The killings of school children and teachers in Connecticut continues to elicit powerful responses nationwide – sorrow, outrage, tears, calls for reforms and, in the case of a Sartell man, poetry.
Dennis Herschbach was so disturbed and saddened by the cold-blooded killings that he felt compelled to channel his emotions into the form of poetry.
Before moving to Sartell a few years ago, Herschbach had been a high-school teacher for many years at Two Harbors on Minnesota’s North Shore. He is the award-winning author of four books – most recently a suspense-mystery novel entitled “Convergence at Two Harbors.” His other books are a prose-poetry meditation on the loss of a loved one, “Grief Journey;” a memoir about growing up, “Brown Sugar Syrup and Jack Pine Sand;” and a book of poetry inspired by Two Harbors, “South First and Lakefront.”
The following are Herschbach’s two poems about his reactions to the school shootings.
Dec. 14, 2012
by Dennis Herschbach
I know that the willow weeps,
its branches draped down,
sweeping the ground
like a mother’s hair when she mourns,
forming a canopy
where children once played
games of come find me.
I know that the ice groans
in the face of bitter north winds
piling slabs like blue-glass on shore,
plates that grind against each other
in a cold too bitter to bear.
I know that rocks slide
down mountain slopes
tearing saplings from shallow soil
before they’ve had time to root.
Seems they cannot be stopped,
move under their own weight,
follow an entrenchment
like the blind following the blind
who cannot hear.
I know that the river floods.
Like the tears of a father
cannot be dammed,
will make no difference
when the flood is forgotten.
These answers I know – but today,
I don’t know the question;
I don’t know the question.
The Way Lost
by Dennis Herschbach
Weep for the children,
the ones huddled in cubbies,
their riddled young bodies
grotesque against songs
of Christmas to come.
Look at pictures of pain
seeping from classrooms,
forming streams that flow
freely down empty hallways,
washing over mothers and fathers.
Weep for the teachers,
symbols of love, shields
against an unstoppable tide,
those who will never again
care for a skinned knee,
a hurt feeling, a child.
Scream “ENOUGH!
No more … no more,”
until we all hear
cries of the innocent,
see their blood spilled,
feel loss for each parent.
Weep for a country
gone crazy with fear,
citizens seeking courage
from concealed death
hidden in pockets and belts.
Let your voice ring
like a bell meant to toll
a call to alarm,
make the land quake
for return of some reason
until sane thoughts prevail.
But I beg of you people,
weep for the children.
