I would also like to quote a poem by one of my favorite contemporary poets that seems appropriate as we think about comforting and helping the survivors:
Come Lord and Lift
by T. Merrill
Come Lord, and lift the fallen bird
Abandoned on the ground;
The soul bereft and longing so
To have the lost be found.
The heart that cries—let it but hear
Its sweet love answering,
Or out of ether one faint note
Of living comfort wring.
I am stunned to awe by the love, compassion, resourcefulness and incredible courage of Sandy Hook's teachers and faculty. Here is the story of Kaitlin Roig:
Here are more tribute poems for more exceptional children:
Noah Pozner,
"extremely bright"—
your mind and your smile
both exuded light.
Jessica Rekos,
a "creative, beautiful little girl"
who loved horses,
are you now riding Pegasus
down heaven's courses?
Benjamin Wheeler,
"an irrepressibly bright and spirited boy"
had brown, soulful eyes
and a spirit no killer can destroy.
Sandy Hook Call to Action
by Michael R. Burch
We see their tiny coffins
and our hearts break,
so we ask the NRA—
"Did you make a mistake?"
And we vow to save the next child
for sweet love's sake,
but also to protect ourselves
from enduring such heartache.
Those of us who oppose the Holocaust have a saying: "Never again!" From this day forward I hope that we, as a nation, will say "Never again!" to such carnage among our children because a rich, powerful gun lobby wants to flood the streets with people carrying loaded, concealed weapons, taking us back to the days of the Wild, Wild West. For anyone who thinks this is a "good idea," I would remind them that the West's greatest law officer, Wyatt Earp, didn't allow anyone to walk around with guns in the towns he policed, except for himself and his deputies, and that the famous battle at the OK Corral was fought over gun control.
Ana Marquez-Greene was already an accomplished singer at age six, as the video below demonstrates ...
Ana Marquez-Greene,
as sweet a child as we've seen,
you "beat us all to paradise."
Was it because you were so very nice?
Charlotte Bacon,
our love for you is unshaken;
as you "lit up all rooms" down here
you now illuminate heaven, dear.
Daniel Barden, his family's light,
once brightened this earth, and now brightens heaven—
not a bad trick for a boy who's just seven!
Olivia Engel,
angel,
your only possible crime (I've been told)
was "being a wiggly, smiley six-year-old!"
Allison Wyatt,
so shy, so sweet, so caring,
loved to garden with her mother.
Six pink candles, then an eternity of sharing.
Catherine Violet Hubbard
when you were here
the cupboard
of life
was never bare,
but full of light
and your electric hair!
Josephine Gay
had just turned seven;
now she will always be
"a lovely part of heaven."
Caroline Previdi,
"sweet, precious little angel,"
we fondly remember
your infectious smile.
Chase Kowalski, age seven
seems awfully early for heaven;
but since there was never a better child ...
perhaps the angels called, beguiled?
Here is absolutely exquisite poem about lost love that I would like to dedicate to all the Sandy Hook victims and their parents and families:
Music When Soft Voices Die (To —)
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
The students who died were all seven or younger. Here is a poem by one of the all-time great poets who lost his son at the age of seven:
On My First Son
by Ben Jonson
Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy.
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and asked, say, "Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry,
For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such
As what he loves may never like too much."
Here are more memorial poems:
Jesse Lewis, so full of life,
you could fill a room with bright laughter;
I'm sure you're entertaining angels now
and brightening the Hereafter!
James Mattioli,
exceptional swimmer,
without your bright presence
the world seems much dimmer.
Madeleine Hsu,
what we know of you
is so limited, but we love you too.
May your loved ones keep your memory secure
and your memory give them the strength to endure.
A picture of Madeline Hsu is not available, and we should respect her family's desire for privacy.
Here is a memorial poem for the school's lovely, valiant principal who, according to accounts, ran to defend her young charges the minute she heard shots being fired, lunging at the shooter in an attempt to disarm him:
Dawn Hochsprung,
each child's courageous friend—
you defended them all till the unthinkable end;
so let your kindness and valor be sung.
Rachel Davino protected her charges
from the killer's barrages;
like her loyal friend,
she was loyal to the end.
Anne Marie Murphy,
fun-loving, hard worker;
you defended your charges—
no coward, no shirker.
Lauren Gabrielle Rousseau,
who loved to teach, and who loved children so,
we're glad you achieved your dream
that final year, and how lovely you seem!
My son, Jeremy Michael Burch, is currently a college freshman at David Lipscomb, where he intends to study to become a child psychologist like Mary Sherlach. Therefore, her story especially touches me. When Mary heard shots being fired, she could have run away to save her own life, but she joined principal Dawn Hochsprung by leaping to her feet and running to protect the students she loved so much.
