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"Where Words Grow On Trees"

In Memorium


Nativity by Janet Beasley

Nativity by Janet Beasley

To all those whose hearts are bleeding…

What evil wrought the twisted brier
causing him to open fire
to slaughter hearts of innocents
the sweetest gifts of angels sent
among us
to remind us of…
what’s essential
what is love

twisted mind
whose wielded ‘right’
expressed his hate
with gun of might
and snuffed them out
the madness toll
killed them twice, crushed the soul

put out the moon
pull down the stars
wrap the babe’s
unsightly scars
make a shroud of blackened sky
so cold the slab
on which they lie
cancel Christmas
for all time
leave tears,
for this, the greatest crime,
to wash their wounds
of powder blast,
then dress them well, for this, their last
sleigh ride to Santa’s sombred cave
then send them to their silent grave.

copyright Niamh Clune 2012

About niamh clune

I love to write in childish rhyme I really do it all the time A Doctor and a Nana too 'Tis on the plum tree that I grew! Before we go any further, I must let you into one of my secrets. When I was little, fairies lived at the bottom of my garden. I used to talk or sing to them quietly (as fairies don't like shouting). And when dew covered the grass and made it glitter and sparkle, I knew the fairies were preparing for a shindig! Everyone knows that when dew is on the grass, fairies have their choice of the most beautiful sparkles imaginable. Fairies might wear peony or iris sparkle. They might wear rose or violet sparkle. Boy fairies wear shamrock and shiny breeches of bark be-dewed and made smooth and slithery ~ great for sliding down mole-hills! Fairies always throw parties in celebration of dew, as fairies love nothing more! They drink it, and it makes them giggle! They wear it, and it makes them shimmer. Dew really is the diamond in the fairy-queen crown. Apart from anything else, dew means it is a new day, and fairies love the time before dawn when they can flit and dart ~ flicker and start; hover and whiz ~ zip and fizz; float and flash ~ make-a-dash; tease and prance ~ skip and dance; hurry and scurry ~ all of a flurry; rush and rail ~ skim, speed and sail! The very best Leprechaun fiddlers play the most lively jigs. Elf harpists pluck at your heartstrings and weave magic in verse. Goblins are, by far, the best drummers, whilst meadow sprites have very high, reedy singing voices ~ almost inaudible to all but the very trained musical ear. Usually appearing on percussion are the cobbler gnomes ~ with a-clink and a-clank, whenever needed, and in perfect time. All in all, fairy gatherings are a sight to see ~ for those able to see them. I spent many an early morning dancing to the tunes of the little people. Very soon, they began to trust me, (Fairies seldom trust humans, as humans do very strange things to fairies and to fairyland), but I could dance a fine jig, pirouette often, sing a long song and recite a poem, all of which is of very great interest to fairies. They taught me some of their ancient secrets about bees and butterflies, worms and magic bears who know such an awful lot about everything. They also taught me secrets about science and the sky, and how to grow up into someone who is wise (wise enough to still believe in fairies). I like to share some of those mysteries with boys and girls (and grown-ups who still have magic in them) who are inquisitive but can also keep a secret. Sssssssssh! Promise you won't tell anyone... Are you ready? Now listen well, to the stories I will tell...

17 comments on “In Memorium

  1. the secret keeper
    December 15, 2012

    I love your poem Niamh. It inspired me to write one myself. Part of it works, I hope, with what you are trying to say here on your post. The full poem I am going to post on my own blog. a.l. jennifer

    there is always
    too much
    it is happening
    all the time
    too much

    little children
    bigger people
    for the ones
    who have no life
    left to live
    their time is stolen
    ripped away
    from them
    when all
    they were
    thinking about
    was Santa Claus
    Christmas trees
    with love

    is it to much
    to ask
    to return
    their life
    back to them

    © Jennifer Kiley 2012

    Like this

    • ontheplumtree
      December 15, 2012

      Thank you, Jennifer. The point is, I guess, the outpouring of collective grief for such an abomination.

