Poetry Therapy - Poetry: Giving Sorrow Words

GIVING SORROW WORDS:
Poems of Strength and Solace

The following were written and collected after the World Trade Center/Pentagon attacks, September 11, 2001. Though we do receive inquiries from time to time, please note that we typically do not publish poetry on this web site unless it is a special project like Giving Sorrow Words. For more information, or to obtain a complete copy of Giving Sorrow Words, please see our Publications page.

Hopi Prayer, offered by Gerri Power
New Zealand Note #1, Gerri Power
Muslim Prayer for Peace, offered by Deborah Grayson
Mothers of Sons, John Eastwood
Aftermath, Bessie Williams Simmons
A Prayer for Healers, Dana Reynolds
September 11, 2001, Cathy Callahan
Elbows, John Fox
One Brit's Perspective, Roz Cawley
Untitled, Jerri Chaplin
Found in an Old Prayer Book, offered by Charlotte Peterson
Prayer in the Wake of Events...., Donaleen Saul
Hope, Nicholas Mazza
Haiku, Hiroshi Tamura
Untitled, Fran Pullara
New Zealand Note #2, Gerri Power
An American Life, Charlie Rossiter

Hold on to what is good
even if it's a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe
even if it's a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do
even if it's a long way from here.
Hold on to your life
even if it's easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand
even when I've gone away from you.
--A Hopi prayer offered by NAPT member Gerri Power, Auckland, New Zealand

Gerri Power in New Zealand writes, on the day after the terrorist attack: "Hello Dearest friends - it is another day here - a day towards your future as you still live in the horror of what is now my yesterday. Many New Zealanders have kept a vigil for you through your dark night. As you sleep we hold the light. It is spring here ... too soon maybe for you to hope. But we can hope for you. Lean on us in any way you need to. Not just me as your friend - but lean against the heart of this nation that holds you. If it is ever possible for one country to hold another in its hearts arms - then this country of the long white cloud holds you. Rest against us. At night when you sleep or are restless - know we are awake and - will companion you through your despair. No matter the distance - no matter the miles - we are beside you. You are not alone."

Muslim Prayer for Peace
In the name of Allah,
the beneficent, the merciful.
Praise be to the Lord of the
Universe who has created us and
made us into tribes and nations
That we may know each other, not that
we may despise each other.
If the enemy incline towards peace, do
thou also incline towards peace, and
trust God, for the Lord is the one that
heareth and knoweth all things.
And the servants of God,
Most gracious are those who walk on
the Earth in humility, and when we
address them, we say "PEACE."

--from the website of Peace Troubadour James Twyman, emissaryoflight.com, offered by poetry therapist and former NAPT Board member Deborah Grayson, Ft. Lauderdale, FL

John Eastwood of England wrote his first poem in response to his partner's fear that her sons might be conscripted into the armed forces.

We are the mothers of sons.
Screaming and wrinkled, scraps of the future
Driven and lore-filled pieces of present
Terrified, desperate heroes of hours.
We are the mothers of sons.

We are the fathers of sons.
Little league baseball and first legal beer
Koran and mind's hatred, crying "Bismillah!"
Calling us up to say, "Don't wait supper."
We are the fathers of sons.

We are the brothers of sons.
Who showed us the way with our first real girlfriend
See how proudly they wear their colours of freedom
Their photographs proudly sit black-framed on mantel shelves.
We are the brothers of sons.

We are the sisters of sons.
They guarded us when our blood started showing
Protected us when the searchers came calling
Thought of us last when their blood was congealing
We are the sisters of sons.

We are the offspring of sons.
They died that we might have better lives
They died that we might have better lives
They died that we might have better lives
We are the offspring of sons.

NAPT Board member Bessie Williams Simmons writes, "I wrote Aftermath in memory of a beloved friend who had transitioned to the other side two days before coming to Charleston to visit. The shock of his sudden passing caused me to flee to a dear friend in Hawaii; while walking as a dazed & crazed-woman throughout that beautiful landscape, my mind wrote this poem in his memory. May we always find inner-peace, even in times of chaos!"

Aftermath
When do you stop missing a soul-
mate who left this life
with a part of your soul?
A soul-mate who just up
and left all of us back here, to go
live amongst the unliving.
No warnings. No telltale signs.
Nothing to prepare us for this un-
expected exit, but leaving
just the same. When does the
connection end? I mean, the ending
of simple ties that bind...
like by-chance trodding upon still remembered
places where your "mate" lived and died, and
automatically hurting inside?
And when can you hear beautiful
music again, without remembering?
And when do you delete
your beloved's name, number
from your computerized
address list, or from the personal one
you carry around?
When can you hear your soul-mate's
fairly-common-name and not experience
sudden grief, pain?
And when does "true" reality set in?
To stop the momentary forgetting that your
special one is really gone?
When does my soul heal whole again?

