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twenty years later
marking two decades
I pause to think about
life’s trajectories

I know exactly
where I was
who I was with
what I was doing

I can’t say the same
with any assurance
about the location of
my current disposition

twenty years ago today
I was manning my
FT Info post
on the 18th floor
of WTC too
bashing away
on a clunky laptop
authoring a proposal
for an urgent sales call
at Lehman Brothers

when the blast went off
the concussive ******
rose through the building
like a undulating express train

i felt it enter my feet
bubbled up my legs
tangoed my coccyx
off its seat
shook my heart
clamored my arms
jumbled my brains

"*** was that!"
the lights blinked
then came back on
Patty said
“this is serious”
I said “yeah,,,
I’m busy....
go check it out”

the sirens sounded
but we still had power
i beavered away on my
LB solution

Patty came back
and the PA system
announced a mandatory
evacuation of the building
i put the finishing
touches on my
smart LB pitch
hit print and
off I went

in the hall
smoke was
leaking from
the elevator doors
wisps tickled the
the lights
dimmed again
only emergency
lit the shivering

the stair wells
were clogged
with 104 floors of
workers slogging

i was running
late for my
with big deal

i cut and dashed
my way downward
into the spiraling

slicing past
the slow moving
old folks, nudging
recklessly inhibited

i was running late
i was conscious of
expending time
as i flashed
by screamers
and hysterical
ladies twisting
ankles on bent
high heels
down the narrow
dim lit stairwell

i was out in
a flash

i emerged on the promenade
of the intercontinental hotel
a mass of shattered
glass sparkled in the
court below

a curious man
rousted from
his hotel
stood next to
me in perspiration
tainted tees
shorts and
flakes of
drizzled down
onto his hairpiece
he said something
about the Pentagon
and concluded with
“this was bad'
and slipped away into
a squall of flurries
i took him
for CIA

my investigation
i had to make time
to be on time
i jogged
through the
swelling mass
of gagging trundlers

their face, running
noses and drooling
mouths splashed
in black paint soot

i was late
but i was making
good time
as i pushed up
Greenwich Street
a parade
of fire trucks
honked and blared
a salute to my
diligent march

arriving at my
building security
whisked me away
"buildings closed
didn't you hear
the WTC was

my analog
phone binged
“jimmy, where
are you?
are you alright?
the WTC was bombed?
why didn’t you call?
I’m so worried.”

My wife was tearing.

“I got an important
sales call. I’m doing

I’m on my way...

Should i bring home
some Chinese from
Top Dik?”

Music Selection:
Clash: Rock The Casbah

jeffrey robin  Aug 2010
jeffrey robin Aug 2010
have we been betrayed or are we the betrayers?

solitary happiness? ...........what the truth?  what the lie?

if 2 times 3 does not equal 7.........?
what then my friend?

since the wtc towers could not have fallen as they say what is it we call government?

have we been  betrayed or are we the betrayers?

there are so many people all around

good people!  can't we tell?

have we been betrayed or are we the betrayers?

american foreign policy?  since the wtc towers...........!?

there are so many people all around

writing love poems about not being in love

have we been betrayed or are we the betrayers

there are so many people all around
Paul Lobo Portuges  Nov 2009
making love to make our son I kiss her eyes as if God were inside her
my wife gave birth to my son on the floor of the house I built
he keeps me up all night ***** on my sleeve feverish cries for his mama until dawn lifts the heads of sunflowers
forget poetry going out jazzed our winter born boy needs his diaper changed her ancient *** me house cleaning singing lullabies like a dove
wild iris sway as he wades downstream singing
one God many stories holding you our son walking the blue earth breathing away the pain with friends
amazing the ups and downs my son chasing ducks Sunday eating together my friend’s cancer battle my wife’s selfless moan
playing with candlelight my son burnt his finger I warned him
shower eat help my son memorize the constellations pay bills watch my wife sleep
worried about rats eating wallboard in the dead of night I get up cover my son
my son refuses to wear a raincoat in the summer rain
in his 2nd grade family drawing: my son gladday ready his mom hugging him me head in the clouds our cat smiling
when rains make bitter grass green with laughter my son springs from the winter of his room with his shedding dog and new baseball yelling to his buddies “Wait up!”
late afternoon October sycamore shadows blowing elm my son his dog me
after days of acid rain the lost sun comes promising heaven sent birds and boys' voices
dragged my son up the mountain to watch the meteor shower sons and fathers everywhere I hope
my best friend’s grave she loved singing my son asleep now she’s waving grass wildflowers
in a vacant lot my freckled face boy floats at the happy end of his 99¢ kite

