The Wednesday Poetry Corner With Aidan Tiffin (Aged 10)
Introducing the poetry of a wonderful young poet ~ Aidan Tiffin. Aidan is the son of the sister of a very dear friend of mine. I think Aidan, who was eight when he wrote the first poem and nine when he wrote the other two, is exceptional. What a talent! I hope it grows and that his love of poetry will never leave him. Thank you to his mother Sarah for allowing me to post these beautiful words here.
A young lamb in a field in Kent, in England. Copyright law_keven from Flickr.
By Aidan Tiffin (aged 8)
Lambs are born birds do sing
Winter dies the sun does rise
The land is now not frozen
Be Joyous! Be Joyous!
The snowman melts but still he smiles
For the darkness dies and the darkness cries
And sighs for his reign is over.
Be Joyous! Be Joyous!
Nothing is impossible, not if it’s below the sun or anything of that matter
The height, the strength, the pure awe striking grace of a human soul
Judgment, the overseer of the pureness of justice
Independence of others, the freedom of choice, this is what life is all about
Ignorance is bliss they say, but does ignorance donate, does ignorance build, does ignorance stride to something
Oh the time of the early budding as the blossoms begin to grow, the glorious time known as February (this in Ireland of course).
The place of giants, the height of a thousand men, the place of sorrow, victory, and defeat the beautiful cliffs of Moher.
The foreign beauty of sunshine glows as I watch nature’s path over the mountains, it brings tears to the giants of old stories.
As I watch the rain slide down the window weaving eccentric patterns into the sunshine, I am grateful to be blessed with this chance to see nature at work.
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