Long September 11 Poems
Long September 11 Poems. Below are the most popular long September 11 by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long September 11 poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: September 11, 2026, for a contest sponsored By Margarita Lillico
Please listen to the poem lyrics in the sound video
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At five, what counts is the moon in my room—
a kite, stones in my pack, and a balloon.
My mother's warm hand, and grass after rain,
The world is vast, and wonderment is plain.
At fifteen, what matters is being seen,
a name on a wall, a place in the scene;
A friend who stay when the whole world departs,
and one reckless love that can break two hearts.
At thirty, what counts is building a life—
a weather-proof roof, a child, and a wife.
To stake my hours on a future I trust,
And learn what to hold when desire turns dust.
What counts at fifty is knowing what stays,
the unhurried morning; light through the haze.
Voices I almost lost tracking for years—
hands that head to hold me midst miles and tears.
At seventy, what counts is slight a thing—
a chair in sunlight, the hush before spring.
One face I can name, one hand holding mine—
and enough breath left to say, I am fine.
A morning like so many others
Sun shining though vaporous clouds
People traveling
Going to work
Living their lives as they normally would
Moments of terror
Images burned into the world’s consciousness
Planes crash into mighty American towers
Fire and smoke rise into the air
People burning
People screaming
People jumping to their deaths
Thousands of souls ascend to Heaven
Surrounded by an unearthly hell
The towers fall
Smoke, fire and dust cover the city
Bodies are torn apart by the towers’ remains
Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers
Some never to be found.
The anger grows
The mourning starts
Then it is shelved as the world moves on
Once a year it is remembered
The tears again flow
The anger again grows
And they it is gone in a moment
Forgotten
At least until next year
Apple tart tops apricot pie
Bitter gourd blends with bean curd fry
Carrot cake craves for chili sigh
Durian desserts yell doughnut cry.
Eggplants yield puddings shaped as chicks
Fruity gums glue potato sticks
Garlic lollipops waft shared licks
Hot tomatoes ignite toothpicks.
Ice cream, pepper flavor, alright
Jelly chocolates melt in light
Kindness candy brings heaven flight
Love-shaped cookies kiss lips with bite.
Merry marmalade smites bad pout
Nougat rewards weight lifter bout
Offered cheese ignores nosy doubt
Peanut butter makes nails so stout.
Quietude chips calm quirky strain
Restive popcorn reigns midst brain drain
Serenity soup soothes heart sprain
Tranquility sweets fight sleep pain.
Unity bread divides for all
Victory drinks kick fools to fall
Winsome pastries shout sugar call
Xanthic dips keep bouncing as ball.
Yummy delights appetite zest
Zooming toward dieter’s crest
Yearning for good night rest...
Zipper my mouth to thank* God, blest.
*1Thessalonians 5:18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
September 11, 2021
ABC with rhyme
5th place, "Nonsense Rhyme" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina; judged on 10/26/2021.
Stand tall New York, New York City Trade Centers, Financial buildings and U.S. planes. September 11,2002 The day of unknown terrorist attacks, Innocent hard working people. Individuals whose names varies fallen stars under the hands and plots of some self hatred and destruction. Fire fighters, policemen and women ready to protect and service. Many lost their lives to the hands of hatred now lay under rubble at the hands of someone else’s destruction. courage, honors, tears , bravery. Much respect goes out to the victims and their families , numerous volunteers that a day of hope will be bestowed to The great City of New York that one day it will be rebuilt. The melting pot of the stars, stripes, the red, white, blue. Much respect is due and once again New York, New York this poem is dedicated to you and families affected. 9/25/2001
Autumn brings colors to uplift "summer's soul"
"washing withered" greens with bright patina;
the eyesight delight which brightens and abets,
with "fiery fusion," new scenes old summer will accept-
highlights, imparted justly, as her season's last hurrah
while she leaves, bereaves her lost Xanadu,
in the brilliance of red/golds swirled with orange/amber,
crowning trees and carpeting sprawled bald lawns with cheer-
to "soften summer's" exit within "Autumn's arena"-
until she returns again- post next year's Spring Rebirth.
September 11, 2022
~1st Place~
Contest: The A's Have It
Sponsor: Joseph May
Judged: 10/02/2022
Theme/Title: Last Hurrah
Bold = Alphabetical order of 3 words
Quotes = Alliterations
Italics = Internal Rhyme
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Contest Rules:
2 or more lines with 3 words in alphabetical order. It can be
more words but the minimum is 3 words.
3 or more lines with alliterations.
2 or more lines with internal rhymes (perfect rhymes)
Spell out a word with the last letters of each line,
That word is your Title and your Theme
This is the flag that shall never fall,
a flag woven with stars...blue as the widest ocean,
and red as the blood sustaining my heartbeat evermore;
empires rise and fall, this one will endure furthermore,
and under the watchful eyes of the Almighty,
I foresee a renewed prosperity, not calamity!
