The Day the World Stood Still

The title of this poem is The Day the World Stood Still... but actually it's also a fact.
September 11, 2001 was the day that men with evil hearts flew airplanes into buildings and into the ground with the intent to do nothing more than kill -
I've said that strong emotional situations often are the inspiration for me to write. This, even though I didn't know a single soul on any of those planes, brought me to tears and to my knees in absolute pain for those who died in buildings, and in planes, and on the ground that day. Do you remember where you were and what you were doing?
Once I could tear my eyes from the television, I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote this:
              

        The Day the World Stood Still

September 11, 2001 - Tuesday

My television told a tale through pictures on it's screen

And even then my heart stood still at what my eyes had seen.

My sheltered mind refused to think that anything was real

And even now as time has passed I don't know what to feel.

Horror seemed to mild and so I turned to disbelief.

But that emotion failed me too, and so I pondered grief.

Too deep to fathom all at once, I broke it into parts

To mourn the loss of thousands dead, of countless broken hearts.

Even that was much too great and I was overcome

I felt my heart begin to break and then my soul went numb.

Soon anger filled a deepening void that grew somewhere inside.

Regret then followed as I thought of all those who had died.

What dreams were shattered on that day as people stood below,

and watched a horror birth itself as tears began to flow?

Smoke and ashes filled the air to darken New York's skies.

The sounds of terror roared above the anguished, sorrowed cries.

And there I sat, observing all, too numb to move it seemed,

while there before my tear filled eyes, people ran and screamed.

Death poured down like falling rain, a mix of glass and steel.

Concrete burned and turned to dust, a scene that was surreal.

Some likened it to hell on earth, a war zone made complete

by crumbled buildings, twisted steel, the sound of running feet.

Acrid stinging, choking smoke tainted every breath

The smell of fuel and burning flesh, the smell of fiery death.

Heroes came and fell and died, and more came in their place,

determination carved, it seemed, on every weary face,

to find those buried underneath- to rescue and to save

the thousands that yet might still live from such a horrid grave.

America the beautiful, a proud and wondrous land

has fallen victim to a scar carved by a hateful hand.

Not only has it left a void of buildings strong and tall

It left a gnawing empty hole within us, one and all.

And as we find ourselves at loss and down upon our knees...

we find the comforting hands of care reach from overseas.

And know that we are not alone in what we have to bear...

Through words and actions small and large, they show us that they care.

And now the task has come to hand to find the ones to blame

for all the loss and grief and fear, for all the death and flame.

But rest assured that will be done, America won't rest

until the guilty party pays, for we are STILL the best.

United in our pledge to strive to keep our country free

Those who brought such grief and pain will soon be forced to see

The strength that formed this country, lives on within us all

and we will stand, a brotherhood, proud and brave and tall.

Fueled by grief and marching to the echoes of our tears

Strengthened by the anger and the memories of our fears

Those who vanquished lives and dreams, the thieves of hope and plans

will find themselves soon brought to beg for mercy at our hands.

And those who lead our country with wisdom and with pride

will hopefully remember all the innocents that died,

and brings the hands of justice down without a shred of doubt,

and keep in mind that freedom is what America is about.

September 13, 2001.

Never forget.

The Oak Tree (Sometime in 1989)

                                                                          The Oak Tree

There it stood; a mighty Oak

it's branches strong and thick.

But during a windstorm one branch broke

and the Oak tree knew it was sick.

Still it continued to stand and grow

bearing new leaves each Spring.

In the Fall the acorns fell below

and birds continued to sing.

With the passing years the tree grew weak,

it's wood more brittle each day.

"oh", thought the tree, " I wish I could speak...

Please help me is what I would say."

But no one noticed the once mighty Oak

no longer bore new leaves each Spring.

And no one cared if another branch broke

when the birds perched there to sing.

But the Oak tree knew it's time was near

That soon it would break and fall.

And no one would know, and no one would hear,

and no one would care at all.

The Oak had lived for a thousand years

at the edge of a forest deep.

And there it suffered in silent fear

on the brink of eternal sleep.

So for the Oak Spring came once more

and the tree looked down below...

The last two acorns it had bore

were now beginning to grow.

"My children!" thought the dying tree

"Grow tall and strong and live!

