In Memorium
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 Dr Niamh
When I was a little girl (a very, very long time ago), I used to love learning new, really big words like ‘discombobulate’. As I grew, my love of words grew too, until I loved them so much, I could not stop writing them down.
One day, as I was scribbling a particular word, a very peculiar thing happened. The word shouted at me, “Stop! Don’t put me there!” As you can imagine, I was shocked and nearly fell off my chair. When I recovered somewhat, I said to the word, “Could you stop shouting, please? I am not used to it.”
Can you guess what happened next? No! I thought not. The word said, “I might be small, but I will misbehave if you do not use me properly. I will not tell the story you would like me to tell. I will say something entirely different!”
I dropped my pen. I hoped that by dropping my pen, the word would stop talking. Alas! It did not. It carried on chitterchobbling, even after the ink had dried. I was in a pickle. I could not allow my words to run away with my story, now could I?
I don’t know about you, but when this sort of thing happens, there is only one thing left to do if you prefer not to spend your time arguing. “Very well,” said I. “I will do as you ask if you will just be quiet and allow me to concentrate.”
Since that day, I have been paying special attention to every word I invite into my stories. After all, a story should say exactly what it means to say and not be led astray.
With love from Dr. Niamh,
Ph.D in Learning Through The Imagination and Founder of Dr Niamh Children's Books. www.drniamhchildrensbooks.com
Niamh Clune 
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
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Thank you, Jennifer. The point is, I guess, the outpouring of collective grief for such an abomination.
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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.
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Beautiful. Nothing more can be said.
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Very moving & well done.
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Thank you, Niamh … just, thank you …
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I am moved beyond words Niamh.
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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.
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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. ❤
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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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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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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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I changed escavate to excavate and not to, instead of ‘to not.’
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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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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.
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I am so sorry, Erik, that children live in fear, anywhere in the world.
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