Firemen
find a brother in the rubble.
After so many days,
the body should be hard to take.
And yet, as they wrap him in the flag,
they speak to the corpse.
Don’t worry about it.
Don’t you worry about it, Mike.
You’re all right. You’re all right.
We’re carrying you out of here.
And from the hands of one
to the hands of another
and then to another
down the line,
across smoldering hills
and valleys never meant to be,
they pass their brother
home.
-- Dale Wisely
Birmingham, Ala.
(first published in National Catholic Reporter, 2002)
Tell us something.: I've picked up the tinwhistle again after several years, and have recently purchased a Chieftain v5 from Kerry Whistles that I cannot wait to get (why can't we beam stuff yet, come on Captain Kirk, get me my Low D!)
Thanks for sharing those, you guys.
I was living in Canada five years ago...I penned several works about my feelings then... Since you've both exibited the courage to display yours, I'll have to go home and dig mine out and transcribe them.
One of them I may have to scan so that you get the full effect; I did it on a typewriter then copied it into the negative on a copy machine...was a cool effect. That one I called "Black Tuesday"
“First lesson: money is not wealth; Second lesson: experiences are more valuable than possessions; Third lesson: by the time you arrive at your goal it’s never what you imagined it would be so learn to enjoy the process” - unknown
Tell us something.: I used to be a regular then I took up the bassoon. Bassoons don't have a lot of chiff. Not really, I have always been a drummer, and my C&F years were when I was a little tired of the drums. Now I'm back playing drums. I mist the C&F years, though.
These two poems appeared in a book, published by Regent Press, titled, An Eye for an Eye Makes the Whole World Blind: Poets on 9/11
It's available on Amazon
I also got to read them at a poetry club special meeting on the first anniversary.
Thanksgiving Eve, 2001
Today
I sort ruin,
lifting shards of concrete and shovels of rubble
picking up a bracelet attached to an arm attached to
nothing
which I carefully – reverently – place in a bag with a label
then pass to Mike
(who has a brother we hope to find)
who marches it to the refrigerated truck
waiting a block away.
Tomorrow
when they make me stay home,
before
I sit with my family
at the long table
heavy with turkey and stuffing and cranberries and mashed potatoes and gravy and
three types of pumpkin pie
where I will pretend to stuff myself while
distantly catching up on the lives of my sister's family
who visits only every other year,
and before
going through the motions of chortling
with my brothers for the thousandth time about
the night we and four of the Stopich boys picked up
Mrs. Delanko's VW Beetle and
set it on her front porch because she wouldn't let
her daughter Amanda
go out with the remaining Stopich boy,
after which
I will retire to the family room to watch football and
eventually nod off
to be later awakened to say goodbyes and
dry dishes and
put kids to bed
then myself
to lay awake until the 5:00 alarm lets me
put on my digging clothes
and go back,
before all that
I'll lead the grace.
I can't imagine where I will begin.
South Tower, 96th Floor, Corner Office
(First appeared in 'In Posse Review' in September, 2001)
Fresh air seduces me.
"Come where you can breathe,” she says.
There is no breathing here;
air is poison, searing, near solid.
To live I must lean and breathe.
Soon the flames will touch me,
push me to lean farther.
Past leaning is flying.
Flying is freedom;
freedom is choice.
The hatred behind me
soon will force choosing.
I hope I have the courage
to choose to fly.
"Meon an phobail a thogail trid an chultur"
(The people’s spirit is raised through culture)
Tell us something.: I used to be a regular then I took up the bassoon. Bassoons don't have a lot of chiff. Not really, I have always been a drummer, and my C&F years were when I was a little tired of the drums. Now I'm back playing drums. I mist the C&F years, though.
Tell us something.: "Tell us something" hits me a bit like someone asking me to tell a joke. I can always think of a hundred of them until someone asks me for one. You know how it is. Right now, I can't think of "something" to tell you. But I have to use at least 100 characters to inform you of that.
Just an ordinary morning
til the awful news came round:
plowshares turned to mighty swords
to bring the towers down
A day of loss and horor
while they gave their god the praise
the infidels cut down to size
for all their sinful ways
Draw the sword and beat the drum
and make the sinners pay
they're not worthy of this world
til they're forced to see the way.
Show up for the funeral
to spread our message well
tell them "God hates Faggots"
and "Matthew is in Hell"
then march around the graveyard
with cards and signs in hand
With any luck the TV crews
will show to all the land...as we
draw the sword and beat the drum
and prove the sinners wrong
they'll tremble in their fear and shame
and that will make us strong.
Little children, gather round
and listen what I say:
Jesus came to show us all
that there's a better way.
Do good to those who harm you
teach those who do wrong
stand up for the helpless
help the weak be strong
The war that is before us
is not against a man
Hatred only serves our foe.
Why can't you understand
that not with sword's loud clashing
nor roll of stirring drums:
With deeds of love and mercy
the heavenly kingdom comes.
Thomas Wilson
The final four lines are taken from the hymn "Lead on, O King Eternal" by E. W. Shurtleff.