A Prayer for Healers
God grant us the grace to be your servants in this time of transformation. May we bring our full and grounded selves and our open hearts and souls to those we are called to minister to. Fill us, oh loving Creator, with compassion and strength. May our words be Your words. May our actions be Your actions. May our physical and emotional reserves be replenished and nourished moment by moment so we may be anchored in Your Sacred Heart to do the work you are calling us to do. Please protect us from evil with legions of angels as we move beyond our human fear more deeply into your service. Amen
-- Dana Reynolds, Carmel CA, NAPT member

NAPT member Cathy Callahan, an alternative high school counselor/teacher, writes: "I spent [September 12] talking about [September 11] with my 9th and 10th grade students. They wrote thoughtful, intense 10 and 15 minute journal entries which they shared with each other. They read poems aloud from my copy of "Screams Aren't Enough" written by the students of Columbine High School. They created word collections of images, feelings, thoughts of yesterday's tragedy and then wrote group poems which are now posted on the walls of our classroom. They were kids today--confused, angry, funny, sad, shocked, scared, working together with loud, teen-age vigor, moving on, breathing, still glad when the last school bell rang to be free just to be. My students asked me to bring some of my poetry to class. Exhausted last night, I nevertheless was roused by this poem seeking voice."

NAPT Board member and author/teacher/poetry therapist John Fox writes: "I wrote this poem on the occasion of the deaths of Princess Diana and Mother Teresa, after seeing photos of them holding the sick and suffering. I offer it now to the firefighters, police officers, rescue workers and volunteers in New York City and Washington DC."

Elbows
The sacred quality
of arms, particularly
elbows that make
each of us working class,
put us here for a purpose.
Look at elbows and
what they say:
elbow your way
into the passive crowd
to do what is needed,
give it your elbow grease --
this is enough.
Elbows, no one can
possess them because
they can disappear and
you move them
into action by choice.
And that choice
is prayer in action.
The deepest current of love
is not found in the heart.
That is the certain spring,
the natural ease, the flow
from the mountaintop.
The greatest current of love
rushes forward in the choice
to make a cradle of the body.

One Brit's Perspective
How dare I startle from sleep at dawn,
Nausea flooding my brain
Out from the dreamstate,
Planes, towers, collapsing,
Fireball brainwash, again and again?

How dare I weep as Bill hugs the bereft,
The pleading, the bleeding hearts,
And wraps them, instinctively, in his humanity
How dare I share such pain?

How dare I peer past the eyes of your President
Struggling hard to hold on,
How dare I question his comprehension?
"Not the best, but the only one"

How dare I fold up
Listening to voices depart for Eternity
"Just remember I love you......
.........the roof is falling"
Why should it matter to me?

Because, shoulder to shoulder
My brothers and sisters,
My heart breaks, my eyes weep for us all
Suffering humanity links us together
Wraps us all in it's smoking, black pall.

Those last whispered words, through immolation
Will be gathered like diamond tears,
In treasure-cask hearts
They'll be wrapped and held
All that's left, for those left, through the years

With you all I'll watch and I'll weep and I'll rage
And I'll listen, dream terrors and share,
But I'll also grasp life and rejoice in it's living
Because, Hawks of Death - I JUST DARE!

I lost a member of my family.
A grandfather, a grandmother,
a sister, son and brother.
I lost my father, my mother,
my English cousin, my Japanese daughter.
I lost a member of my family,
my Israeli every man,
my American every woman,
my family,
extended, nuclear and
everything is immediate.
I have veiled my mirrors,
removed my leather shoes,
said Kaddish nearly six thousand times
said Kaddish six million times
I have lost a member of my family
I will sit Shiva seven days
I will grieve forever.

