Nothing to Say

"I have nothing to say and I am saying it, and that is poetry."
 John Cage

The pivotal transgression-
to stifle the stories
that are only mine to tell
in some fear that I have
nothing to say.
Say it anyway. Open
my mouth, open
my heart and speak.
"Sometimes
a person needs stories
more than food
to stay alive."*
Imagine,
to live.

* Crow and Weasel by Barry Lopez.

The full quote is gorgeous: "Remember on this one thing, said Badger. The stories people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories in each other's memories. This is how people care for themselves."
I was again reminded of this truth today when Fireblossom of Shay's Word Garden posted a stunning poem telling a deep part of women's story. It was a case of me not knowing I needed a story until I read it. And it fed my soul.
Time to give up the myth of nothing to say- offered for Open Link Monday at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads hosted by grapeling who graciously shared the opening quote to this post.

The Girl

the girl with petals in her hair
died smelling sweet but in despair

the girl had lightening in her eyes
and thunder struck her lovers' cries

the girl whose name is sugar and spice
drips honey for lovers then kills them thrice

the girl who added moon to sky
loved thirteen times before she died

the stout-stemmed girl refused to shout
but thrashed about and threw other girls out

Today, Hedgewitch, over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads posted some intriguing pictures by the French artist, Odilon Redon and gave us an ekphrasis challenge. I chose the mysterious Head on a Stem, a 'noir' by Odilon Redon. The form was inspired by Shay, AKA Fireblossom, who did a poem awhile back that was a series of 2 liners using 'the girl' to start each couplet- I loved it and use it here with all credit to her.

triune goddess

maiden's tender wheaten shoots 

still stiff bend the earth,
stand at the threshold
ready to jump boundaries 

mother's cerulean love triggers life,

new precise coordinates join
tribe's unconscious

in tensioned struggle to name meaning

crone's penumbral time of collective forgetting,

cryptic umbral perceptions of life's wheel,

impulses at length deflected
oscillate, amplified, to the divine

For Fireblossom over at Shay's Word Garden who asked us to write a Flash Fiction 55. This prompt is combined with a previous wordlist of Hedgewitch from Jung and a poetry request from Mama Zen for a 37 word poem which I couldn't manage to do but started this. Here they all are in 55. I took the photo in the west of Ireland.