Words on the Wind...

Our writers respond to

the attack on America.

 

 

 

 

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Home

By Lonna Kingsbury

 

 
  And the times, they've changed forever
from a little before
and nine o three
Depending on the region
devastation reigned
exploding
then imploding
towers twinned and strong
encompassing in meaning
the deep horrendous wrong

And the cameras crossed the waters
to lands of clicking tongues
to women touting victory
in jeweled resplendent robes
where youngsters dressed in western tees
laughingly formed vees

And the times, they've changed forever
echoing the screams
of innocents held hostage
of innocents at work
of innocents forced witness
who somehow must go on

And they crawled forth
crying
weeping
blindingly confused
reminiscent of Pompeii
or ovens taking rule
spewing forth the venom
of ignorance gone mad
wearing ash of innocents
singularly clad

Head to toe in muddied dust
bonded, neutral toned

cloaked in stark equality
Americans, at home

Copyright 2001 Lonna Kingsbury

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Season of Change

By Terry Lowenstein

 

 
  Summer passes ushering in fall.
The season of change.
And change has come.
It is a different world

Temperatures drop and we feel,
not just the early chill of winter,
but the cold of war.

It waits but around the corner,
as we wait.
Yes, we wait and listen,
to news that tells of infamy.
And echoes the past.

We weep.
As do those aged among us.
Except they weep tears
feed by memory.
Reflections of another day when,

our world seemed so peaceful.
Secluded from the havoc and turmoil
the rocked the globe.

But peace then as now was shattered.
By surprise, surprise
that gave way to anger.
A call to arms.

Now years later,
another day began.
Normal as any other.

Or so we thought,
wrapped in the cocoon
that was our innocence.

Now headlines mirror
that day of infamy that pales by
comparison.
Ghosts of the past,

return.
And old soldiers ready
for the war
that their sons will fight.

Copyright 2001 Terry Lowenstein

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My Country

By Terry Lowenstein

 

 
 

My America
is Norman Rockwell and Robert Frost.
Southern Fried Chicken and Yankee Pot Roast.

Hot dogs and apple pie.
Ice cold watermelon and
Boston baked beans.

Its Dixie.
The Battle Hymn of the Republic.
Lincoln's Gettysburg Address.

Its the White House, the Capital, the Pentagon.
Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln.

Its New York, Atlanta,
San Francisco and Boise.

Its Ford and Chevy.
The Yankees and the Braves.

Its small towns and picket fences.
Cities and subways.

Skyscrapers, small shops,
apartments and homes.
Churches and synagogues.

Families and friends.
A multitude of faces.

And for now,
its a country grieving and healing.
A country proudly
waving flags of red, white, and blue.

And though tears are shed now.
Tomorrow there will be laughter
Fireworks and celebration.

Lady Liberty will smile again.
As Uncle Sam leads parades
And the eagle flies high.

Copyright 2001 Terry Lowenstein

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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911

By Pamela J. Ferguson

 

 
  Today the world changed -
the bursting of the bubble
in the fire and rubble
and thousands of orphans made.

My throat is constricted with disbelief -
I mourn for the way it was.
Beyond today, our world is uncertain -
and we don't even know who to blame.

September 11, 2001

Copyright 2001 Pamela J. Ferguson

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

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Hope

By Jorah Long

 

 
  God put your arms around us all
and rock us back in to
sanity.
The images overwhelm me in
sorrow.
To those who lost someone loved, I pray for
solace.
On the lips of millions, whispered prayers soar
silently.
But deafening is the roar of
SURVIVAL.

And we will survive.
See it in the strength of a volunteer's arms
moving away the debris of evil doings.
Hope fights the good fight-
and wins.
Hope is the flower blooming in the rock,
the nest precariously balanced, full of life,
the curve of your neck as you look upward,
and your next breath.

Copyright 2001 Jorah Long

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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To Our Dead

By Jorah Long

 

 
 

Wake from your sleep
and dry your eyes.
Let the wind lift your being
and cool your pain.
Here you are loved-
Heroes.

Copyright 2001 Jorah Long

 

 


 

 

 

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The Wait
WTC

By Ginger Wiegman

 

 
  She lay unmoving in fear
of disturbing the hand
that still gripped her harness.
The hand that had held on
desperately
as they fell to this silent,
unknowable place.
A place as dark as the world
in which the person she guided
had lived every day.

For a while she heard
sounds in the distance,
a groan, rubble shifting,
but all was silent now.

It was hard to breath,
her thirst was unending.
She whimpered,
lay her muzzle on her paws,
shivered,
closed her eyes
and waited.

Copyright 2001 Ginger Wiegman

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Flying Home

By Tabitha M. Kasch

 

 
 

You were taken quickly from this life
by a force so evil and filled with hate.
So many questions but not enough answers.
How could this have been your fate?
Somehow you were the chosen ones,
you were called home to heaven above.
Yet, we are comforted in the fact
you are now surrounded by eternal love.
A horrific image forever burned in our minds.
An image that will never depart.
You will be missed as we say farewell,
But your memory will live on forever in our hearts.

