Nello R. Arterburn – Staff Sargeant, 517th Parachute Regimental Combat Team, Company G – of the original cadre of the 3rd Battalion
Filed under Family, History, Memory, Photography
The few short steps to cabin loft
were steep within the burden,
that knowing love quite won, soon lost,
would languish hearts and souls to hurt in…
Ann’s sickness, grave upon her face,
her frame in shadow of youth she’d been
before the gray and clotted waste
of broken dreams and lies let in…
Tho’ his love of her was true,
‘twas not enough to save
her punished heart within the gloom
left by another lover’s wave.
Yet the young man Abe, loved with his all,
through youth and love’s distractions,
so stood by Ann, her friend, quite tall
in depth of love and heart’s compassion.
She knew her love for Abe would grow
to be more than a friendship’s fodder,
that through his rugged awkwardness,
his tender heart would be his offer,
with hopes to spend eternity,
Ann Rutledge by his side,
yet New Salem’s sweetest daughter,
would not again beside him ride.
Thus, through those hours in quiet loft
the world reduced to one cabin’s space,
did span a lifetime’s ocean spent
and mark the truth upon his face.
Anon the world was witness
to the hours spent in precious loft,
just Abe and Ann and God himself,
between the three, conversations soft…
Yet when the hours drew near the line
where words are few and tears sublime,
through fateful touch and kiss goodbye,
forged from God, a quickened son…
By descent through stairs in cabin’s hold
did cast the youth in to the man,
that stood in history, that stood as one,
the reflective soul of Abraham Lincoln….
January 17th 1813 – August 25th, 1835, Ann Rutledge passed away at the age of 22
on her tombstone…
“Out of me unworthy and unknown
The vibrations of deathless music!
‘With malice toward none, with charity for all’.
Out of me the forgiveness of millions toward millions,
And the beneficent face of a nation
Shining with justice and truth.
I am Ann Rutledge who sleep beneath these weeds,
Beloved (in life) of Abraham Lincoln,
Wedded to him, not through union,
But through separation.
Bloom forever, O Republic,
From the dust of my bosom!”
— Edgar Lee Masters
Filed under History, Photography, Poetry, True Love
Brave of the brave the twice five thousand menApril 6 – 7, 1862 ~ Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee
Filed under History, Memory, Photography
My brother, my friend,
on life’s open field I’ve found you,
beyond the clamor and noise of the day.
Into your eyes, I see life has left you,
and so, for your good soul I pray.
In depths of the battle,
you rescued my stand,
where moments stretch told
would have forced this life’s hand.
In compassion and honor
you smiled to me tall,
yet for you, I could not
rescue your fall.
My beloved brother,
our father’s good son,
how can it be that
your soul has moved on,
to the wide open spaces
past earthly lament,
where heaven does welcome
the souls of such men?
Oh cry out sweet angels
and wrap in your arms
the soul of this good man.
Embrace in your charms,
and shed such a tear
to herald this soul,
that all who have known him
will pause in their role,
and recall his kind insight,
smile from his strength,
remember his laughter
and passion, at length.
Bring to us comfort
that his truth carries on,
in the lives that he touched
and his echoes in song.
Grant us the knowledge
that comes with such peace,
that forever he’s with us
in memory. Release
our sad grieving
by the truths of his deeds.
Allow us the strength
to go-on, not recede…
My brother, my friend,
through your life I’ve been blessed.
Please forgive living’s distance
and moves where I guessed
and faltered my step,
that left you alone.
For still do I love you,
even tho’ you have gone.
My stride and courage
so strengthened by you.
My compassion made deeper.
My love made more true.
By what you have given
unselfishly each day,
may I hold to such truths,
honor you … I pray.
Cirque above Emmaline Lake – Colorado Autumn
Twixt wooded slumber’s deepened musk,
the path in sun, dry and driving thus,
this autumn’s wind unites
the surreal of silence with living light,
brings a soul to wish for woods,
in season’s darkening fold.
