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"Where Words Grow On Trees"

In Memorium

Gun-Made-Out-Of-Guns

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 was born in Dublin, back in the days when it was full of poets, mystics, philanderers, drinkers, passionate speech-makers and wanna-be-Joyceans. Dublin was enshrouded then in a pall of Catholicism ~ Church and State were like Siamese Twins. I was a rebel ~ in the sense that I couldn't help but think for myself. There were Maoists, musicians and academics all trying to do the same. Gatherings were frenetic, passionate, yet often tempered by some of the gentle 'aul' folk not made bigots by religion or politics but liberated by both into realising the gentle and constant passing of all things. They were of my grand-parent's generation, sweet breaths of peat-soaked air, demonstrative of the tremendous inner peace and calm that comes from knowing who you are and where you come from. These days, I am a writer, poet, environmental campaigner, and musician ~ among other things. I gained a Ph.D in Acquiring Wisdom Through The Imagination, and I love teaching and sharing my inspiration. These days, I am also writing children's books. I believe that reading to little ones, even before they can understand words, teaches them to associate books with love and affection. Find my books on my page.

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
    happening

    little children
    dying
    bigger people
    crying
    crying
    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
    presents
    cookies
    grandparents
    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.

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  4. cindy knoke
    December 15, 2012

    Very moving & well done.

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  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.

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      • 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

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      • 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.

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  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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