the science of mystical seeds restores your left brain faith in everyday miracles like noisy boys climbing the music of old trees
if we could come back her a book of flowers our son blades of grass me the invisible wind
6 to 6 deep plowing then wall-to-wall screaming kids a leaky roof the old tractor my darling one naked notebooks full of dreams
sling shot boys kick red and gold leaves swirling down the street of locked doors at the tired end of Indian summer
my sons reaches for falling snow trampling veined leaves with footloose laughter fearless of winter's night the certain bones
true I care more than my son when he plays baseball
the orange tree my son planted today will fruit after we’re long gone
the bus driver brags about her son’s first home run wishes she could have been there
putting flowers on mother’s grave my son holds my hand
when night rises I yearn when my son comes home I relax when you sing I surrender
WTC on t.v. my son’s face a cloud of tears
his father beat him black and blue her husband her their sons their sons
the eyes told me that I’d play catch with his sons long after he thought breathed
I argued with my son explained the rules he still did what he wanted
my boy swaggers down Main St. sure he'll live forever
in the back seat good boys brag about good girls what they wanna do with them
sleepless until my son comes home late then finally I turn over
and rest
the light in my son’s words the silent stones of his tears
quiet room unmade bed boys playing in the rain stupid poems awful silence

all the dawns evening storms lovely ******* good talk tickled son blow plumeria drift
when the stone of night rises I a thief of songs yearn for the music of a woman's light
I don't get it gone son lost lover sick friends joyless graying unkissed ******* blood
half her half me our son didn't know where to go when she moved out
when I'm memory my son might think of me when he's gone I'm only a poem or two
bombs hunger lacklove prodigal son abandoned fields come down God get back to work
as i bathed in the ashes
of a swirling monstrous din
the cries of  a woman
hysterically expunging
ghastly portions of an all
consuming horror
pierced my ears,
cuddled my heart

as i huddled in a corner
biting lacerated knees
i beheld ax wielding
firemen swagger into the
jagged dangers of a
metallic avalanche, its
voracious maw
swallowing last
acts of heroic love

as i genuflected toward
Trinity's steeple,
i was cowed by
the rushing noise
of a splintering tower
collapsing downward,
billowing outward,
a gray predation
scattering the proud
humbling the mighty
breeding terror
threshing anything
fearfully racing
through the city's
cavernous breaches

as i fled down
Wall Street
screaming adrenalin
outran bits of the city
cascading down
stalking, nipping,
gnashing at fleeting steps
chasing reeling refugees
into miraculous sanctuaries
shielding trembling confusion
in blanket's of grace

as i peered into
the mortal wound
of the South Tower
incomprehensibly wondering
what my eyes refused to
understand; a slow
astonishing epiphany
of the grisly hell unfolding
in the upper floors
was confirmed by the
intermittent slow
cascade of leapers
deciding it was
a good day to die

as i decamped
temporary refuge
i entered an unsure
midnight of a blackened
street joining a growing mass
of refugees trundling eastward,
our burning eyes yearning
to perceive a river of escape
hoping the bits of torn cloth will
shield nostrils and cover mouths
protecting tinged lungs from
emulsified ash of glass
and asbestos laden air

as i made my way
northward, enveloped
in ambivalent confusion,
shell shocked  by civic turmoil,
covered in terror dust;
amassing voyeurs
rushing downtown
incredulously asked
what we witnessed,
a Jersey Journal stringer
refused to believe
people jumped
from the upper floors,
as vendors in Chinatown
marked up bottles of water
and a barkeep of a
crowded SOHO saloon
refused me entry
to use the
bathroom fearing
contamination risk...

