Sometimes poetry arrives softly. Other times, like a hot river of lava, a pyroclastic flow of words exploding to the pent-up rage of centuries of misogyny and oppression. This poem was the latter.
It’s spoken word. So listen to the recording. Or make your own recording of it, with your emphasis.
Shut Up.
Be Quiet.
Yet the whispers
of women past
reach my ears.
The brave, the crazy, the hysterical,
the judged, the marginalised.
Pushed aside.
Swept…
under the carpet
under the stairs
under the fists
of oppression,
the oppressors.
Shut Up.
Be…something that you’re not.
Be… a mouse, a worm,
a tiny lipless, voiceless void.
So I whisper
I whisper
I whisper
We whisper
We Whisper
We whisper
And in the whispering
the whispering
the whispering
comes a sound,
So loud! So proud!
A whole crowd!
of women whisperers.
Standing Up!
Being Real!
and really brave
and vulnerable
and strong
and proud
and LOUD!
The WHOLE crowd!
So don’t tell me to Shut Up.
Don’t tell me to Shut Up.
Don’t tell me to Shut Up!
I will be
as quiet or as loud
as I want to be.
It seemed appropriate to send out this poem to the world during this week when one nation’s election has disrupted the world. When Afghanistan banned women from hearing each other, a nightmare of unimaginable horrors.
Whispers can be loud if there are enough of them.
Lisa x
I’m holding space for anyone who’d like to join me. I’ll be guiding you in meditation with some time for sharing. Community is important.
You don't need to be loud to be heard. I hear a hum growing, calling, do not abandon hope.
Stay loud! Take up space! More of this! ♥️