{"id":95,"date":"2019-09-22T22:48:16","date_gmt":"2019-09-22T22:48:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/summer-2014-issue\/?page_id=95"},"modified":"2019-10-11T02:19:14","modified_gmt":"2019-10-11T02:19:14","slug":"for-the-protection-of-the-children","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/summer-2014-issue\/for-the-protection-of-the-children","title":{"rendered":"For the Protection of the Children"},"content":{"rendered":"

[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ fullwidth=”on” _builder_version=”3.29.3″ global_module=”251″ fb_built=”1″ _i=”0″ _address=”0″][et_pb_fullwidth_header admin_label=”light green band” _builder_version=”3.29.3″ background_color=”#9abf93″ min_height=”30px” height=”30px” max_height=”30px” _i=”0″ _address=”0.0″][\/et_pb_fullwidth_header][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”3.29.3″ fb_built=”1″ _i=”1″ _address=”1″][et_pb_row _builder_version=”3.29.3″ _i=”0″ _address=”1.0″][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.29.3″ _i=”0″ _address=”1.0.0″][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/summer-2014-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/09\/Coreopsis_Flower_Header3-1024×358.png” align=”center” _builder_version=”3.29.3″ custom_margin=”-75px|||||” _i=”0″ _address=”1.0.0.0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ fullwidth=”on” _builder_version=”3.29.3″ global_module=”252″ fb_built=”1″ _i=”2″ _address=”2″][et_pb_fullwidth_menu active_link_color=”#e9ffca” dropdown_menu_bg_color=”#9abf93″ dropdown_menu_text_color=”#ffffff” mobile_menu_bg_color=”#9abf93″ mobile_menu_text_color=”#ffffff” _builder_version=”3.29.3″ menu_font=”Georgia|600|on||||||” menu_text_color=”#ffffff” background_color=”#446633″ background_layout=”dark” custom_margin=”-76px|||||” _i=”0″ _address=”2.0″][\/et_pb_fullwidth_menu][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”3.29.3″ fb_built=”1″ _i=”3″ _address=”3″][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_4,1_4″ _builder_version=”3.29.3″ _i=”0″ _address=”3.0″][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”3.29.3″ _i=”0″ _address=”3.0.0″][et_pb_text _builder_version=”3.29.3″ hover_enabled=”0″ _i=”0″ _address=”3.0.0.0″]<\/p>\n

\u00a0Poems: For the Protection of the Children by poet \u00c9ilis Niamh<\/h1>\n

For the Protection of the Children<\/h3>\n

by\u00a0\u00c9ilis Niamh<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Ask a child\u2019s silence to speak<\/span><\/p>\n

And you will learn truths you\u2019ve never wanted to know.<\/span><\/p>\n

When will it be time to raise our voices from the dead,<\/span><\/p>\n

When will it be time to break our silence?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Victims are defined by spaces, behind closed doors.<\/span><\/p>\n

I survived\u2014formed bubbles under my skin<\/span><\/p>\n

To trap the pain.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But one day they burst,<\/span><\/p>\n

And when they did, acid rain<\/span><\/p>\n

Poured over whole villages,<\/span><\/p>\n

Turning their sands red.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There is no scissor-curled rainbow for our stories\u2014only blackness,<\/span><\/p>\n

When will it be time\u2014boom, boom, boom,<\/span><\/p>\n

Black echoes in an empty room.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We seal up the places where we\u2019ve been marked<\/span><\/p>\n

By hands like barnacles, wounded<<\/span><\/p>\n

Against the tide\u2019s rushing out like breath.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So I try to understand how I could have been<\/span><\/p>\n

Shaken by a nanny who left me blind<\/span><\/p>\n

An infant no stranger to death.<\/span><\/p>\n

Aching to be found.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We lock pieces of ourselves in the past<\/span><\/p>\n

Afraid of our own shadows,<\/span><\/p>\n

When it\u2019s the adults that hurt us<\/span><\/p>\n

Who are the monsters of their own closets.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When will we shatter the hourglass of secret time?<\/span><\/p>\n

How do we mend those childhoods broken<\/span><\/p>\n

By parents who are themselves approaching darkness<\/span><\/p>\n

Encroaching on long dreamless nights?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

No wonder many do not speak out<\/span><\/p>\n

Almost killed for our crying<\/span><\/p>\n

Those who should protect and care for us<\/span><\/p>\n

Cut us off from ourselves with the skill of a surgeon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Rise up out of ash, left by the light we were born with<\/span><\/p>\n

The tears shed then.<\/span><\/p>\n

Our only hope for oasis<\/span><\/p>\n

In the desert of the deserted.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sound is red and raw, who counts the wounded?<\/span><\/p>\n

The house of intelligible action<\/span><\/p>\n

Lies, in shambles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Truth keens across the chasms that are made<\/span><\/p>\n

Truth keens, keys bleed,<\/span><\/p>\n

Screams listen,<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Silence shrieks in opened doorways.<\/span><\/p>\n

How do gods determine when justice has been paid?<\/span><\/p>\n

The bean sidhe will not rest tonight,<\/span><\/p>\n

Nor will lurking shape-shifters with the beady eyes that glisten.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

How dare anyone break a child.<\/span><\/p>\n

Who among us dare speak a name?<\/span><\/p>\n

None in this world or the next will claim you:<\/span><\/p>\n

To harm a child is to will yourself a slave.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You who use and abuse the least of us,<\/span><\/p>\n

You sign the warrant of your own exile.<\/span><\/p>\n

Trapped inside your skin, no kin or kind,<\/span><\/p>\n

Separate beyond ken, your prison is self made.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The time has come to break the silence,<\/span><\/p>\n

The time has come to raise our voices from the dead,<\/span><\/p>\n

To seek to put an end to this unconscionable violence,<\/span><\/p>\n

Until our seventh generation knows nothing of such pain.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Match- Stick Girl\u2019s Fire
Elish Niamh<\/h3>\n

Silver eyes scan the road at twilight,
Tracking purple fog.<\/p>\n

Flashlight eyes, cold as flint stone,
Their spark a smoldering of embers<\/p>\n

Red dark circles under her eyes,
Imprints of old anger left behind.<\/p>\n

Without a sound,
Match sticks strike.<\/p>\n

Match-stick girl, cold and alone,
Do not douse your fire with tears.<\/p>\n

Ash-child run,
Leap lightly, flicker like a dancing flame,<\/p>\n

Burn away the should and could haves that leave their dingy sheen,
Bleach the strife-stains to golden, turquoise, sylvan green.<\/p>\n

Shining girl put match sticks down,
Hair singed black, now auburn once more,<\/p>\n

Whittle futures with the sharp edge of the present,
That lamp behind the map of yourself, turn the switch.<\/p>\n

Watch your space from inside out take shape,
Definite, solid, the topography of relief.<\/p>\n

Then firefly girl, find you rising
Rise and rise, and open your eyes,<\/p>\n

Fire bird’s child, glow as the night infused with dawn, from near to far,
Radiant, like a wild and silent star, you are.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201c\u00c9ilis\u00a0Niamh suggests that, once you have read her poetry, that you listen to this song by SJ Tucker called \u201cFirebird\u2019s Child\u201d. This song was inspired by a character from Catherynne M. Valente\u2019s fantasy novel:<\/span>\u00a0Orphan\u2019s Tales \u2013 In the Cities of Coin and Spice<\/span>,<\/span>Solace<\/i>.\u00a0 Available to listen to and download here
<\/span>http:\/\/music.sjtucker.com\/track\/firebirds-child<\/a>\u00a0\u201d ~ The eds.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Navigation<\/h3>\n
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