as i stood depleted
on Christopher Street
ATMs and wireless
phones out of service and
my PATH way home
shut down;
a Sisters of Charity
AIDS hospice
brought me in,
wiped the terror dust
from my clothes,
gave me grape juice to drink,
set me a bed for the night
and put me to work
in the kitchen
to feed God's children.

as i stood on
a late afternoon
Washington Street,
witnessing Seven WTC
plunge into another raging billow
the collapsing day ended
in a room shared with
a young man traumatized
by the days events.
We related our
halting incomprehensions
as the sound of fighter jets
circling the city filled
the void in our
disjointed narratives.
My roommate related
that he was on the plaza
as jumpers splattered around him.  
A tearful PA Cop pleaded for help
to cover the dead.  
It was the last request of this
trembling public servant
as a jumper crushed him
as he finished speaking.

as i fell off to sleep that night
my young roommate
tossed and turned
in the maelstrom of
a deeply troubled sleep.

Music Selection:
Philip Glass Koyaanisqatsi

recollections of 9/11
Matt Mar 2015
The WTC towers
Were helped brought down with explosives

Explosions going off everywhere

Explosives were at work on WTC #7
Used to start the fires that would
Be used as excuse for total collapse

Firefighter says, "There is a bomb in the building-start clearing out"

The extreme heat from the pyroclastic clouds melted every car
And ambulance in its path

Active Thermitic Material
Discovered in the dust

May God be with the families
Of those who lost their loved ones
And with those who risked and gave their lives
To help others on 9/11/2001
Buildings are like men's ****** qualities...

I surmise as I sit in the shadow of the WTC.

I wonder why two?

One may have been too revealing,
to telling, alone, pornographic...

no mask to that...

I, on the 33rd floor of a Cortlandt St. nag
still get a full eye fill,

but not for long because they ***** anew always,
around my view...

a beautiful Hudson energizing the battery with
fresh flows is forever...

but not for my view...

I wonder who is building that long skinny one?
What about this short fat one?
Who's ******* is this?

I assume its a man's
it is a man's world...

little windows on the Hudson,
I spy natures *****...

James Brown;  
Man's World

Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
One of Barry Hodges' (aka Edna's)  charming "Memories" poems

I was in the office with my colleague plump Bet
[totally one of the filthiest ***** I have ever met,
a woman so indiscriminate in selecting a bloke
that no one could be ugly enough to miss out on a poke]
When we heard the news about the Twin Towers attack,
And dear Betty was seized laughing, an aphrodisiac
So fervent it resulted in her gobbing out a lump of phlegm
Green and hideously noisome, a truly lovely gem;
"Splot"* it went onto the floor, lying there reminiscent
Of a frog hit by a passing ten ton lorry laden with cement.

I recognised the symptoms of her desire unfolding
Only too well; I knew that when she got really going
With a frenzied bout of combined giggling and regurgitation,
Only one thing could bring her back to cruel reality: mass copulation.
Thus you will not need to be a polymath to realise and know
That what fat Bet required was to be ******, fast not slow,
By at least half a dozen strong hairy men of lengthy measure
And preferably up her fat ******* for max sensual pleasure,
Whilst she doled out ******* to anyone who offered
To risk their ***** in her mouth so kindly proffered.

Thus it came to pass that I rushed through the corridors
And yelled out to one and all "Betty's got the ******",
Whereupon every red-blooded chappie in the office
[including the one-legged dwarf printer Smelly Boris,
he of the infamous wart-encrusted, donkey ****]
Dropped what he was doing and rushed to the fray headlong
Eager to get their hands on waiting Bet, without fear,  
To give her one up her quivering flabby rear
Before it got too well-stretched, with gape and sag,
Like an old, empty, recyclable, inverted shopping bag.