Copyright 2001 Tabitha M. Kasch

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

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Lost in New York

By Juliana Taliaferro

 

 
  Grasping greedy handfuls of ether,
Lucifer and his horde of demons
ascended toward heaven
using the alias of another god.

Rejected at the gate, they fell again,
projectiles of pure evil
piercing glass, steel,
stone and souls.

Brimstone aromas waft in their wake.
Short of their goal,
still they laughingly leer
at the Hell they created here.

Distraught and indignant,
we vow retribution
on mortals who allowed him
to use them as tools.

Justifiably, we seek
to eradicate every monster,
wipe the universe free of
his cruel minions.

Is vengeance enough for those
whose world was lost to conflagration,
who strain for any whisper of hope,
refuse to relinquish miracle visions?

Soot-covered, sleepless,
loved ones search and entreat,
post flyers, pray endlessly,
sob silently.

How do they stand it?
How do they stand?

Copyright 2001 Juliana Taliaferro

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Indivisible

By Patricia Gomes

 

 
  "Have you seen my brother?"
Torment in the eyes that ask
and bring forth a photo
held in shaking fingers.

Yes, I have.
I see him in mine.

For on this day,
your brother,
your sister,
friend, wife and husband

are now ours.
We share in the agony of wait;
we cry your tears.
We know your anger for we are cloaked in our own.
Take my hand
and garner what strength is left there.
We remain undivided,
one nation under God.


Yes, I have seen your brother.
He is our brother
and we will see him
all the days of our lives.

Copyright 2001 Patricia Gomes

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dust to Dust

By W. Adam Mandelbaum

 

 
 

It seems we've grown accustomed to your face.

A race now to meet you, to greet you, to express our gratitude.

A flying visit to your latitude will prove our appreciation.

The communication delivered, it's time for the return receipt.

Complete in sincerity, will be the presentment.

Memento mori. Sic transit gloria mundi.

And we shall turn the tables in transubstantiation.

Our nation will from the blood pour out your wine.

The nine and ninety names shall on your lips be spoken.

When our token of thanks is offered on the plate of iron.

Copyright 2001 W. Adam Mandelbaum Esq.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Shadows Upon the Free

By William Robbins

 

 
 

Thieves raped the virgin soul.
In hate
they cast an evil darkness
over the breath of freedom.
What angry spell
lured them into a rage
to harm a host of unarmed lives?
Only death
can now defend
their sin.
Sobs like rainfall,
the deep, rippling sorrow
flows from a mother's heart.
Why did they
murder her child?
Answers are hidden in the wind
where the prayers
of both assassin and victims
now speak from
a sky without tears.

Copyright 2001 William Robbins

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Speak a New Tribe

By William Robbins

 

 
 

Speak a new tribe,
a new generation
born in the misery of stabs
to a vigil of begging.
Stark,
the raven's rage
pierced the shield.
It had cracked
and rusted
in a caretaker's arms.
A metal band aid
will not alone
heal
nor restore the vigor of confidence
that gave peace to the bed sheets.
Somewhere in the soul's sensorial hearing
sounds of unsafe
ever rob
each midnight
of its hesitations for fears.

Copyright 2001 William Robbins

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Of Mother Country

By William Robbins

 

 
 

Raise
the bloodied, thorny dagger
unto the pearled horizon.
Carpet of stripes
in red and white
strike against the ruin,
squeezing
a tide of blue
exploding in a Milky Way
of pallbearers
carrying tokens of altars
to the grassy mask of sleep.
By pennant draped
and lead salute
that ancient scroll of liberty
is sustained.
Forgotten at times
during the race,
remembered always
where rights suffer disgrace.

Copyright 2001 William Robbins

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reflection

By Norman S. Pollack

 

 
  in the hush of a september morning,
vulnerable, uncovered and
no longer indifferent to terror's infection,

is a house in mourning
with all the mirrors covered and
forcing a different kind of reflection.


twixt the shards of the skyline
is an invisible pier glass and
it cannot escape our detection.

present and future share a byline
as invisible ink peers back at the past and
is writing stanzas of self reflection.


when the veil is removed and
we stand before the speculum

will we be able to see?
will we want to see?
and
what will we see?

Copyright 2001 Norman S. Pollack

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Unbroken

By Norman S. Pollack

 

 
  grave (') s darkness had us

       s
          tu
     mb
            l
                e


                but

mo(u)rn(i)ng has not b ro  k e    n


our spirit

      nor our

               vision


we can

====================================
tunnel through these mountains of rubble
====================================

and though they think our

foun
datio
ns cr
umbl
ed

and while we are shocked by

dogmas
that teach
mass murder
is God's will


we remain
u
 m
   b
     i
      l
       i
       c
        a
          l .......... c-o-n-n-e-c-t-e-d.


