraid of women, I’d always thought it was only about power & wanting to keep it. However, upon reading Hickman’s book I’m just caught between…






Throughout history men have displayed some WEIRD attitudes and beliefs, not just toward women and the vagina, but even toward their own dicks! No bloody wonder misogyny’s so rampant, and no wonder ignorance of female A&P (anatomy & physiology) went on so long!


First, some hilarious and crazy beliefs relating to the genitals (mostly male):

  • In ancient Assyria, it was law that if a woman got into a fight with a man and crushed one of his balls, she’d be punished by having a finger cut off! If she crushed both balls, the punishment was to have both her breasts ripped off
  • Ironically, while the Bible says that if a man’s balls are wounded or his ‘privy member’ removed he won’t go to heaven (Deuteronomy 23:1), Christian men throughout history have been castrating themselves for the sake of God. Examples include the 3rd-century theologian Origen of Alexandria, and a secret sect in 18th-century Russia called the Skoptsy*. In fact, self-castration seems to have originally been part of Christianity and the state of being a eunuch was something of a spiritual ideal, according to Kuelfer

* The Skoptsy are also known for their women cutting off their breasts for the same purpose: they believed sexual lust was a sin. 

  • During the Renaissance, women were afraid that stretching their legs too far or doing vigorous exercise would turn them into men. 
  • Also during the Renaissance, it was believed that all foetuses were originally supposed to be male. Any that were born female had failed to achieve masculine perfection; their bodies didn’t generate enough heat to “thrust” the genitals outward. That came from the ancient Greek physician Galen, who called female genitals mutilated but just guessed God must have had some purpose for that. 

Even now I still can’t work out what that purpose is…

  • In 1993, a woman in Beijing castrated her husband because a fortune teller told her his ‘inadequate’ penis was the cause of their relationship problems. She didn’t do it out of hate, she simply thought it would grow back bigger and better. 
  • In ancient Japan there was a legend of a demon who hid inside a woman’s vagina and bit off her husbands’ dicks. She asked a blacksmith for help so he built a metal penis that the demon broke its teeth on. To this day, that metal penis is remembered in the Shinto festival Kanamara Matsuri. 
  • According to his biographer James H. Jones, Alfred Kinsey (yes, that Kinsey) was well-known for whipping out his bits in front of his staff just because he was so proud of their size – dick and balls. He even used them for his anatomy lessons and demonstrated his personal masturbation techniques. 

I wonder if Granny needs to be shown where the glans is…

On a more serious note, it’s quite possible that misogyny in some instances is a reaction to mother-mediated abuse, similar to post-traumatic slave syndrome or post-traumatic stress disorder. PsychoHistory has a lot to say on the relative ubiquity of child abuse & incest and the somewhat-archetypal killer mother/goddess figure, especially during war. Ironically, while children grow up with negative emotions toward their mothers because of all the abuse (including being used as or sold off to be sex slaves), they still want their attention and approval, even to the extent of dying to defend her from make-believe enemies. Hence war and the concept of “motherland”. 


It’s fairly clear that throughout much of (Christian European?) history children were ignored/ abandoned by their fathers and hated by their mothers. Yes that’s right, hated. Women were made to feel their purpose was to just be daughters then wives and mothers and nothing else, and children were yet another encroachment on their energy reserves. Not to mention how few rights women had (ie. it’s likely the children were products of rape), as well as the belief in inherited sin, so children were effectively born to be punished. I’m not claiming that’s the be-all-and-end-all of misogyny, I’m just suggesting it’s a possible factor in some cases.


OK, I’m ending this post here. If I don’t I’ll go on for ages! Just a few more weird & funny facts to lighten the mood…


  • Throughout history men have feared (yes, feared) women with high sex drives, as if their vulvas were insatiable beasts that would literally eat them alive! Women’s bodies were magical & mysterious enough with periods and pregnancy and whatnot;  why have such strong appetites too? In Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley, Mellors described sleeping with his wife as like having a bird’s beak ripping at him! 
  • Contrary to what people may think, boys can have erections before they’re even born! It happens so often, in fact, that back when he was an obstetrician the sexologist William Masters set himself the challenge of cutting the umbilical cord before the erections happened! 

Why are you telling people I used to be an obstetrician?

