Let the Children Cry Mashup poem from The Cry of The Children by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Do ye hear the children, O my brothers,

      Ere the sorrow comes with years?

They are leaning their young heads against their mothers —

      And that cannot stop their tears.

The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;

   The young birds are chirping in the nest;

The young cats are meming in the internet;

   The young flowers are blowing toward the west—

But the children, O my brothers,

      They are crying bitterly!

They are crying in the playtime of the others,

      In the country of the free.

Do not tell the poor young children, O my brothers,

      To look up to Him and pray —

So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others,

      Will bless them another day.

They answer, "Who is God that He should hear us,

   While the bullets singe the air 

While you take this bitter fear and trap us

    In concrete prisons without cheer?

Would you have us never see the sunshine,

   Or enjoy the light of day?"

Yes, they are worn with tragedy, unrelentingly maligned

But they're not bowing to the greed of the NRA.

They look up with their pale and sunken faces,

      And their looks are terrible to see,

For their grief abhorrent, draws and presses

      Down the cheeks of infancy—

"Your guns," they say, "took the life of our dear friends

   How can you justify these means — or defy our ends

We need gun control," their voices ring out clear

   They need to know — this time, will you hear?" 

And for all the little children whose blood is on your hands

   Will you stand up and do the right thing

Words are so very cheap. Now, in this time of tragedy

   We should let the children weep.

      Let them weep! let them weep!

"How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation,

   Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, 

Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,

   And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?

Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,

      And your purple shews your path;

But the child's sob curseth deeper in the silence

      Than the strong man in his wrath!"

A.J. Ponder with many apologies to  Elizabeth Barrett Browning  (The Original Poem "The Cry of the Children is here. It was written to protest horrific child labour laws, but it's protesting the same people - people who profit off suffering, or use God's will to justify the unjustifiable)

I've been absolutely blown away by how well the young adults of Parkland Florida have bravely stood up to tell their stories and call for sensible gun control. And I've been absolutely horrified by the abuse they've received online. These young adults should have had time to weep, but knowingly or not, we've been preparing them all their lives for this time.

Let me be very clear, I have family who love their guns - I am not advocating taking their guns away. Nor are those teens. They are calling for sensible gun measures. There's no point blaming the FBI or local law enforcement for these events when their hands have effectively been tied by poor legislation. Gun control is a part of being civilized, just like wearing seat-belts. It's a little something that is regulated, not to undermine freedom, but to recognize the sanctity of life.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” MLK 

A.J. 

Have a great week everybody. Go out and do great things, the world needs you. :)

Remember, Remember the Babes in the Wood

I was busy murdering babies

As you do

The cherub grins

Gone.

The sapphire-eyed,

Dark skinned,

Beauties --

All dead.

It's enough to make a writer cry.

It's enough

To make

You throw away the pen

Tear apart the keyboard,

Key,

By stinking key

But, 
my babies,

I loved your family

just enough

To see you die

Forgotten,

Unloved.

Your silent tears

Echoing through

To your brothers

And sisters,

As they hang their heads

Onto the bloodied page

And weep.

There's a common author expression. "Murder your darlings" or sometimes "kill your darlings" And no, it's not about the characters. It's about our words. As authors we love our words, but sometimes they just don't fit the longer piece we were planning to put them into—and what that means for writers is that just because you've written a nice piece of prose it doesn't mean it should stay in your writing. If it doesn't fit, no matter how pretty, it should be cut. 

And that's tough. But in the end your writing will be better. But more than that, the emotional impact will be all the stronger for having written and then cut that delightful bit of prose.

Happy writing authors, and happy reading readers,

 A.J. Ponder - author page

 

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi 

And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

Lullaby for Vampires to be sung to the tune of Brahms

Lullaby, little vampire

The sun it is shining

Go to sleep, don't you weep

Night will soon be nigh

Then you'll crawl from your crypt

And wind through the window

Free your fangs on sweet prey

And feed from their flesh

Lullaby, and good-morning

Deathless vampires don't stray

From the cool clods of earth

In the light of the day

Let sleep, little wanton,

And dreams of destruction

Fill your head, little leech

'til the sun goes away

Lullaby and sleep tight

Knowing demons surround you

Around and about you

Above and below

Soon the sun it will fade

To a night dark and cloudy

And to humans we'll hum

This last lullaby

Lullaby and good night

Lullaby, my delight

Go to sleep, don't you weep

As through the night we creep

We've crawled from our coffins

And wound through your window

Freed our fangs, you're our prey

Now we'll feed from your flesh

A..J. Ponder 

Truth is there's no artistic merit to this one at all -  it's only here to match the zombie lullaby, for as everyone knows where there are vampires, zombies soon follow - and vice versa.   It was done with the urge to provide tasteless lullabies to go with a version of Brahms Lullaby I found, and to practise using a set cadence.  After all - who isn't thoroughly sick of vampires yet? 

Of course if you're not sick of vampires - why not check out Rudyard Kiplings Vampire poem - here - who would have thought?