Mary Sherlach, who courageously ran
without thought for her life to the aid of the children,
taught not just them, but also us,
love's surplus.
Everyone loved Miss Victoria Soto;
she was every student's friend.
And when a killer threatened her charges,
she defended them to the end.
I dedicate my poems to the victims — may they rest in peace — and I urge all Americans to act now, before the next massacre. If we don't, our loved ones will remain continually at risk:
Epitaph for a Sandy Hook Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
The lives, safety and happiness of our children depend on our ability to persuade the NRA and its political lackeys to stop exalting money and political gain above the life, liberty and happiness of innocents. What is the cost of banning assault weapons, compared to the ultimate price innocents pay when they are used by madmen playing Rambo in classrooms and theaters? Ironically, just hours before the Sandy Hook massacre, in a weekly column that I write for the Nashville City Paper, I pointed out that right-wing politicians are not just demanding the "right" of citizens to bear loaded handguns into restaurants that serve alcohol and bars — a combustible mix. No, people who call themselves "conservative Christians" in collusion with the NRA and its gun lobby are demanding the right to carry assault weapons everywhere ... which "logically" means into universities, high schools, grade schools, kindergartens, pre-schools, Sunday schools and maternity wards. When I wrote this, I was speaking ironically — I thought — but then a few hours later the NRA and its political minions made me seem like a prophet.
Shooting Gallery
by Michael R. Burch
If we live by the rule of the gun
what can a small child do,
but run?
Sixteen of the students who died at Sandy Hook were six years old; the other four students were seven. I wrote the poem below for another child gunned down by a madman. While we cannot legislate sanity, we can be sane enough to legislate away the "right" of serial killers to purchase assault weapons so easily. We can defend many small victims from such carnage, if "we the people" have the wisdom and the will to defend them.
Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch
a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at the age of nine,
shot to death ...
Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm — I hope you hear it.
Much love I bring — I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.
Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the brutal things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.
And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.
Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...
I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.
The Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings left 27 students and educators dead, and question our nation's sanity and resolve to put children's lives above money and politics. Why do we allow serial killers like Adam Lanza to have such easy access to assault weapons and wreak destruction on innocent children and their teachers? Surely every thinking American knows that assault weapons are being sold and distributed so freely only to fill the coffers of gun dealers and the NRA, and for the political gain of those politicians who accept their bribes (euphemistically called "campaign contributions"). When will we call this evil collusion what it really is: treason, infamy, and the murder of innocents? Adam Lanza may have been insane, but what is the excuse of the NRA and its bribe-taking political lackeys?
US or Them?
by Michael R. Burch
The NRA wants money in the till,
thus Adam Lanza had a license to kill.
Our government’s the serial killer’s shill
and will be, unless WE express OUR will
and vote to save our children from Boot Hill.
This haiku below makes me think of the students and teachers of Sandy Hook, who were trapped in a war zone:
Sandy Hook Hallways Haiku
War
stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
—original haiku by Watanabe Hakusen, translation by Michael R. Burch
It is up to us, as a nation, to choose between the "rights" of adults to carry assault weapons and loaded, concealed weapons without restriction, and the right of children not to be exposed to the war zones that other dubious "right" creates in school hallways. Are we going to make it "legal" for anyone with a grudge against life to carry out Rambo-like assaults in grade school classrooms and corridors? What if the next would-be Rambo wants to up the ante by shooting up a kindergarten or nursery school?
Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch
If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.
It seems to me that the NRA has declared a war — an open season — on our children, by insisting that assault weapons must be available to every Tom, Dick and Dirty Harry. But what will we, the people, say and do?
Sandy Hook Haiku
These haiku are dedicated to the children of Sandy Hook and their mothers...
Dark-bosomed clouds
pregnant with heavy thunder —
the water breaks.
Born into the delicate autumn,
too late to mature,
pale petals ...
Soft as daffodils fall
all the lamentations
of life’s smallest victims,
unheard ...
Crushed grapes
surrender such sweetness!
A mother’s compassion.
How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
of one fallen star.
The sun warms
a solitary stone.
Let us abandon no one.
You astound me;
your name on my lips
remains unpronounceable.
My footprints
so faint in the snow?
Ah yes, you lifted me.
An emu feather
still falling?
So quickly you rushed to my rescue.
The eagle sees farther
from its greater height—
a mother’s wisdom
Dry leaf flung awry:
bright butterfly,
goodbye!
Late autumn; all
the golden leaves turn black underfoot:
soot ...
Both victor and vanquished are dewdrops:
flashes of light
briefly illuminating the void.
—Ôuchi Yoshitaka, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch