In the past, and probably into the future too, I have said things unwisely, the wrong thing at the wrong time, or the wrong thing for any time. I have managed to get through the troubles caused, and they have never been too terrible anyway.
But for some people saying the wrong thing, to the wrong people has been fatal, a terrible thing, to die because you said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Religion, football teams, families, just life in general, these can all be things where words uttered without thought can kill.
Poets use words, and for the most part, they are not in danger of any fatal outcome from what they write, but certainly, some journalists have faced death, or indeed died, because they were using their words, and someone took offence, and acted, killing the offender.
I live in a small country town, and realised that small country towns are quite closed in places, with very close links between most of those living in them, or near them. Several times, I have narrowly avoided making a faux pas, by remembering which woman was actually the sister, or cousin of another woman.
It’s easier with the menfolk, because they don’t change their surnames, but with women, they lose the name that marks their heritage, and shows their connections to others. I’m very much more careful these days, having sussed out at least some of the connections, and being aware that anyone could be related to anyone else!
Anyway, my poem today is about watching words, and consequences when words are ill spoken, knowing those consequences can mark you as, ‘not one of them’.
Stone’s Throw
Throw a stone into the water, stand & watch –
ripples radiate out, from where stone hit water
& beyond. Peaceful, serene, gentle, as that stone
disappears from view, forgotten, as the ripples too
will disappear from view, & be forgotten. Throw
misspoken words into a conversation, though,
realise your error, cringe, & try to hide, knowing,
too well, the ripples may never stop; radiating
endlessly out instead, far & wide, each connection
causing more ripples, & still more, never-ending.
Like the stone and the ripples, misspoken words,
may be forgotten, but the name of the one attached
to the stone, to those ill spoken words, may be
remembered by many, until the very end of time …
Carolyn Cordon - Creative 