They tried to tear it down and strip it of all its glory,
the mighty towers crumbled down and turned into toxic dust,
and still that flag was raised on the piles of debris
by the brazen firefighters of the greatest city;
and while this city breathed death everywhere...imagining the worst,
the Good Samatarians pulled many out of the infernal ruins!
Be proud, Americans for your bravery is long remembered,
and you, hard-working folks, who came from other countries to lead a better life,
loyalty and fortitude are the virtues to fight the dismayed and arrogant enemy;
all join in to sing liberty's anthem...God, our Lord, is listening!
Be assured that your flag shall never fall, hold it up with all your audacity;
and nobody can ever take it down or defile it by burning it with fire!
Wave, O brave Americans, the flag that shall never fall,
I am the foreigner who has praised its peaceful quest from the very beginning,
and will for endless ages through my poetic voice, which will never be silenced or die!
Let me sing with you, O fellow Americans, and share your fervent pride;
I will pray for those blessings that are a joy to be received,
so that your country remains safe and your flag shall never fall!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attack on America
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I'd love to share this so much with you!
Serenitity, calmness, all in a touch, or two.
The magic of my cat, is a wonder to me,
Hopefully, her magic transmits to thee!
The entire world may seem going nuts.
Yes, the slightest touch of her means so much.
Her soft purrs calm me, when I feel all is lost.
With her, no problem is worth the cost!
With her green eyes, she pierces my soul.
I know at once, peace is my only goal.
She'll soothe your grief or enhance your mind.
So that to your troubles, you grow blind.
You can tell her secrets, she'll never indulge.
She hides them in delucious, feline fudge.
She will love you, simply because you exist.
And gently seal it, with a paw on your wrist!
September 11, 2020
5pm PST
The sleepy begonias undulating slightly so undisturbed
leaned forward to encourage and wish me good fortune,
while the apricot trees spread around their strong aroma,
a dazzling daylight was rising from the majestic mount;
a soft voice rose from the next room, it was mamma
calling me: I sprung from my bed in disorder without
feeling grumpy, the alarm playing Mozart's sonata failed:
pants and sweater were neatly ironed to enhance my figure!
Saddened neighbors waited outside with teary and sad eyes,
hugs were exchanged, my goodbye was intensely bitter and bleak;
Lucy, the girl next door, came running and embraced me twice,
" When you arrive in America, write me. I nodded, unable to speak.
The Autmn's shadows persisted, fighting the invading light with clouds;
each face I stared at reflected the profound sadness that stirred inside!
I glanced at the calendar: September 11, 1966 the day of departure,
fate set that date with my approval embarking me on that journey
to far America: stripping me of childhood's joys with little reward.
I departed from the house of my ancestors: a sturdy medieval castle
built for a price who rode horses through forests with echoing sound:
his name was never revealed, its a story dramatized with mystery.
We lift up our eyes to the One whose throne is in heaven,
the eyes of servants looking to the face of their Master.
Eyes searching for our Creator
Who uncovers his mercy and might.
We lift up our ears to the One whose home is within us,
the ears of students listening for a call from their Teacher.
Ears straining to hear the voice of the Spirit
Who promises us help and hope.
We lift up our souls to the One Who forgives and heals,
the souls of sinners begging for a Physician.
Souls shifting from doubt to trust in Jesus
Who reveals light and life.
We lift up our hands to the One whose hands were pierced,
the hands of surrender raising to honor the Victor.
Hands stretching up to The Lord in commitment to Christ
Who gives us peace and purpose.
We lift up our voices to the One Who alone is worthy,
the voice of the saved praising their Savior.
Voices shouting, “Thank You!” to the Almighty One
Who welcomes us with grace and glory.
September 11, 2019
Contest: Write a Psalm
Hostess: Regina Riddle
No one must know,
It must be shielded,
It must be stifled,
The storm must be cloaked.
His father must not get wind of it,
It would be a shame,
His mother must not be told,
She would be troubled.
It mustn't be heard of a minister's son,
A clergy's son should be an immaculate vessel,
A typical example of a lamb and a dove,
Even though the tempest is pulling him apart.
He decides to deal with it himself,
To wrestle with his demons on his own,
To quest with his inordinate affection,
To tussle with his same-gender pull.
It was a ferocious battle,
He cried every night,
He asked himself so many questions,
He felt like escaping from the world.
He stumbled on a magazine,
It had an article that talked about his struggles,
He read about people that had similar problems,
It was a huge relief for him.
It told him that having such a desire doesn’t make him bad,
But carrying out his desires is where the problem lies,
He was told to meditate on God’s Word and keep on fighting,
For victory lies at the end of the tunnel.
This he did and found respite,
Despite the turbulence.
September 11, 2022.
Pick - A - Title, Vol 32 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibeh.