A Loss of Taste

Satisfying poetry can be soothing like chicken soup.  It can burn with passion like a diavlo or with anger like a vindaloo.  Sometimes it can be delicious and indulgent like a Ben & Jerry’s core Sunday.This week, poetry has held no taste for me.  Anything I have read has been tainted; anything written has turned to ash in my mouth dare I read it aloud.  Since starting to write, I’ve used poetry as an outlet, a way of making sense of the world, of feelings and of people around me.  On the 14^th December 2012 in Connecticut, USA, a terrible tragedy tore the lives of innocent children and dedicated teachers away from their families and friends.It’s hard to make sense of that.As a parent, watching those horrific shots of children escaping the school screaming, of teachers and staff scrambling to protect their charges and of the raw grief emanating from the faces of the bereaved, in the face of such horror, a taste for poetry has left me momentarily.Maybe others may find it easier, but for me there is no taste to poetry about senseless loss; no poetry in the death of a child, no elegant phrase can be spun to ease the shock, horror and turmoil for these parents, families and their community right now.  Where there was beauty, innocence and happiness, there is now only emptiness.All there can be is to send hopes, prayers, wishes or whatever token your way of life allows and when the dust settles and shock turns to grief and pain, we should use our words, our prose, our poems and our speeches to make sure this never, never happens again.And for those children, those poor children, all I have are the words of a better poet than me.Little Lamb God Bless thee,Little Lamb God Bless thee.
(Excerpt taken from The Lamb by William Blake)
Thanks for reading.Lisa.