Category Archives: History

November 9, 2012 · 10:42 pm

Bells of War

Clouds of war
loom to the east,
reflecting sun’s horizon
of deepest setting’s,
rose and peach.
Be it blood tomorrow,
or garden’s rising?

Surreal, the silence of this dusk,
hangs on the clouds of night’s foreboding,
clings its matter to my mind,
start memories’ work, noting
the tortured gray
of seasons past,
where men lie dead
in fields of grass,
while clouds of cannon smoke hang sighing,
weep to their young spent souls,
and beckon fast their rising.

In clamor, fall the hoof-steps
of wagons hearsed and calling
to stack the flesh, and there return
these bodies, to the bawling
eyes and hearts of loves
whose secret fear’s now summoned,
and in the wake of dead, leave tears
in sorrowed river’s running.

In distant air the sounds are heard
that confound the very reason
of men entrenched, and fighting still
beyond this deathfield’s treason.
The dogs of war, beyond it all,
hounds in chase, instinctual service
draw the hoofs and wagons on,
to serve this warring’s purpose.

In setting sun of future days,
our hearts will cry a humble phrase
that war is waste and serves just death.
And so regret the scornful ways
when tempest reigned our judgment’s tack,
in retrospect we’d like it back
and return our loved ones whole.
When regret is ours, and lessons learned
have etched the living soul,
we’ll know war serves not our purpose,
for life and love’s our role…
Yet today, the bells of war do toll.

















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October 26, 2012 · 5:53 am

Soldier’s Prayer

In the Field –

I’ve joined the fight to do what’s right
in aid of land and liberty.
I’ve stood my soul from head to toe
to fight as men who’re free,
Through mountains insurmountable
and trials that no man should know,
I hold my creed to do what’s right
that through it all this truth will show –

“God bless the loved ones of my home,
relieve their worry and their fear.
Grant them peace in knowing
that we fight as free men here.

Protect my brothers beside me,
bless their step that they’ll not fall.
Grant compassion’s wisdom,
that they’ll do right when anger calls.

Find me in your vision,
grant me strength when I’m alone.
Guide my hand with wisdom
that I may carry truth back home.

Forgive injustice when it’s played,
grant me strength to forgive in same,
that if You call for me here,
honor may embrace my name.
– Amen”

Those at Home –

They joined the fight to do what’s right
for peace and liberty.
Tall they stand, hand in hand
to represent all men who’re free.
Through trials unimaginable
and fears I know I’ll never know,
I know they hold their creed as truth
and through their actions honor shows.

“God bless our soldiers far from home,
comfort their worry and their fear.
Grant them peace in knowing
that we hold them close, we hold them dear.

Protect the men beside them,
guide each step, one and all.
Grant compassion’s wisdom
that unjust anger never calls.

Keep them in your vision, Lord,
hold them close when they’re alone.
Guide their path with wisdom
that together they may return to home.

Grant their hearts forgiveness
when injustice makes its claim.
Watch over them, protect them –
This I ask in your good name
– Amen”

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October 16, 2012 · 4:53 am

Brick and Mortar

Brick and mortar, matched to fit
the very shape of timeline drawn,
laid in purposed course to sit,
and there life’s perfect line be shown.

The course we lay, this wall in truth,
is built through season’s changing ways.
That it should stay or falter proof
of what our honest souls do play
is incongruous
to a path in life –
thus imperfection therein is rife
with sum based in the “who” of us.

Thoughts of who we are become
the placement for the next block laid.
Yet as each course in mortar is run,
symmetry drifts through moments played,
through love and life and challenge granted –
the keys to days of what’s enchanted
or what might seem for naught.
It’s this mosaic, by grace incanted
that holds our spirit, caught.

Gestalt in temporal waves reflect
pain or pride in each defect –
discolorations highlight tides
where deep, or upon, we took our ride –
Cracks and fissures, the challenge points
by which we broke or fixed a joint
and tried to carry on –
… for years a life was built upon…
Now looking back, it seems near gone.

Yet beauty in what our souls have made
stands in history’s humble glade.
Life in triumph and losses tragic,
each mosaic, each course laid, magic!
that we will reckon lessons
within our final breath,
know the truth of love and loss
and secrets that were kept,
heal our hearts and passions
in knowing that we should
touch this wall of brick and mortar
and see that it is good.

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October 15, 2012 · 5:14 am

My Father’s Sacrifice

Nello R. Arterburn – Staff Sargeant, 517th Parachute Regimental Combat Team, Company G – of the original cadre of the 3rd Battalion
















Images thanks to the Wings of Freedom Tour – Fort Collins, CO – July 7th, 2012 – through reinactment and exhibited equipment
God Bless!

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October 15, 2012 · 4:40 am

for Ann and Abe

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

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October 15, 2012 · 4:30 am

In honor of the Battle of Shilo

Brave of the brave the twice five thousand men

Who all that day stood in the battle’s shock

Fame holds them dear, and with immortal pen

Inscribes their names on the enduring rock

April 6 – 7, 1862 ~ Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee

 

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October 15, 2012 · 4:18 am

My Brother

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.

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October 10, 2012 · 3:10 am

Letter from Europe – WWII

101st Airborne

In broken building’s barricade,
a rest from war’s eternal call,
on foreign soil my feet have trod
to pause me here, beside this wall.
Where great the lives of past have dwelt,
whose thoughts imagined, curious,
to bless mankind with creative hands,
or debate life’s truths in furious
banter and gesture strong,
with passioned art and voice,
and so propel God’s gifts to man
as just and right in human choice.