      Like this

  2. JLBCreatives
    December 15, 2012

    An amazing work of literary genius. Thank you Niamh for capturing so well, the tragedy that has been placed in our midst through your beautiful words. Our hearts and prayers go out to those who are in need of strength, love, and support.

    Like this

  3. Darlene
    December 15, 2012

    Beautiful. Nothing more can be said.

    Like this

  4. cindy knoke
    December 15, 2012

    Very moving & well done.

    Like this

  5. patriciasands
    December 16, 2012

    Thank you, Niamh … just, thank you …

    Like this

  6. Patricia Tilton
    December 16, 2012

    I am moved beyond words Niamh.

    Like this

    • ontheplumtree
      December 16, 2012

      Thank you, Patricia for your kindness. I could not speak when I heard of it…only feel as a grandmother/idealist/campaigner…I felt like pulling down the sky and dipping out of remaining part of the human race.

      Like this

  7. the secret keeper
    December 16, 2012

    To be sure you received this I copied what I wrote on fb. “Your gift Niamh to put into words what is breaking the hearts of those directly involved in this tragedy is beyond the pale of gifted. I can feel the pain and it breaks my heart, also. There are too many broken hearts. Mending sometimes is not possible but one has to attempt to heal. Losing someone so precious as a child who contained within them the future that you will never get to see unfold. It will never be except in an infinite imagination. Thank you for your sensitive and pointed words. a.l. j.k. ps. you went to the depth of your soul to write this. I can feel it. <3

    Like this

    • ontheplumtree
      December 16, 2012

      many thanks, Jennifer…but isn’t it the task of the poet to express the inexpressible, to capture the poignant, to speak to the many. To say, “heartfelt sympathies,” “sorry,” etc., is not enough to express the profound grief we all feel at such deaths as these. Those little ones belong to us all. They leave a hole in the world that we all feel. Ranting and raving about the free use of guns does no good. We are not heard. Maybe, this is the only way we can speak to soul and hope our pleas to do something about guns is felt rather than received with argumentative minds.

      Like this

      • the secret keeper
        December 17, 2012

        We excavate the depths to search for the unknown and unseen, then find a way to express what we discover, even giving the subconscious and unconscious a voice. Always the question why, like a 2 or 3 year old, never really getting even close to uncovering a true and complete answer or answers. One does not exist. What I am about to write may sound inappropriate but the death of these precious ones is like creating a hole in the “force.” It sends out a rippling effect that touches everyone and everything. Grief and mourning is what is alive in our hearts. Arguing about laws controlling violent weapons seems almost cold and unfeeling. It’s a repression of ones’ true nature not to react with emotions of sadness and shock. It is a diversion from reacting from within ones heart and soul. We all need to go through all the levels of grief to work through such a tragedy. Love for those closest to the devastation need to know that they have our support, compassion and empathy to help with their healing and our own. peace, jennifer

        Like this

      • the secret keeper
        December 17, 2012

        Niamh, would you correct this line: It’s a repression of ones’ true nature to react with emotions of sadness and shock. (to read) It’s a repression of one’s true nature to not react with emotions of sadness and shock. (thanks, jen…7 lines from bottom of comment.)

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      • ontheplumtree
        December 17, 2012

        I changed escavate to excavate and not to, instead of ‘to not.’

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      • the secret keeper
        December 17, 2012

        Thank you. Sometimes you can look at something and you just don’t see it. Didn’t catch misspelling until I rewrote as a poem or the reverse of words. j.k.

        Like this

  8. thiskidreviewsbooks
    December 16, 2012

    This is sad, but well said. :( I strangely think the “gun made of guns” is interesting. Well put together. It has been a bad week. Bad things have happened. On Tuesday someone tried to abduct a kid from my school who was walking home. It made our whole town scared (we live in a VERY small town). The school shooting in another small town makes me scared. You poem was well said.

    Like this

    • ontheplumtree
      December 16, 2012

      I am so sorry, Erik, that children live in fear, anywhere in the world.

      Like this

  9. Pingback: How The Maccabeats Saved my Christmas « Darlene Foster's Blog

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