WTCquestion.poetry

## Reflections on the World Trade Center Crisis

### What is the poetry or prose you find important, helpful, or relevant at this time?

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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