Poem Dedication: Sandy Hook Elementary School Massacre (Newtown, Connecticut)

A dedication to the 20+ children and victims that died in Newtown, Connecticut School Massacre today...

"God sent children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race--to enlarge our hears; and to make us unselfish and full of kindly sympathies and affections; to give our souls higher aims; to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion; and to bring round our firesides bright faces, happy smiles, and loving, tender hearts."
-Mary Botham Howitt

BE LIKE THE WHITE CEDAR SON: Death of a Child

Little one,

Somewhere by the Great Lakes of Canada,

I heard of a couple whose White Cedar* son

Stayed forever young;

Innocent and childish was he

That brought his parents all their joy–

His angelic laughter filled them till old age,

Into their happy graves.

So please,

Be like the White Cedar;

Do not grow too quickly.

Sing to me your playful cheers, 

Crawl through the years with that adorable skip

Without following the world's

Grownup pace,

On the slippery road to a cruel maturity.

It is now –

I love you the most,

Young like the tender green sprout

From out of the moist ground with no blemish

Of the vicious world’s beetles.

They lay their suffering eggs

Where loads of burden hatch,

Weakening the blooming shooters.

Understand,

I have attempted to hide you

From a world in ruins,

But you wish to run with the others.

Child,

In the dusk of life, the road is hard to see,

Wait till I am gone before you leave me–

So I can be sure to watch over you.

*White Cedar

The slowest growing tree located in Canada; it grows less than four inches during its lifespan of 155 years.

 

Gorgeous: a Poem for Beautiful Women

Gorgeous,

Where did you learn to entrap men with your beauty?

You command a hundred men as if it is their legal duty

To bind themselves in silent wonder, gaping like madmen.

You are the beast who grazes the land, luring the herdsmen

To follow and fancy; they care and drive your vanity.

You forget the land which you graze, along with humanity,

Ages and withers. Today, you strike the eye, 

Tomorrow, in the market, men will come to buy

Your fresh wool skin for shoes, coats and trade.

Beauty is a foe who upon parting, first betrays;

You were the exquisite sheep among all fields and flocks–

A lamb is born, she lures a thousand men like preying hawks. 


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 -Kelly 

The Handkerchief

They stand silent, both with burning hearts.
His vision begins to water,
The first teardrop climbs up his lower lid like the sun rising;
When it falls, his face is veiled within a sparkling flood.

She hands him a handkerchief and leaves.
As he watches her solitary departure,
He scorns himself for loving–
An unforgiving woman.

He does not know,
She flees before he can see her eyes trickle.
She struggled to write a final love letter for him–
She poured herself into it.

When he lifts the handkerchief to wipe his tears,
It is thoroughly soaked–where her rich farewell cries are inscribed.