Blood, Cackles and Bones

She sprouted, bloodied to the teeth;

cackled through life, growing
grins in opened eyes thought barren.

She lives in bones
danced to mirth-filled ashes,

Margaret wants us to Play It Again. I’ve said yes… via Words Count with Mama Zen. She asks for poetry, in twenty-five words or fewer, which focuses on “an image that a writer returns to time after time. It’s part art, part personal mythology, and part creative shorthand. It’s a thing, a sound, an angle of light; it’s anything that a writer imbues with a greater meaning than it would ordinarily have and adopts as a signature symbol… What’s your power image? What sort of symbols do you find yourself returning to again and again? Show us…”

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Circle of Life“Circle of Life”

41 thoughts on “Blood, Cackles and Bones

    • Your words put a ginormous grin on my face… Perhaps because I really loved this prompt–one that asks us if we truly know what we write about, and if the messages actually gets through. Well, it seems it does. 😀

  1. The eternal dance of birth and death beautifully written and illustrated. It is never wise to count anything or anyone as totally barren. Just because we can’t see or understand the growth doesn’t mean it is not there. Loved the words and the image!

    • I’ve always been enchanted (and amazed) by how so many people focus on birth and living, but forget the wonders of death; if a circle has neither beginning nor end, what does such belief say about the believer?

      There is so much, everywhere… especially in the bits that seem empty.

  2. This sounds very much like the way I envision Kali-Ma. I always enjoyed studying the various Goddesses. The Goddess of Death is powerful and terrifying, yet there is a beauty to her and she is strict rather than cruel. Death is simply transition. I loved your words!

  3. When words are far from my pen, it seems I take an even greater pleasure in reading those of others–your mirthful bones are indeed a signature image, and I believe they are pretty freakin good at dancing, too.

    • Someone once told me that my “poetry was very gloomy–full of bones.” I just smiled, and thought, I better not tell her how pretty I think bones are or we’ll never end this conversation. I’m often amazed by how little most people like what keeps us from crumbling.

      So glad you are enjoying your time off writing and sharing. Now, come back!

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