Rescue Teams’ Song

The plane came and filled the sky with its flame.

I knew then that I’d never,

Ever be the same.

Though the sun still shone

and the tide still turned,

The world stood still as the city burned.

When I heard the tales of the Rescue Teams,

Guilt and pain flowed like twin raging streams.

I wished there was something I could do,

To help those heroes make it through

The buildings and bodies raining down

On the sidewalks of my old hometown.

The smoke rose in a sky high cloud,

As debris fell on the fleeing crowd.

I saw the horror,

I fought my fears,

But I couldn’t stop my flooding tears.

The plane came and filled the sky with its flame.

I knew then that we’d never ever be the same.

I knew then that we’d never,

Ever be the same.

Though the sun still shone,

And the tide still turned.,

The world stood still as the city burned.

They were first responders

Doing what they must.

Now their bodies are ashes and dust.

Thanks to the lost three hundred forty three,

The first to arrive.

There are twenty five thousand who are still alive.

Thanks to what these martyrs have done,

Twenty five thousand can still walk in the sun.

Thanks to three hundred and forty three

That selflessly died,

Twenty five thousand live to help turn the tide,

Against all terror and the darkness it breeds.

We’ll be guided by the light of these glorious deeds.

The plane came and filled the sky with its flame.

I knew then that we’d never,

ever be the same.

Though the sun still shone,

and the tide still turned,

The world stood still as the city burned.

Remember the heroes,

remember their fate,

But let their love be reason celebrate.

Ted Getzel

The Novel Begins

Red quarry tiles are hard; red quarry tiles are cold, especially if you are using them as a mattress. The ceramic sucked at his body heat right through the thin piece of foam beneath Ted’s back as he lay behind the counter of the vacant restaurant that he hoped would be reborn as his dream. He used a couple of hoodies as his pillow. He pulled the old army blanket up to his chin. He was totally exhausted, so despite his crude lair he fell asleep within minutes.

BLUE HERON

Stillness incarnate

Blue wraith hidden by the sky

Feathered dinosaur

Writhing silver flashing death

Slow wide wings lifting

Ancient form perfect

Crested noble flesh eater

White heron gliding

Over the falls

legs trailing

Fishing with her eyes

Streaked cirrus ceiling

Above west wind driven puffs

Arrive with a chill

I sit in a dive of my own devising
Armed to the teeth with indignation
Hurling burning words into dark places
Hoping they will be used
to light new torches.

Ballad of the Thin Man

High above the foreign lands

Power in the Thin Man’s hands

Western science coalesced

In Thin Man’s finger firmly pressed.

He’s the one that gets to chose

Who will win

And who will lose.

The finger of his mailed fist

Picks names on a hidden list

Acting as avenging GOD

He’s never limp

Always hard

Seated on his mighty throne

His scepter a deadly drone

Pinstriped pinheads gather round

Holding targets they have found

Pictures for the Thin Man’s eyes

That discern just who will die.

Where are those who were aghast

At such actions in the past?