Your tragic family:
The little wealth
You had is gone.
No place
To call home any more.
No welcoming friends
To take you in.
There’s nothing left to do
But leave.

Leaving should be
Very easy.
Theres nothing left
For you to pack.
Nor any trunk for
You to put things in.
No need either
For a suitcase -
You’re wearing
Everything  you own.

Who can help you -
They need help too.
Who can find
An answer in the ashes
That are the tombs
Of relatives,
Cremated
With no prayers spoken.

How is it
You must fly away.
You have no passport;
You have no funds
Beyond the dollars
In your pocket
When you ran.
You can’t go to
The bank for more
The contents of the vault
Are charred.
And papers with
Your name on them
Are gone.

You cannot call.
The wires are down.
The towers melted in the blaze.
The Post Office
Is in ruins.
And no one answers
When you shout.

You have friends
And relatives
In other places
That are safe.
The only thing that you can do
Is wait
For them to come and save you.
I hear jet engines
Revving up.
Hope must not be
Let to die.
             ljm

Like an old fashioned clock
That has been wound too tightly
And too many times
I don’t always get it right.
A few minutes fast
A few seconds slow
But the sun always sets
When it’s supposed to.
ljm

My prayer list held a disaster
That was burdened with three more
There has never been a time
I felt compelled to pray for
Catastrophic multiples:
The burned out victims of Hawaii,
The earthquake rubble in Morocco,
Survivors of Libya’s flood deluge
Plus Hurricanes and Tornados
Here in the land that we call home.
And all within the last two months.
So many in such a very short time.
Each one a calamity of people
Where lives and dreams were all destroyed
With loved ones left behind to weep.

Are we seeing here a prelude of
Four Horsemen and Apocalypse?
Have they begun their awful ride?
They carry different banners now:
Not War, but the deadly fires of Hell
Not Famine, but death-dealing floods
Not Pestilence but shaking down tall buildings
Not Death, but gales of immense destruction

Some say there is another Horse,
A Fifth, called Nuclear Annihilation
His banner flaunts the end of time
That snuffs the world before the Trumpet blows.
It’s kicking at the stable door
And we can hear the timbers cracking.

But grazing calmly in the pasture
Is the dappled horse called Six
His banner is the slow starvation
Of everything that supports life.
He need not ride, he only waits
For greed, indifference and sloth
To find the way to **** the earth
And everyone who lives upon it.

Is there any place to hide
Is there anything to do
Any way to make it better.
Can which sacrifice atone
For what we’ve done to our own planet -
What we’ve done to our own lives.
One book seems to have the answer
It’s on the Best Seller list.
Almost every household owns one.
Almost no one ever reads it.
Maybe finally…it’s time.
ljm

My British husband and I were visiting his folks in London on 9/11/01.  It was afternoon and we were in St Pancras tube station when I caught the tail end of a news crawl moving across the wall. I said “ mmm…looks like there’s been a plane crash somewhere", and we went on about our shopping excursion.

After choosing a model car in a toy shop a little later, we went to pay and the young clerk I spoke to said “Did you hear about the planes that hit the skyscrapers and made them fall down?”  That didn’t make any sense, and I wasn't sure I understood his East End accent so I just said, “No we didn’t - guess we should check the news” and we walked out.  As we went out, I said, “I guess another little plane hit the Empire state Building, but it certainly wouldn’t fall down.”  

However, on the tube on the way home, we overheard bits of conversation that frightened us, so we rushed in and turned on the TV, where they replayed every terrible scene over and over for the rest of the day.

We were glued to the Telly for the next 3 days for round-the-clock coverage.

When we finally ventured out and anyone heard my American accent, I was immediately hugged and told how sorry they were to see this happen.  This continued for the following three weeks of our stay.  Never anything but sympathy and kindness towards me and America. I’ll never forget it.

I wonder if we were so caring when Irish terrorists previously bombed Harrods.  I somehow doubt it.  The other thing I will never forget is the burning hatred that welled up in me for Sadam Hussein who was named at the time as being responsible. I had never before or since felt such virulent loathing for any one or anything.  When those thoughts threaten to resurface today, I shush them away by recalling the overwhelming kindness of the ordinary English folk towards me.  I will never forget that.

I saw Ground Zero shortly afterwards, and the hatred resurfaced, as  it does in some measure on every September 11. On those times I again turn to my memories of British kindness.
                                                                              ljm