Reflections on the World Trade Center Crisis

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Participant Comments follow below
I would like to submit the following poem. It was written by myself
September 22/01.

War Cry

On a bright, sunny, morning, September eleven,
all eyes watched in horror, as Hell came from Heaven.
Anger and envy, lurked in the skies,
waiting in silence, to expose their disguise.

New Yorkers stood frozen, unable to speak,
hearts fell to their stomachs, and legs became weak.
Four planes were turning, away from their course,
their destinations unknown, we all feared the worst.

Two towers of World Trade, standing tall with pride,
became victims of terror, screams came from inside.
The first plane that struck, exploded in flames,
as it crashed through the building, and shattered its frame.

Fear burned the hearts, of all those within,
when they saw the second, plane coming in.
Time stopped,.. following the collision,
the pilot proved deadly, with skill and precision.

As these fires blazed, in the floors from above,
people were screaming, and holding ones they love.
Those who escaped, with their bodies intact,
helped look for survivors, of this brutal attack.

Firemen, rescue workers, volunteers, and police,
found hundreds of people, all of them deceased.
With thousands still missing, and days passing by,
hold onto your hopes, and continue to try.

As the third plane crashed, into the Pentagon,
more lives were taken, of mercy, there was none.
When the last plane collided, into Pennsylvania ground,
we looked for some answers, and here's what was found.

From a black box containing, the noise from the plane,
came the voices of passengers, fighting back with disdain.
All of them died, the target was saved,
the flight was diverted, the White House unscathed.

The source of this evil, can only be defined,
as a lunatic madman, with a stark raving mind.
We must find him, and judge him, so we'll have the chance,
to restore our pride, and have our victory dance.

With painstaking efforts, and a coalition as one,
we can stop this barbarian, from finishing what has begun.
Shed tears of sorrow for the souls of these,
who died in this tragedy, and set their spirits free.

Let this be a lesson, to us who remain free,
that with life, liberty and freedom, there are no guarantees.
And when this is over, it can be only then,
that our voices of freedom, will rise up again.

So be strong and silent,
you Heroes of the night.
Avenge the innocent,
as we bid them Goodnight.

CAHollywood





Crystal A Hollywood    cahollywood1967@hotmail.com
08/19/03 22:36:47 GMT
FOR WARMTH
I hold my face in my two hands.
No, I am not crying.
I hold my face in my two hands,
to keep my loneliness warm
two hands protecting,
two hands nourishing,
two hands preventing
my soul from leaving me in anger.
-Thich Nhat Hanh

09/28/01 19:49:27 MDT
September 1, 1939

From Another Time by W. H. Auden

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright=20
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can=20
Unearth the whole offence
=46rom Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.=20

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire=20
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

=46rom the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

From Another Time by W. H. Auden, published by=
Random=20
House. Copyright =A9 1940 W. H. Auden, renewed by The Estate of W. H.=
Auden.=20
Used by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd.

(hopefully applicable here)
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence,
and toughness multiplies toughness
in a descending spiral of destruction...
The chain reaction of evil --
hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars --
must be broken, or we shall be plunged
into the darkness of annihilation."


--Dr. Martin Luther King
from the 14th century Persian mystic poet Hafiz:

A young woman asked Hafiz, "What is the sign
of someone knowing God?" Hafiz remained silent for
a few moments and looked deeply into the young person's
eyes, and then said, "Dear, they have dropped the
knife. They have dropped the cruel knife most so
often use upon their tender self, and others."

for me, when the knife is dropped, one is left
with compassion, for self and others. and when one
drops the knife used upon one's own tender self,
clarity awaits.

may clarity rain upon us.


Robert K. Funkhouser    rkf@cybermesa.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome difficulty.

Learn the alchemy True Human

Beings know:

the moment you accept what troubles

you've been given, the door opens.

Welcome difficulty as a familiar

comrade. Joke with torment

brought by the Friend.

Sorrows are the rags of old clothes

and jackets that serve to cover,

and then are taken off.

That undressing,

and the beautiful

naked body

underneath,

is the sweetness

that comes

after grief.

--RUMI
(in honor of a friend...)

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-RUMI ( a beautiful Suf (mystical Islam) poet