I think all people who write poetry have their own 9/11 poem. That event may have inspired the most poetry not based on personal relationships since JFK's assassination.
Or perhaps a 9/11 poem is about personal relationships... who was unaffected by what happened and the aftermath we still face?
* * *
American field with amber waves like
slaves laboring into the wind.
Send pollen in air to clog trachea
breaking apart, strangle the divine.
A fine excuse for missing the days,
haze slithering ground up to nose
rose and to earth violently fell!
Hail in unscrupulous melody sings,
rings out a note of pure melancholy like
folly of the leaders taken deaf and blind,
signed away right to in agony hiss the
protagonists with serpent's tongues in their bliss.
Fists moving low caught American waves-
crave any old reason to look aside.
A snide and relentless fascination,
prostration on ground, her two proud generals like
minerals left in the firewall's wake,
faking they see what is to befall.
Keep all of their promises, all of their flaws!
Gnaws at the heart with amber fangs,
pangs in the night, wake with startled gasp-
rasp in breath from the pollen grains,
hear strains of a dirge now almost blithe.
Knife couldn't cut like the videotape-
gape at the carnage. Repeat! Repeat!
Replete with still frames of a heartsick plunge a
lunge from an edifice seeking the son.
Come feel the lady, all silk and perfume your
doom her caress, not fair to a man.
American waves in the wind, like the paper,
raped her and tossed the carcass aside.
Abided through pain as it rammed her
and rammed her like
amber waves blowing in September wind.
A blend so curious of smoke and frustration-
a nation, a people, frozen time and fear
leer at an enemy with phantom's guise
cry millions of throats,"vengeance our right!"
Fright masking pathways of reckless intent-
"Repent! Repent! For the wrath is upon us!"
All trust died the morning our lady's eyes closed.