You're all that's left that's part of me,

and I have one gift to give."

And all the birds began to sing

a final sad farewell

Back to this earth from which I came

Thought the Oak tree as it fell.

And the two young trees did quake with grief

to see the old tree gone.

"Don't be sad" thought one to the other

"as long as we live it lives on."

{Note: I don't remember what inspired this poem, but I dedicate it to Angel Oak of John's Island, S.C. because it is a timeless and priceless part of history and her fate is in jeapordy with possible future developments surrounding her and her sister wetlands}

The Plum Tree

It's a beautiful spring morning and I want to go and see
All the new life that is growing, and to look at my Plum tree.

The Azaleas wait so patiently for their own flower show
while Roses, ever eager, begin to climb and grow.
Pecan leaf buds in furry coats grow all along the tree
I'll shower it with love and care and hope it bears for me.

And right here grows a memory that's taller every year.
My dad gave me that Plum tree and I'm proud to have it here.

He really loved that Plum tree
for it's beauty and it's shade.
I can see him sitting there now
with his glass of Lemonade.

I can see him cleaning fish beneath
it's purple crown of leaves,
after his big day of fishing
with his hat and sun burnt knees.

He let us have the Plum tree
We dug it up and brought it here.
I'm so glad I have this Plum tree
For it holds memories dear.

Spring has finally come now,
and I couldn't wait to see
What the dear old Plum tree looks like
and the memories it brings me.

Sue  (Crouse) Christopher 2-7-1986

The Big Plum Tree

{Note: For years my parents had a HUGE purple plum tree in their small backyard. The fruits were delicious and sweet and the shade was magnificent. I can remember daddy sitting under it with a glass of iced tea after a tedious and arduous workout with the weeds in his garden. Over time the tree grew too large and took up too much of the yard with it's shade (it seems you can't grow Beefsteak tomatoes in the shade...) and so he intended to cut it down. I, however, as well as my husband Joe, had other plans for it. Here is the story.}

"It's too big!" they said.
"You just can't do it!"
But Joe took the shovel and went right to it.

Joe sawed a little.
Dad pruned a lot.
"You're digging it up?!
I bet you're not!"

Determination had taken hold.
He would not quit for love, nor gold.
"I'll get this tree, I know I can.
It's man against tree and tree against man."

I'll dig it up and take it home
I want it for my very own.
With one last shove, the tree came free
Joe brought it home, and gave it to me.

And so we planted this lovely tree.
It grows here now for all to see.

(Hurricane Hugo eventually took the plum tree down. However for years after we brought it to Cross the tree never once faltered in blooming and producing delicious plums - plums that were apparently so delightful that our Doberman, Kismet, couldn't resist literally cramming as many in her mouth as she could and carrying them off to the corner of the house to eat her sweet treats. The tree was approximately 15 feet tall when Joe and Daddy started to dig it up. After a lot of pruning and digging, it stood about 10 feet tall, and was loaded into the back of a little blue Toyota truck. It stood up in the back and I remember Joe talking about people passing him on the Interstate, gaping at this tree that was almost as big as the little truck, and laughing. This just shows you that determination can be the best inspiration and often result in the best rewards.)

Going Home 4-12-1984

For Dad

It's time to come home
he heard a voice say.
You've suffered enough.
There's no need to stay.

But why should I go, Lord?
He cried out in fear.
My wife and my children,
my family's here.

Can I not stay here
to see them all grow...
They need me down here, Lord.
Oh, please, must I go?

I need you with me now
You've done all you can.
Don't fear for their needs,
for they're all in my hand.

I'll tend to them for you
I'll help them be strong...
So pass on your courage to them,
and Come Home.

Time September 21, 1982

{Note: My mother bought me my first typewriter for my birthday and sitting at her kitchen table, I typed this poem - which was actually my first}


Time, it's endless
Forever in motion
moving the earth
and the tides of the ocean.

Filling the sky
with sun's bright light
and the glimmer of stars
when it brings in the night.

Rich men would buy it
and store it as gold,
but it cannot be bought
for it cannot be sold.

By seconds and hours
it surely moves on,
leaving no trace
of where it has gone.

Always too busy
we go on and on
rushing for time,
until time is gone.

Written by Sue Christopher (Crouse)