Posted in Niamh Clune, Poems/Poetry, Uncategorized

For the Innocents

Emilie Alice Parker


A year ago today, a man in Connecticut opened fire on innocents and educators. This poem is for them.


what evil wrought the twisted brier

causing him to open fire ~

slaughter hearts of innocents,

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.

(c) Niamh Clune 2012, All rights reserved
Photo courtesy of the Parker Family via AP photo

430564_3240554249063_1337353112_n-1orange-petals-cover_page_001DR. NIAMH CLUNE (On the Plum Tree) ~ is the author of the Skyla McFee series: Orange Petals in a Storm, and Exaltation of a Rose. She is also the author of The Coming of the Feminine Christ: a ground-breaking spiritual psychology. Niamh received her Ph.D. from Surrey University on Acquiring Wisdom Through The Imagination and specialises in The Imaginal Mind and how the inborn, innate wisdom hidden in the soul informs our daily lives and stories. Niamh’s books are available in paperback (children’s books) and Kindle version (The Coming of the Feminine Christ). Dr. Clune is the CEO of Plum Tree Books and Art. Its online store is HERE.  Niamh’s Amazon page is HERE.


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.

16 thoughts on “For the Innocents

  1. It is hard to remember when learning about these nightmarish events that the world really is less violent than it used to be. But that doesn’t do anything to ameliorate the suffering in Sandy Hook or any of the places where these things happen. Far too many places still. It’s important that we remember all who are lost.


  2. So many children whose lives are taken, or whose innocence is tarnished. It is so painful. We are supposed to be evolving spiritually and as a human race, but this reality causes me to question. Or has it always been this way


  3. John, thank you for saying so. The rhythm was a song to their passing souls. Children love rhyme. They need to know of our outrage and compassion and despair for what happened. They are our children too, as you know, being a granddad.


  4. Off, that so hurts, Niamh, but it is such good poetry. The rhythm could have cheapened it had you not chosen your words so well; together they’re synergy. I love the hint of Auden in the middle there too.

    I can’t believe it is the first anniversary of that awful, fateful day; I don’t know why, but it seems so much longer ago that I wrote this impassioned piece on ‘Forty Two’:

    Thanks for sharing this with us.


  5. Thank you, Scillagrace and Jamie for your comments. No! Some things can never be healed, never be undone, never be righted, and neither should they be. They are there to stare us in the face and to remember. Do we have the stomach to look upon the reality of such tragedy?


  6. The opening lines with the question that can never be answer and the closing knowledge that life will never be the same, that everything else is “postumous” to borrow Ted Hughes sentiment after Syliva Plath’s suicide. It touches all the sore places and doesn’t attempt to heal because no one heals from such things. Well cone, Niamh, and thank you.


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