(within our soul's parentheses)

listening to an (i)(am)bic heart beat,

you and i

are

in [and out of] verse

one (u)n(i)versal pulse

alive ..... resolved

Copyright 2001 Norman S. Pollack

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Twin Tower Triolet

By Norman S. Pollack

 

 
 

Try, oh let those souls know peace
Grant us the will and more, the power
We'll focus in through tears that blur
Try, Oh let those souls know peace
They are gone, but their spirits stir
The pain is ours not just the towers
Try, Oh let those souls know peace
Grant us the will and more, the power

Copyright 2001 Norman S. Pollack

 

 

 


 

 

 

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Day of the Silver Birds

By Lori Williams

 

 
  Silver birds soared as the cancer they harbored
metastasized in the hush of thousands.
The din of Satan's laughter exploded
through morning - more silent than the sound
of a million hearts breaking.
The heavens filled with our anguished song.

Lady Liberty trembled as her children's blood
washed her feet. Her flaming torch of welcome
extinguished by our tears. Silver birds soared
and souls flew, holding hands to peace.

Black plumes stole the sunshine,
skies blue beneath the smoke -a betrayal
of complacency. We ran from truth.
Our brave and fine ran into it,
clothed in red, white and blue.
Silver birds soared and my city fell
to its knees, burying our dead.

We grieve, we rage, we pray. It is not enough.
We want to awaken free from fear, see the sun
over a skyline that belongs there, know our children
will grow up. We want to laugh again - the way it was
before the silver birds soared.

Copyright 2001 Lori Williams

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Midday Walk on September 15th

By Lori Williams

 

 
  The day her doctor told me she would die soon,
I remember riding the bus home, wondering why
everyone was talking and laughing. My world had
turned upside down, but the sun shone bright.

I thought of that today as I walked through
my neighborhood. Children played, couples
kissed, people worked and shopped and
even smiled. The world has turned upside down,
but the sun shines bright. And we go on.

Copyright 2001 Lori Williams

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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Unbreathable

By Marie Eyre

 

 
 
The world awoke
in a strange room
this morning,
a room
filled with silver demons
and lost souls.

The world looked
through the window
and cried.
It saw
the smoking talons
claw the sky;
it watched its innocence
spiral into oblivion.

The world tumbled
from its bed
into fearful thoughts
and lost conclusions.
It tried to wipe
the cobwebs of terror
from its eyes.

Yesterday had slipped
into an abyss.

The world tried
to catch itself.
It ran
a heartbeat behind,
and on the dark side
of almost,
it gasped for air
in the thin,
unbreathable
despair.

Copyright 2001 Marie Eyre

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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When it Comes

By Marie Eyre

 

 
  When it comes,
it flutters like a dove
preparing to sit
next to its mate
on a cherry bough.

When it's near,
it hovers as a bee
attempting to land
on the sun-washed brow
of a daisy's face.

When it's shared,
it dances as a leaf
pretending to fly
with hummingbirds
on a summer breeze.

When it heals,
it lingers as a kiss
dissolving a tear
dripping diamond
down a lover's cheek.

When it lives,
it's breathless as a child
awaiting a gift.
This thing called peace,
so fragile, when it comes.

Copyright 2001 Marie Eyre

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dear America,

By Marie Eyre

 

 
  Dear America,
country of grace,
rainbow spirit,
myriad face,
we cross, with you,
into unknown dimensions.
The world,
a seething stage,
awaits the play.
We pause in the wings,
The future, front and center,
demands that the curtain rise
each actor unique,
each role unrehearsed.
on the great nation that dreamt,
tilled the soil,
rode the Iron Horse,
then, a spaceship.
America,
beautiful, diverse,
the scope of your dreams,
could not exceed their worth.

Yours sincerely,
A Canadian

Copyright 2001 Marie Eyre

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Glass Houses

By David Ruslander

 

 
  Briefcases crush ties,
pinstripes shoot
from the sluice,
turnstiles count sardines
packed into the A train.
Moms and Dads
percolate
from underground,
ride glass cubes
up skyscrapers.
Fifty floors up,

drinking coffee, Phyllis copies a cartoon;
remembers
it's soccer night for Amber.
Glass crashes,
pillars buckle,
iron groans,
a fireball erupts,
and the sky cries concrete.

Copyright 2001 David Ruslander

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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                     Listing of Poems  
 

 

Home  By Lonna Kingsbury

A Season of Change  By Terry Lowenstein

My Country  By Terry Lowenstein

911  By Pamela J. Ferguson

Hope  By Jorah Long

To Our Dead  By Jorah Long

The Wait  WTC  By Ginger Wiegman

Flying Home  By Tabitha M. Kasch

Lost in New York  By Juliana Taliaferro

Indivisible  By Patricia Gomes

Dust to Dust  By W. Adam Mandelbaum

Shadows Upon the Free  By William Robbins

Speak a New Tribe   By William Robbins

Of Mother Country  By William Robbins

Reflection   By Norman S. Pollack

Unbroken   By Norman S. Pollack

Twin Tower Triolet   By Norman S. Pollack

Day of the Silver Birds   By Lori Williams

Midday Walk on September 15th    By Lori Williams

Unbreathable   By Marie Eyre

When it Comes   By Marie Eyre

Dear America,   By Marie Eyre

Glass Houses   By David Ruslander

 
     
 
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