Fine Art Photography Gallery

In memoriam for those who have suffered in this day of violence
September 11th 2001

Photograph of Ms AmericaBob Snell

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Lost In America
By Greg Summers - Sept 21, 2001

In these days of suffering and loss
there is more in the eyes of those who stagger
through streets half blinded
by dust
hounded by noise,
there is more
in the hearts
of we who weep for our loss
for our brothers,

there is more
like a ghost of some story
once heard
reminds I can carry more than I am
as I seek
to find my own path
through this fire and dust
black smoke and crushed dreams

can't lead anyone as I search
for a leader
can't make promises
as my doubt burns
through the darkness of my own despair
though I have lost little
to compare
with the fathers and mothers
who will never come home
and the parent's who's children
and now sit alone

I have lost nothing
yet I stand with their tears
and reach for something
grasp nothing
and ache for that one answer
a promise of skies as safe as a breeze
and sweet, silent nights
and the order I knew

I ache though I know there is more
taught in the years by those to come
where I am now
where you stand
but for now,
I am blind



Greg Summers

On a warm fall morning
in September
while I wandered in and out
of the roses
the air warmed as the sun rose
and stirred a soft, warm breeze
there was a storm brewing
out there
It was silent here and the air was clear
and the sounds of the breeze came on
and sang through the petals of the morning glories
like angel's heavenly song
a voice called with tears
that would not be cried out for days
and the words that bled from her lips
were beyond what she might have said

there were lives in the fire
fathers lost
heroes were made that day
and an oath was uttered
as I stood in the flowers
that those who had sinned would pay
but beyond the blaze of anger
that rose from my heart as I listened
was sadness so deep it was darker than night
deeper than the blackness of space

it reached to places inward and out
breathed with life of it's own
and at once though I stood
with my friend in her garden
it was as if we both were alone

what we saw had changed
though we wouldn't believe it
for days, not weeks
maybe never
as the towers toppled
like a house built with cards drawn by chance

smoke smeared the once
post card sky
where stood towers of steel and glass
so elegant and strong they stood for the power
we built with our money and might.
but they fell in a moment
and drowned all we knew
with that horrible, horrible sound

he ghosts of that morning
are the landscape
the emptiness that the towers once filled
is a part of each moment
and a part of each dream
that demands the world should make sense

in our pain, in silence
we scream
return it to us, as it was
and the enemy laughs from his cave
well seen, he will never be found

this world should make sense
we demand even louder
this world should make sense
we cry out
but the towers are gone
and the emptiness grows
like a shadow over our hearts

and in the soft fall breeze, lilies wave
as if all was still safe and sound.



Jazz Fandango: An American Tragedy
Cid Chase

Oh, baby-baby, with the light-dark eyes~
Ragtime, ragtime, I'm a rag-tail frail,
Nutcracker, nutcracker, break-em-up, Girl.
It's a real-time, swing-time, Real Man's world.

Walk it off, walk it off, rock-and-roll Soul.
You're a hot-dog, mustard-dog, chili-dog hound-dog,
Working for a no-load, paper-trail, goldy-goldy roll.
Men don't cry, they just~mighty-mighty, lord-a'mighty~
Die, die, die.

Bean-Town, Tinsel-Town, Biggy-Biggy-Apple~
Lordy, lordy, lordy, how they all fall down.
Shake-down, take-down, low-down, smoky-hole~~
Roll on Jordan, souls on a river of Amazing Grace.

Fire-fixers, Healer-dealers, high-rolling Gold-getters,
Knocked down, leveled out, chunky-peanut-butter-spread~
Still living on the inside of the Kosmic-Blues Mind.
No-go, no-show, no-go fly-bye-bye, devils-in-the-woodpile~
Too much, too much.

Fire-ball, lightning-trails, smoke-and-mirror killers;
Camels in the out-back, Sheik-of-Arabee, Crazy-People
Wannabees, D-is-for-Dysfunctional, hiding in the Bushes
Where the Bulls don't, out-there, anywhere.

Hold-on, hold-on; touch me hard, touch me long, Perfect-Man.
Soul-drain, hearts-in-pain, waiting for the end-game, endlessly;
Alice's Restaurant, jumping-up-and-down, wanna kill-kill-kill.
Long, long-rifles, RedWhite&Blue run together As-a-Mauve.
Wave on, wave on.



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