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It's one of those days. Below is a repeat/repost of my Sept. 11 poems. The first, written On That Day...the second written a week later.
Since then, of course the leader of our country decided to 'go after' a false enemy. He has caused the death of more Americans than 9/11 caused. Bush's near-sighted, self-serving motives and actions will impact u.s. and the world for many years. Why he has not been impeached, I do not understand. Laurie

September 11, 2001

A silent scream
replaced the winds
Blowing across our country

Jagged, red, gaping
Horror.
Once. Twice. Our towers
invincible, Symbols of
our Greatest city,
Wounded, like us.
Strong, like us.
Twogether...gone,
they fall before we can comprehend.

OH, but we do not.
Parting the smoke, the flames,
the ash...Like winged-dragons
We rise above the mayhem,
the dead no less warriors
than we who survive
Armed with our anger,
Dangerous and Just,
And sniffing the air for your scent
We gather strength,
with each fiery breath,
from this day,
until Your stench
is History.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scar Tissue

Black Ink, now.
I switch from Red.
Too angry.
Too sentimental.
Too bloody, like
September 11,
Tuesday morning, 2001.
War.
I saw it Live on t.v.
Real people.
Really dying.
Our country stunned dumb
Damaged beyond what
any single, or a thousand bullets could do.
We are all scarred.
In time and with
strength of Spirit and Country
We can turn our wounds
into beautiful tattoos...maybe
Doves, emblems of peace
and love and freedom.
But the pain shall and should always remain.
Passing through a birthing chamber
of horror, that dreadful morning,
the lesson to humanity must
continue to touch us forevermore,
Lest we forget
the Before
and
the After.

A fitting tribute for today and ALL of the lives that were lost in that short span that day, the victims of respiratory illness that have followed, and the very long span of futility abroad since and yet to come.


~ Lizzy

jeez, I'm on top of things. I didn't even realize what today was until I saw this. I mean I knew it was close, but didn't notice today. Here's the one I wrote. I didn't want to title it 9/11, so I never titled it, I do edit it every year though. My own little ceremony.



the radio on my way to work -
freak plane crash into some building
the radio in the lab -
another plane crash
and another
the boss comes in, smiles at me, nods
I say Have you been listening to this?
- What? That plane crash? Weird, huh?
after they fall Mirela comes
runs a step walks the next
I say You ok?
she flings her arm at the radio
- My brother
another fling he's there
she tries to be on the phone
this lab is on the top floor
of a twelve story building
the highest around by two
we go for a coffee, some air
I didn't know there were so many
televisions on campus

Manna ~

That's a powerful and impacting in-the-moment poem, ending with how we rather bizarrely notice somewhat 'ordinary' things at a time like that. My question is whether Mirela's brother is okay. Did he survive or miraculously not be there when it happened, as it was with some?


~ Lizzy

Mirela's brother really worked a few buildings away, and he wasn't at work yet anyway, and was and is fine. But if such a tragedy happened three buildings away from where my brother worked, I'd be freaked out too.

I would have been, too, Manna. Windows shattered in neighbouring buildings and the smoke and ash filled the streets... and there was no telling what else might happen next. I'm glad to hear he's okay. From some of the reports I've heard, being late for work or just coming in at a different time saved a number of lives.


~ Lizzy

Manna~

I like your idea of revising it each year. It must be interesting to see them lined up, with the changes, numbering (I assume) seven by now. The enormity of the event and the personal 'individual' aspect in your poem gives it a real poignancy.

I feel almost 'sick' like vertigo or something if I put myself back in 'that place' too vividly. I'd had long standing reservation to fly to Manhattan less than two weeks after it happened. It was surreal to be there, the energy was so different; a collective shock over that magnificent city...like it was the epicenter of an earthquake and what we felt outside their perimeter was a diluted version of what they experienced. Of course the victims had relative from 'all over,' I am speaking more about a 'collective' atmosphere.

L

well, I was thinking about the way I worded that, and I wasn't exactly honest. I do a lot of "editing" in my head. This is the first year I've written it down, the first year I felt like I could write it down. But every year, my thoughts go straight back to when it happened, and I tell someone (whoever is handy) my story. That's been consistent over the years. And everytime you do something over, you get better at it, you edit the story. It used to be much longer. This year it was a poem.

Laurie, I wish I could say yours were the level I thought I'd come to expect from you. Sorry. Shall I be brutal or politely constructive or just nice?

Hi Manna~

They both were written in maybe five minutes each. A verbal twitch as opposed to a well thought out poem that gets precedence over my own "feelings" like I usually attempt to do. In other words, they are "raw"

I don't want you to waste your time critting them...but appreciate your honesty. Really.

L

And tomorow it will be all over