Words on the Wind...
Our writers respond to
the attack on America.
Home
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
A Season of Change
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
My Country
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
911
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
Hope
By Jorah Long
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
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
The Wait
WTC
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
Flying Home
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
Lost in New York
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
Indivisible
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
Dust to Dust
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.
Shadows Upon the Free
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
Speak a New Tribe
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
Of Mother Country
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
Reflection
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
Unbroken
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
Twin Tower Triolet
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
Day of the Silver Birds
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
Midday Walk on September 15th
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
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
When it Comes
By Marie Eyre
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
Dear America,
By Marie Eyre
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
Glass Houses
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
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