Poetry & Prose by Carol J Forrester
If I spoke with hysterical authority,
held firm with fragile voice,
shattered the glass of your skull
screeching banshee screams
despite nothing really being dead,
would you change.
Could my voice be enough
to show you the fragmented reflection
your kind has made me.
Carol J Forrester is a writer and a history geek. Her debut collection 'It's All In The Blood' came out November 2019. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University, enjoys judo at least twice a week, and tries to attend poetry events around the Midlands when she can. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry. Her poems ‘Sunsets’ and ‘Clear Out‘ were featured on Eyes Plus Words, and two of her poems were included in the DVerse Poets Pub Publication ‘Chiaroscuro’ which is available for purchase on amazon.Her poem ‘Until The Light Gets In‘ was accepted and published at The Drabble and her poem ‘Newborn’ was published by Ink Sweat & Tears. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and has hosted a number of guest bloggers on her site Writing and Works. View all posts by Carol J Forrester
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I think there are too many of that “kind”… alas they will probably hear, but I doubt they will listen…
The good thing is that they don’t know what they are missing.
People will hear and will listen. But will they take it to heart? Will they learn? I don’t think so.
People may listen, but they hear what they want to hear. What’s happening in our country is proof of that.
Oh, I can hear those “banshee screams” Carol. Sometimes it feels like we are screaming into a void, with only echoes in response. I felt this, deeply.
That’s such a powerful oxymoron, Carol, ‘hysterical authority’, especially when juxtaposed with ‘fragile voice’. I’m not sure if voice is ever enough.
Away with that kind, I say. A pox on them for leaving us as fragmented reflections! No doubt they will not hear.
I get a visual of a mouse screaming at a tiger — just before the tiger eats it. Better to get away and reconstitute…
Hear me roar! Sounds like righteous anger Carol. Potent poem!
If you raise your voice will others listen, will they open their eyes to the changing world. I fear they will not but hope your voice will make them squirm.
“If I spoke with hysterical authority, held firm with fragile voice,” – Nice balance of language and imagery!
I think they lack ears…(K)
Oh I like the contrasts and variety of voices that you use here. I feel the desperation of not being heard. Even worse..not being felt or understood. Fear builds walls.