This month brings me to the fifth grade. Fifth grade and sixth grade were in the same room, so I had the same teacher for both years.
There were a lot of significant events in those two years in my life and I realized in considering this, that there are probably several poems worth of material here. I had to make a choice for this time, and since this IS supposed to be "political" poetry, I decided to go with a significant historical event, not just for me, but for everyone who lived in the U.S.A. at that point in time.
You'll see what I mean, below the squiggly orange dingbat.
Kalliope
Means "beautiful voice" from Greek καλλος (kallos) "beauty" and οψ (ops) "voice". In Greek mythology she was a goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, one of the nine Muses.
Join us every Tuesday afternoon at the Daily Kos community political poetry club.
Your own poetry is always welcome in the comments.
Bongos, berets & turtle neck sweaters optional.
The keyboard is mightier than the sword.
Many Welcomes, Countless Griefs
I was enchanted by the Gaelic greeting,
“Cead mile failte”
Given to President Kennedy
When he visited Ireland in June of '63.
He seemed to be beloved of,
And welcoming to
The entire world, as he made his way
Beautiful wife at his side
Through those years of my childhood
Graced by his term of office,
Brutally, untimely ended
By cruel, shocking bullets.
A third grader when he was elected,
I was in sixth grade when he died.
Our class was in the library
When an older student came through
Tossed out an offhand remark
About the president being shot, “Too bad,”
And disappeared again.
I didn't believe it.
Not then; that guy was a joker,
Though I thought it a nasty joke.
It soon became clear
That it was all too true.
A little later in the day
We heard, finally
That our president was dead.
I started to cry.
I was the first one in my class
To start to cry.
I remember that clearly.
Then some other girls
Started to cry, too.
Eventually, our teacher had to let
Some of us go to the restroom
To get our tears under control.
Maybe we stopped the tears
But the broken hearts never really ended.
Camelot had fallen.
The world was never quite
As bright again
As it was during that time
Of our proud young president.
An optimistic future, born and died with him.
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