Yet as the cooling shadows surround,
silent necessity grasps a hold,
therein listens closely…
Through the aspen’s rustling leaves,
whitened noise in hushed tones heaves,
brings a stirring soul to sigh…
There, surprise in unsought treasure,
a mountain spring in rushes,
sings of perches high in glory,
where leaps and bounds in daylight’s brilliance,
repeats its passing journey’s story…
In subtle stirs midst pine and brush,
a fearless doe in speckled blush
picks and paws at forest floor,
waits, to kindly hear my story,
passing by, yet gently more
she gives in trust and welcome,
let my heart and spirit fly.
Her trust is kindness giving
all my soul has come here for…
moments dwelt, my reason why,
along this path and forest floor…
Filed under Mountains, Nature, Photography, Poetry
sorrow in the ripened vine
Tears, that is, for summer’s wane
and musk of fall’s encroaching.
Wherein our energy’s spent in holding
every moment’s fateful poaching
of the lazy days, where waking thoughts
bring autumn breeze, to stir
in conscious summer’s hold
on this green moment’s sunlit allure.
Yet there’s sorrow in the ripened vine
that knows its numbered days,
that soon with breaking shorter morns
will show a frost-full play.
Here the summer’s autumn days
draw doors to close and so prepare
this nature’s way for wintering,
beyond the fervent harvest’s care.
Thus invest itself in moment’s solitude
and that which harbors memories’ choice,
for summer’s green in autumn’s march
declares a ready restful voice,
long after all the work is done,
beyond the work day’s chatter.
Yields such in moment’s mystery,
a pleasure kept in honest batter,
to fatten autumn’s crisping
and ripening left to gold,
therein rejoice in what has been,
leaves hope, again to hold.
This moment’s mystery, my contented heart
does ride and draw a soft repose,
where pleasure’s drawn for life’s sweet blood
again drives work in hope that knows
recurring pleasures in this life,
between the peaks of seasons, thus,
and so recount the memories,
in hope return, in time, I trust.
Filed under Nature, Photography, Poetry
Winter’s Geese
Seasons, age, the twain here met,
yet distant geese in lines so set
an expectation for the end,
journey exhausted, and so, my friend,
lays down to rest and so in finds,
winter’s role, aging time…
‘neath lines across November sky,
open, broken, holding sigh,
… time and why…
Filed under Nature, Photography, Poetry
101st Airborne
Today, the battle rages,
with cost to life in wrongs thought right.
Today, by wall in broken hall,
the battle calls to stand and fight,
the fight of freedom, truth and life
that faces a black oppression,
by men who seek to force their will
upon the weak without concession.
Tho’ my life may end here,
away from home and those I love,
my choice, my right, my duty’s here,
to ensure the liberty of those I love.
So again this ancient land,
enrobed in Europe’s history,
falls witness to decision’s point,
enraged with wars strong fury.
That if the will of right prevail,
in compassion’s truth courageous,
than all shall live beyond the moments
when danger’s dark engage us.
Or if I fall beside this wall,
my blood be spilt in histories’ making,
that I’ll have left my values true,
to those I love, my past in waking.
So hold me close sweet hand of God,
protect and bless those back home I love,
grant strength to war’s decision point,
let truth and compassion rise above…
For I am but a soldier,
embattled to values I hold as truths,
that tho’ the burden in war brings death,
I pray my strength will grant the proof,
that this war’s been not in vain.
Filed under History, Memory, Photography, Poetry
Here… with you!
bathed in summer’s glory,
by river bank whose telling story
would speak of eon’s past
and more to come in eternal view…
if this were the last day of my life, my love,
I’d spend it here with you…
in whispered breeze, ‘neath summer’s trees
of cottonwood, aspen, yew…
midst calling thrush and black bird’s song,
cricket’s constant ratchet long…
if this were the last day of my life,
I’d spend it here with you, my wife…
‘neath summer sun and trembling hushes,
into your eyes I’d fall…
hold this bliss in true love’s kiss,
through waves of love in sudden rushes,
and to my God I’d call…
“This is my wife, my love, my life –
for her my heart beats true!”
If this were the last day of my life,
my love, I’d spend every moment,
every waking sound, with you…
my wife, my love, – with you!
Filed under Mountains, Nature, Photography, Poetry, True Love
Writer’s Corner
Filed under Photography, Poetry
jaybluepoems 