Thursday, May 3, 2012

Pomegranate: A poem in honour of the launch of the Pomegranate Charity tonight

Today is National Infertility Day and it coincides with the launch of the wonderful charity Pomegranate . Pomegranate raises funds for those who cannot afford expensive infertility treatment but who yearn for a child; and it also raises awareness of the issues surrounding infertility.
Without SIMS Clinic we would not have been able to have our beloved son. The idea that others are denied the services of such clinics, because of the expense, is tragic. We were extremely fortunate. If you do nothing else today read the Pomegranate website, and donate - no matter how small an amount, you will be helping end the pain of infertility for some future parent. (I have no connection with Pomegranate other than thinking they're a great cause.)

Pomegranate's launch is tonight at 7pm in the Russell Court Hotel (Dicey Reilly’s) on Harcourt Street, Dublin 2. Guest speakers will be Conor Pope of the Irish Times and Steve McGettigan of the Sims clinic.


When they talk of it
It is assumed, only the fecund know
Where the heart lies
When it comes to babies,
When it comes to birth,
When it comes to dreams
Of sticky hands and kisses.
Oh no, no, we the Barren,
We too understand these joys.
We yearn for them in ways
Only we can understand
We are steeped in the mysteries of pain.
Oh but your words can sting us
Anything stirring? No news for us?
Sure would you not relax?
My sister’s neighbour’s cousin’s friend
Got pregnant using the scapula of some saint
 you probably should have tried when you were younger –
I’d never go to those lengths

Ah we know the heart of it all right
We hold their little hands and kiss their brows
A thousand times in our dreams
And the sweet drug of hope
Lulls us into the arms of sleep
Dark night, after night.