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.

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September 27, 2012 · 3:50 am

The Courtyard Ghosts – Part Four – The Mason and The Blacksmith

Part four and final entry of The Courtyard Ghosts is written by the Mason and the Blacksmith. From their unique perspective they have witnessed this story unfold over the years and across the lives of our two lovers. Their contribution here is their memorial.

The Courtyard Ghosts
Part Four
The Mason and The Blacksmith

Aye, we two, on courtyard’s berm
do work for better tradin’.
Our skills in alabaster stone
and iron braids of laden.

Our shops adjoin, near out of view
from the daily dance that plays on two
at courtyard fountain and parapet,
where into morning sun we set
our eyes each day to witness love in passin’,
and watch it quickly walk away with nod acknowledged fashion.

My friend and I, some years we’ve spent
at toil in craft to pay the rent,
and many grand designs we’ve made –
as people of this little burg have found us worthy to be paid
and keep coming back for more –

Strange witness thus,
we’ve seen from just
a stone’s throw beyond our courtyard’s fountain,
in backdrop, man and woman love,
silhouetted still before the mountain’s
distant horizon breakin’.

Yet each day we’ve watched this dance of love,
and longing theirs ne’er one has taken –
and so to us, two hearts is breakin’…

So many years has passed us by,
the two of us turn slow to grey,
yet morning coffee finds us fixed
to watch this lover’s play –
each day –
each day –

And so we’ve seen the two in love
come to age, set old and grey,
weakness in their limbs and features
deny the youth of love they play –

Yet still, today –
we see them come no more…

The parapet where once she sat
to take his smile and nod for hers,
is shuttered shut and weather worn,
so closes in for death, for sure –
And mornings now are silent still,
for ne’er a set of hooves do pass,
as he would ride to fountain there
to gaze upon his lass,
and long to love her more –
no more…

So as the quiet courtyard yields,
no light of love and life is found
by two quiet working watchers here
on the berm at courtyard’s ground.
The silence stifles all the hope
once held that theirs would manifest,
now morning holds just nature’s song,
and the truth that two have laid to rest –
their love, a nod and smile.

Thus we two commission ours,
as gift to them and courtyard green,
paid of what we’ve learned of love,
and to our own indenture glean
that they must live immortal,
captured in the morning’s light,
that they in quiet courtyard’s echo
may always feel the light of such unspoken love –
and we that hold the living,
take truth in such to rise above
and reach for such a light.

Two ghosts we leave for courtyard’s night.
Two souls we leave in love…

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September 26, 2012 · 3:39 am

The Courtyard Ghosts – Part Three – From Courtyard Fountain

Part Three of The Courtyard Ghosts is written by our lonely hearted man as he struggles with his feelings and desire to run to her, but knows he cannot, and so struggles to let go…

The Courtyard Ghosts
Part Three
From Courtyard Fountain

Been to the pub tonight,
with Jonas Sapp and Bill,
plenty laughs and drink there,
and many stories, we had our fill.

But here am I in silent hall,
last flagon in my hand,
alone, just left the peaceful stable,
and here I find the blood of man
and that of what I am –

I pray the blood inside my veins
does not betray this pen with wine
that flows within my being,
and opens the secrets of my mind…

But what of that?!

I crave in silent squalor
to let this passion go,
and so eclipse this temporal state
and seek the face I do love so…

Yet I do not know her name –
and tho’ each day I see her,
I find my resolve weak, and lame –
But how I wish to hold her,
imbibe the scent within her hair,
feel her heat and flesh on mine,
thus feel our souls entwined,
ensnared in love’s elixir manifest,
of conscience gone and therein blessed
by lust and love so true…

But sadly this is not my journey,
yet shamefully do I count it so –
that I withdraw to seek forgiveness
within the truth of life I know…

Yet dreams I cannot still…
I see the courtyard and in such fill
the sleeping senses of the day –
the scent of summer lilacs and lavender along my way
through northern woods to get there.
I sing a gypsy song,
and calmly plod old Sam there,
till elm and oak enrobe in throng
and hold that sacred courtyard
where true love lies within,
so pass through lowered boughs of green
and bow my humble soul to them,
as passing through a gateway,
where only Venus holds the gate –
then open into courtyard such
and pray my arrival is not late…
to see her stoic figure
thrust from window’s parapet,
and know her eyes are watching me
as Sam and I to fountain let
our worldly focus go…
He draws of water slowly there,
as if to bide me time,
that I may muster courage and
synch my breath and heart in rhyme
to turn to face her window,
hopeful and afraid the same,
so raise my eyes to meet hers
and in this moment so untame
the passion in my breast piece,
the strength to cure a million woes,
but hold myself behind my smile,
to honor truths that I do know…

She is my catch, my Mary,
my heather on my Scottish hill,
yet her and I may not realize
the passion and the love, the thrill
that so enwraps us,
draws us lost on lonely nights,
yet still we have a silent vow,
sacred as the deepest rights
that bless a man and woman,
grant their hearts to beat as one,
yet temporal truths betray us,
and turn us back alone,
to live the lives we’ve chosen,
to bless the loves around us, dear,
yet know our vow’s unspoken
from the truths that keep our spirits, clear…

And so each day to courtyard’s bliss
I draw dear Sam and I,
to touch true love and spirit real,
and never question why…

To you my love,
my nod –
– goodbye – forever yours…

these thoughts and stubborn murmurings
brought forth to let her go,
yet few more years he struggled on
until his heart could go no more
and she laid down to rest –
his followed hers, upon his own request.

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