Category Archives: History

The Cobblestone Path

Along this cobbled path I find a peace of mind beneath an arc of wooded shade that calms the day, grants a cool and welcomed dark.
The city, all but gone here, echoes histories’ whispered tones of carriages culled in laughter midst heavy hooves upon the stones.
No rush of time betrays this scene, as slowly drifts this path, eternal.
Horizon calls a timeless point where all resolves, green and vernal.
Memories sung herein, seduce, threaded through each moment’s play, entreating peace and longing ‘tween every step along the way.
Just few I find, my passersby, acknowledge silent solace too, with gentle nods and hidden smiles upon the cobblestone and view.
I pray my heart be caught within as whispered soul enrapt in peace.
I pray this wooded shade of summer holds me fast in sweet release.

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Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Abandoned House, Abandoned Clock

Silence in the broken night
withdraws its guarded head within
the fallen shadows black and white,
praying to give in.

Give in again to seconds passed
that carried subtle ochre schemes
of dusk upon suspended dust
in ebbing’s sweetened dreams.

Sweetened dreams of days once held
upon a rich and tempest life,
so bound indulgence beckoning
to claim their fleeting moments, wife.

Fleeting fast in merriment,
echoes through the oaken halls,
centuries claim to ignorance,
desolation within the fall.

Within the fall such silence broken,
sweetened dreams remain as token
seconds in the tempest, scorned
in dusk’s reflection, time is slowly torn.

There the clockworks stop…

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Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry

WWII – in memorial

Once upon a battlefield
I stood where heroes fell,
where brothers, sons and lovers paused
to hear death’s tolling knell.

Once upon an open sea
I sailed where deep remain
the bodies of courageous men
who, by war were sadly slain.

Once upon the azure blue
I drifted through the crimson cloud
where valiant fighters dealt with death
to die alone in sullen shroud.

I’ve felt the moments summoned.
I’ve seen the grave despair.
I’ve witnessed every breath so gained
and every soul laid bare.

I’ve shed a tear not meant for me,
but for the uncaressed
that ne’er again felt warmth of love
before their final rest.

To their souls my prayer,
my honor and my truth,
that they be blessed eternal,
and blessed in memory’s youth!

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Filed under History, Memory, Poetry

Where Nothing Has Gone Wrong!

As blood of soul there spilt upon the page where nothing has gone wrong but to absorb the fits of scribe that flies a pestilent horse that tried to capture all the woes of life, leech the pain from blood and bone, storm the memories castle wall to leave a wake of dead unknown… it is the ink that screams its thoughts when freed from nib where once was caught, yet ‘neath the guide of trembling hand is whipped to what is right or damned!

Its purpose rent for petty cash to columns bound to rags of trash, its heart of blackened knightly steel denied the point to fight and feel, to wake the living thoughts of men, to dare the sword to come again!

Alas, it is this ink’s last wish that if it has to live like this, can’t an innuendo gleam between the printed column’s seam? Can’t it bring some special prose that burns the rag in eyes deposed to only study long enough to only see vanilla thought, that through a few swift strokes of pen will render what is greatest wrought of poet’s pen and lash of ink, by eyes that see and minds that think, by what imagined, real or dead comes forth through pen and ink that bled its soul upon the page where nothing has gone wrong, and nothing ever pays the bills but hearts of men, real men, who long… who long to feel and pray and fight, to stand in purpose, stand with right and herald truths there brought from them, enflamed in passion by the pen and by the screaming heart of ink, that brings our souls to write and think!

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WWI – Remembrance

Cold the wet horizon lies in silhouetted waste
that runs from where my footsteps fall in hesitation’s haste.
Upon this pitted road of ruin, blackened earth from bombs and blood,
my destination’s certain claim is death here in this mud.

In Liege the madness started, as all declared their stance to war,
that by autumnal equinox the fallen rose half million more.

The stench of death in mix of gas recoils my stepping’s gait,
yet onward to what’s still undone denies this bitter state.
The brazen mud and field works bare the corpses of the dead,
yet standing forest memories form the lamp posts of this hellish stead.

Gallipoli, Verdun, ring fallen echoes home,
yet nothing ranked the senselessness of what we faced in Somme.

The spring of 1918 held hope for millions dead,
yet those of us who stand here still, returned this hope with dread.
Now upon this backing rush storm troopers raised in ire,
whispers of remembrance rekindling this fire.

Now we drive in final push, Amiens and silent Somme,
knowing Hindenburg awaits with more of hell to come.

I count the eyes remaining of the faces that I’ve loved,
these brothers mine, some traces of their angels raised above.
I feel the dank of weary hearts held in courageous hope,
I sense the end is near now, and pray that I can cope…

one more push, one more trench,
another bloodied night in stench
that fills my nostrils sorely with a pain I’ll never loose,
resolve to carry on in strength, relent to those I choose
to aim a fatal blow toward or drop to sudden cover,
waiting for that one last breath in life or as death’s lover.

Over the top boys!

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Filed under History, Memory, Perspective, Poetry

Spanish Moss and Oak

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Bound in time immortal,
framed by bricks once placed with hands
whose duty was an honor,
whose will imbued these walls to stand.

To stand, that is, near sweet ones
as they rest in kind repose,
as stoic hallowed border,
by life entrusted, of time composed.

Time composed ‘neath Spanish moss
draped with love in live oak’s arms,
rests bathed in subtle shades of green
blushing in these southern charms.

Charms that whispered life from home,
life across a sea.
Charms that chance relayed an echo
held in life now free.

Held to time immortal,
where once this fading dream was spoke,
will to dust return eternal
‘neath this Spanish moss and oak.

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Filed under History, Nature, Perspective, Photography, Poetry, Universal Soul

Daffodils

Where daffodils
once graced the hill
and held the silver rill
compliant,
now rests defined,
through waning time
and starves the course’s rhyme
to silent.

When once across
the lea she tossed
a heartfelt kiss embossed
in love,
now blows a wind
whose stark hands rend
what memory mends
beneath the glove.

Nearby stood
a quiet wood
whose home was good
and honest,
now fills with ghosts
and empty hosts
who echo whisper’s loving toasts
yet fearfully immodest.

Tho’ no truth rolls
across the folds
of meadows in the tolls
of time,
‘tis still these lays
of poetry stay
the lifelong play
of love in rhyme…

For even as the eons blend
a passing state of heart,
heaped upon this histories’ pyre
are hope and dreams, and true love’s start
that held the pausing when he claimed,
“you are mine, eternal”,
and bent the ether’s honest waves
when sure her heart felt love still vernal…

Today is just soliloquy…
today an echo of regret…
today an ancient memory,
passed closed doors that ne’er forget
the daffodils,
the singing rill,
the kiss cross meadow’s lea,
the forest sweet
with cot complete
and every verse of poetry…

It holds the ether’s silence calm
to those who pause to feel…
It offers what is true in love,
for those who need to heal.

In honor of Robert Burns and his “sweet Mary”

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