There is great sadness in our country this holiday season. Things unimaginable have taken form and cast a shadow over us. We–all of us–are at a great loss.
In moments like these it is difficult to know exactly how to respond, or whether to respond at all, outside of quietly offering our thoughts and prayers for the family of victims. Certainly, there’s no single right way, but for those of us who scratch words, meager as they may be, poetry can provide an outlet for working through it all.
I.
Silent night, holy.
All is calm within darkness.
We hear them, even still.
There is a lowly
pushing from the quiet wind.
We bow together.
Each in our own time.
II.
The days have shortened.
I feel them, gathering close
as if edges could touch,
as if stars might shine.
Instead there are only lost
pinpricks pulsing here.
A falling of legacies.
III.
Reckonings feel trite.
Potential is mournable.
Better hopes do spring
eternal in us.
Good people hold each other
close as promises.
Phoenixes of hope.
Today, I’ll refrain from issuing a poetry prompt. But if you’d like to pen your own tribute, or if you already have, feel free to share it with us in the comments below.
Original photo by Squeezeomatic. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Seth Haines.
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Jessica Y says
http://www.russellmoore.com/2012/12/14/school-shootings-and-spiritual-warfare/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+MooreToThePoint+(Moore+to+the+Point)#
Maureen Doallas says
http://writingwithoutpaper.blogspot.com/2012/12/imagine-light-poem.html
Maureen Doallas says
Yesterday, I listed the names of those who died.
http://writingwithoutpaper.blogspot.com/2012/12/thought-for-day_16.html
donna says
i have nothing but rage
and tears
Joan Barrett Roberts says
Shadowleaves: Oh, These Wires We Place for @dVersePoets http://shadowleaves-joanie.blogspot.com/2012/12/oh-these-wires-we-place.html?spref=tw
donna says
Joan, stunning piece. Really stunning.
donna says
A dropped green snap pea
Bouncing on linoleum
Assumes the patter
Of Lost feet come home
And bounding up the back stoop
Where a mama’s glance
Offers emptiness
And I wonder how she’ll live
Inside all these sounds?
donna says
This poem, titled A Mama’s Glance, appears on my blog as well. http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2012/12/a-mamas-glance.html
Seth, thank you for this quiet invitation. Day by day my feelings loosen and separate so that they can each be seen. I love your poem. A falling of legacies… that sticks in my throat even though I am not reading it aloud.
Elena Johnston says
For this there are no words,
but only groanings.
Still, we must speak;
we must speak on behalf of the silence.
Words are wind or of the wind;
explanation is a vapor.
Yet not a sparrow falls
unseen, but the unseen wind
still broods upon our void,
and with deep groanings speaks our silence.