Today

I don’t do poetry. Except when I do.

We were gathered today
Talking, writing, laughing
When the text came
A shooting today
In her school
In her classroom
Last day of class, a joyous event 
Presentations, posters, final projects
Then he stood, fired
And they fell
Two injured
Two dead
Two more hang on
Lockdown and chaos
Students running, hiding
Classrooms empty
Fleeing building
Hands in  air
Suspect in custody

Male, again
White, again
Lives destroyed

Published by Emilie

I'm a retired instructor from a community college where I taught Developmental English and Reading as well as English as a Second Language. I'm also now a published author of a bilingual children's book entitled. Luisa the Green Sea Turtle - Luisa la Tortuga Verde del Mar. It's available from me, through Amazon, and is in a few (more and more each day!) bookstores.

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18 Comments

    1. Thanks, Nathan. I NEVER write poetry except under duress. But somehow, I wrote this after the last shooting gin North Carolina. Now I want to dabble in more. We’ll see what happens!

    1. There should be a “subscribe” button there somewhere! I’ll look and see if I can spot it.
      I’m about to launch a full website that will have my blog and promo my books!

      1. When perusing articles about ‘the wall’ I often think of you and your feedback. I recently told someone that if I had the luxury of three or so months for a ‘timeout’ I would go live in a remote area by the ‘wall’ and immerse with the local traditions/ note the wildlife, and just observe – then share my experiences…. seeing the news these days is quite hard from afar. the fires in California with such graphic images, yet also wrenching are the ‘ego against ego’ warring between intellectual people……. why can’t people just be good?! thank goodness there are people like you who add a balance of goodness!

      2. Thank you. And if you ever do get time, I usually have a spare room. Someone’s staying there now but she’ll be gone in a week or so. Reserve early!

  1. Now, having come to believe in reincarnation; I find myself not wanting to come back to this evil, broken world. I hope I am sent to a kinder planet for the next incarnation. Meanwhile, your poem is timely. Words become a song that we loathe to hear, but they must be spoken. Thank you!

    1. Thanks. For some reason, I just saw this. I wouldn’t want to come back either except maybe as a lion charged with tracking and killing hunters.

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