So, we turned on the TV set to keep an eye on
All the happenings in distant Manhattan
And to keep Bet's state of excitement on the ball;
Dear reader, if anyone ever asks me "Old chap, do you recall
Where you were when the WTC came down?"
I can't forget
That, eager to get stuck in, I had just got my turn with waiting Bet,  
And seeing I was twelfth in line to give her a good poking
Her ***-hole was well and truly greased for action, O 'twas soaking.
In conclusion, my hearing was seriously damaged by her sublime
Multi-decibel screams of lust. Begorrah, but I had a grand old time.
jeffrey robin  Jun 2011
jeffrey robin Jun 2011
i just come back from new york city

the world trade center towers were gone!




but then again

AMERICA is gone, too!

we bein so very lazy!




i heard a lotta people lyin out loud




is the truth so false we
gotta ignore it?



about them wtc's.......

i heard a lotta stories

"fer cryin out loud!"



aint so hard to see it all

truth is simple

Geetha Raj Nov 2011
A journey of 10 years!
Just dashed in a flash -
But stay happy, tonight
For its the new year night!
Dead people and dreams -
The Pope, Super Man and Steve!
Careers, cars and movies -
BPOs, Ford 500 and Avatar's Navis!

A decade moves on -
All changed. Can't redeem.
But you be merry -
For its the new year, dearie!

Seen couples getting wed -
Arun Nayar and Liz Hurley!
Seen plenty of blood shed
Not them, but Iraq, Iran and the Afghani!

But don't you worry!
We will have days of glory
The past is dead -
For its the new year, ahead!

Heard mighty men scream
Osama v/s George B!
And seen teary eyes gleam
14th Dec'06 at WTC!

We may have lost men
But don't we have many more left?
Come, rejoice with no fear,
For its a new year, so no tears!

Seen many deaths -
Thousands went with the Tsunami!
Seen many more births -
Are we still behind the Chinese?

We will move ahead
For in God, we believe
The future is clear -
For its a new year, dear!
Written on 31st December, 2010.
Are new year eves really happy beginnings?
Or sad continuations?
Lora Lee Sep 2016
Walking down
       Second Avenue
inside trips of
       electric pulse
my eyes peeled back
to take it all in
my senses full
       of whizzing
action as I
hold your hand
in innocent wonder
I still take a stand
asking questions,
sometimes shyly
observing how I might
want to be
                    or not
colorful people
some with kids
some with spiky hair
clothes of all kinds
progressive air
we turn the corners
(Dad, are those
two women kissing?)
my eyes wide
yes I must
must keep them open
to access what I'm missing
punk queens and their friends
people of every culture
faces of every shade
some friendly some bitter
from dark onyx
          to cool jade
then sophisticated
streets with window
to contrast the
of Lower East Side
street art
West Side laid back
in its pre-hipster scene
now I am a soul-searching
adolescent, my hair dyed
a minty hue of green
vintage skirts and short-spiked hair
feeling anonymous and happy
loving the looks as I
kept my gaze steady
inside feeling my
budding womanhood
at work, making
                     me heady
and how I remember
as a kid
going to visit my grandpa
                                  at work
way up high
amazed by those Twin buildings
slicing clear blue sky
in an elevator that moved
from winds side to side
seeing the whole world
from the top
what a trip, what pride
Flashback to later
in a far-away land
all pregnant
my mouth dropping open
I watched them be ravaged
cityscape landmarks
sawed off in the middle
like a King Kong movie,
                  our eyes disbelieving
fire and brimstone
so much grieving
Trying to call dad and panicking
(***  is he supposed
go to the WTC branch today??)
Not believing how our
           belief in people
turned us into prey
My city I no longer live in your ribs
But you beat inside me
             today everyday
all months not only September
yet today tears do flow
as I vow
    to remember
I know this is long but it was hard to leave out certain things. New York City is a map of my life. I cannot only think of the events of September 11th without recalling the entire trip, and this is only the tip of the iceberg.

— The End —