It was the post titledPhoto Of A Dead Terroristthat pushed me over-capacity.Melting into a make-it-stoppuddle, mixed with the mudof what-have-we-doneness,I backed away from the screen,caught the gaze of ten-years-until-nineteen, and wept.
Izy asked the Real Toads to write a poem about melting that does not contain references to fire or ice, heat or cold. This is poem number 19 of 30 for National Poetry Writing Month.
Oh my God, Marian, you have so nailed it. Especially with the ten-years-until-nineteen line. Powerful and cuts straight to the heart of our planetary dilemma.
ReplyDelete... and now it has ended. My heart aches for all of the 'ten-years-until-nineteen' innocents.
ReplyDeleteSuccinct and strong - gets the message and emotion across in a few lines.
ReplyDeleteMy youngest nephew and niece will be 10 and 12 years old this year. My youngest grandnephew is 6 months old. I don't worry about what-has-this-world-come-to for myself, but I cringe when I think what terror the future holds for all the little ones I love so much.
ReplyDeleteYour words make me weep, as, indeed, I should.
K
Wonderful creative use of words here to communicate something uniquely that so many are saying. Excellent.
ReplyDeleteOh Marian you have captured the pain of it so well. I look at those faces and wonder how and why it came to this.
ReplyDeleteMarian, right on. Riley was twelve when 9/11 happened, and that was tough enough to explain... but nine. My heart aches for the kids who have been confronted with this, with Newtown, with all the school violence and bullying.
ReplyDeleteThey say it's over, but it's just beginning. First it was the demonization of Arabic peoples by the media, now it's Chechnya... when are American Muslims who are actually following the Five Pillars of Islam, like the majority here, even going to catch a break? Thanks,Amy
Wow. Reference to the Boston events in a moment so hard to capture. Everyone was a child once. Let's hold each others' in the Light.
ReplyDeletehuh. Can I say "I get it,"and will you know that I really do? Because I do, but I will not scrawl that out here. with all the media frenzy in Boston, part of me just feels bad for the bleeding 19 year old trapped in a strangers backward with all the police in the world ready to kill. No one wins. there are no true villains anymore, just different headlines. maybe I don't get it. viva la
ReplyDeleteI'm with you and Izy on this. I'm appalled by the events of this week - from both sides of the fence.
ReplyDeleteLord above. I don't feel badly for that kid at all. He set a bag with a bomb in it at the feet of a family with an eight year old, and walked away. Now he pays the piper. I'll save my pity for the victims who lost their lives or their legs. This kid tweeted "LOL...those people are cooked!" and you guys feel sorry for him? Please.
ReplyDeletei didn't say that at all in this poem. i am confounded by the hugeness of this event and others, trying to figure out how it came to be that our society produces 19-year-olds who could do such a thing, and what it means going forward, especially for my own children.
ReplyDeleteI see you managed one, Marian. The anguish and exhaustion come through, as well as the confusion--such hard things to process as adults--both the events and the emotions they cause--and harder to imagine the explanations of such to children--glad I only have dogs to worry about at this stage.
ReplyDelete:) well, we haven't explained anything about this to our kids, they don't know about it. but it starts to feel weird not telling them about things, too. sigh.
Deletethe best sorts of poets shine a light into the darkest corners and manage to do it beautifully - you, my dear, are one of the best sorts of poets...
ReplyDeletethank you for saying so, takes one to know one. sometimes a bit vulnerable.
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