  • Ancient Chinese emperors were required to have 121 women in their harems (1 empress, 3 senior consorts, 9 wives, 27 concubines & 81 slaves) – and have sex with all of them over a course of 15 nights! And yes, there was a secretary keeping count! Which meant they had to have damn good self-restraint with climaxing! Why 121? Because they believed it had magic properties and were obsessed with numerical & calendrical order, which meant there was a specific order to sleep with them in: 

Night 1 – empress

Night 2 – all 3 senior consorts

Night 3 – all 9 wives

Night 4 – 9 of the 27 concubines

Night 5 – another 9 concubines

Night 6 – the last 9 concubines

Night 7 – 9 of the 81 slaves

Night 8 – another 9 slaves

Night 9 – another 9 slaves

Night 10 – another 9 slaves

Night 11 – another 9 slaves

Night 12 – another 9 slaves

Night 13 – another 9 slaves

Night 14 – another 9 slaves

Night 15 – the last 9 slaves

(note: The higher-ranking women would be serviced nearer the full moon, when his yang and their yin were strongest)



POEM: Waging War on War – and Losing

Just yesterday I was so fired-up,

So full of life, enthusiasm, passion.

I was gonna go Rambo and slaughter some baddies, become a goodie in the eyes of all.

Either that or die trying but hey!

Either way I’m glorious baby!

Whether or not I’m victorious.




I was ready, I was pumped to shoot some Commies who dared to criticise the corruption in our capitalism,

Or Taliban who dared to want to be ruled by their own Muzlamic laws,

Or Falkland Islanders who dared to defend themselves against our invasion of their lands,

Or Mau Mau rebels who dared to resist our 2nd scramble for Africa,

Or paramilitary rebels in some foreign land somewhere who have nothing to do with us whatsoever.





Today I’m so fired-up but in a different way,

Pumped full of death, exhaustion, pain.



Now I’m slaughtered like a baddie by the goodies who turned Rambo on me.

Because I chose to turn coat,

To see the humanity in my fellow enemies and the animality in my fellow allies,

I became the black sheep of the herd because I chose to evolve past the sheep mentality.

What’s it called now? “Conscientious objector.”

Back then it was simply called “Treacherous coward!”

That’s what the Colonel barked as his herd dragged me to the wall,

Rifles already at the ready before I can raise my tongue to protest…

Bang! 1 shot, 2 shot, 3 shot, 4!

Bang! 5 shot, 6 shot, 7 shot, more!

Bang! Lost count! Shots all sound like one!

Bang! Falling down, hit the ground, bang!

I’m done. 





POEM: Waging war on war – and losing

This was a task we were set on Monday’s Poets’ Platform at Theatre Royal, to write a poem about war. This may end up in a book we’re hoping to get published, so if you like your poetry keep your eyes peeled…

Just yesterday I was so fired-up,

So full of life, enthusiasm and gung-ho passion.

I was gonna slaughter some baddies and

Become a goodie in the eyes of all back home,

Finally be accepted as a 100% Brit, and anyone who disagrees can’t say s***.

Either that or die trying but hey!

Either way I’m glorious baby

Whether or not I’m victorious! Yeah!

I was ready, I was pumped to shoot dead some Soviet commies when they dared to oppose capitalism back in WWII,

Or the Taliban when they dared to hit iconic monuments of the Free World, the Twin Towers

(or was that al-Qaeda? Oh well, they’re all Muslims so what difference does it make?),

Or the Mau Mau when they dared to resist Great Britain’s rule of Kenya,

Or Argentines when they dared to take their Falkland Islands back from us,

Or any paramilitary rebels in some foreign land somewhere who ain’t got nothin’ to do with us whatsoever.


Today I’m so fired-up but in a different way,

Pumped full of death, agony and Gulf War syndrome.

Now I’m slaughtered like the baddie because

I chose to turn coat, because

I chose to see the humanity in my fellow enemies

And the animality in my fellow allies, because

I chose to evolve and thus became the black sheep, no longer in their herd.

What’s that called nowadays? Conscientious  objector?

Pfft, back then it was just called treacherous coward.

That’s all they bleated at me as Sgt barked at them to

Drag my sorry ass to the wall! Line up in firing squad formation! Reload guns! Take aim!

The sacrificial lamb at the altar…

BANG! 1 shot, 2 shot, 3 shot, 4!

BANG! 5 shot, 6 shot, 7 shot, more!

BANG! Lost count, all shots sound like one!

BANG! Falling down, hit the ground, BANG!

I’m done.