Found in an Old Prayer Book
There is more light than shadow;
There are more smiles than cares;
More grass grows on the meadow
Than brambles, weeds, and tares.
There is more song than weekpin;
There is more sun than rain;
There is more golden reaping
Than lost and blighted grain.
There is more peace than terror;
There is more hope than fear;
There is more truth than error;
More rights than wrongs appear.
On the long road to glory
We climb more than we fall;
And by and large the story
Comes out right after all.
-- Clarence Edwin Flynn, offered by
NAPT member Charlotte Petersen

A Prayer in the Wake of the Events in the United States, September 11, 2001
I pray for those who were killed and those who killed; for the wounded and the lost; for the bereaved families and friends; for our children who must somehow make sense of this tragedy; for the parents, teachers, and counsellors who are helping them; for those who save others ö the men and women of the police, firefighters and all those valiant people who rescue and protect; for the ordinary people in the streets who have helped in spite of the danger to themselves; for the Red Cross and the Salvation Army and other organizations who are giving their support; for the doctors, paramedics, nurses and other hospital staff who are tending to the wounded and dying; for the citizens from all over North America and the world who are reaching out to help in whatever way they can. I pray for the strength, skill and courage of airline pilots and for the safety of airline passengers. I pray for the media that they may continue covering with courage and heart these terrifying events and their ramifications. I pray for President Bush and other government leaders in the U.S. and throughout the world that they may be safe and that they may have the wisdom and receive the guidance needed to lead with intelligence and compassion through the days ahead.

And I pray for myself and all others that we may rise in spirit to the challenge to operate from love and passionate courage, not fear and hatred. May we use this tragedy to expand our capacity for compassion and for seeing our world as one people. May this tragedy teach us about the preciousness of life and remind us to behave accordingly. May our hearts remain open; may we uphold a peaceful consciousness; may we sustain our connection with Spirit; may we operate from Divine Integrity. May we be guided to take action wherever and however we can to make a better world in which these kinds of happenings no longer occur.
May it be so. Amen.
--by Donaleen Saul, Vancouver, British Columbia, NAPT member

Hope
is the belief
that one hand
reaching to another
can eventually
touch the moon,
allowing the light
to guide us
through the night.

Hiroshi Tamura of Tokyo, NAPT's first international Board member, is a Renku Master. Renku is a form of poetry that is written in community, with each haiku-like verse linked to the ones before it. Here, he offers a traditional haiku.

In Central Park tonight, 100 yards from where
John Lennon was shot in front of the Dakota,
People gather with candles and murmurs
Laying objects on the marble monument
While they remember his death and the
Death of the dream he had imagined for us.

They are not mourning John alone, and they
Are not mourning the tomb at ground zero
Only 20 subway stops downtown. They are
Mourning their youth, a time when life
Seemed unlimited and new, when anyone
Could make it in old New York, New York.

Each summer I go to Johnâs monument and
Lay a white lily with everyone elseâs offerings.
I photograph people of all colors and ages and
I wander in Strawberry Fields to read again the
Messages of peace carved in stone from people
And governments around the world who imagined.

This week Iâve gone to the mall and wandered
To be anonymous in a crowd of misty strangers.
I do not know these people, nor wish to, but
they somehow feel like family, the accepting kind.
In my head I light candles to the Fran that was
While I carry Nordstrom bags filled with sorrow.

©Frances A. Pullara, Redondo Beach CA, NAPT member

On Day Three, Gerri in New Zealand writes, " It is morning again. You must all be so weary by now. And perhaps afraid. We hear talk of war here. Perhaps exaggerated... perhaps not. All over our country candles are lit for you....prayers are being said for you......we see your courage and love for each other.....your anguish in the waiting for news of safety. And we watch....we watch over you..."

NAPT Board member Charlie Rossiter writes, "Here's one for the 'life goes on' section of our poetry collection."

An American Life

Far from skyscraper terrorists
and talking heads talk
of human cruelty
and kindness, we bask
in late September, collect
fossil rocks and rubied leaves
along lake shores and river banks
of North Ontario.
At the Agawa Indian Craft Center
we listen to drums and flutes,
play tourist, which we are,
among crystals and t-shirts
with wolves and moose,
the ubiquitous maple leaf.
Across CN17, the trans-Canada,
we lunch on enormous burgers
and perfect fries
at the "Trapper's Table"
a down-home diner
more local than tourist
with casual service to match.
Later, near sunset,
we gather driftwood
and wade Superior
at Batchawanna Bay
Provincial Park.
In the morning we will
slow cross the border
and continue on down
the Michigan side
of that Great Lake
rising as we please,
going as we please,
stopping as we please,
each breath a tribute
to ourselves
the living
the wounded
the mourning
and the dead.

(Trans-Canada Highway/Sault Ste Marie, Ontario, 9/28/01)
Charlie Rossiter, Chicago, NAPT Board member