Category Archives: Photography

The One Less Traveled By

Here, within this yellow wood,
my road, the one less traveled by,
has seen a life where love has stood
in shadowed forest and by my side,
has sparkled deep, through shade of tree
and cast a smile in front of me.

At times the path was lonely,
where darkness seemed to lend
a fear to the ‘morrow’s waking,
yet, at times it came as friend,
whose shadow cooled, bestowed a trust,
where comfort’s found in deep wood’s musk.

Tho’ this journey’s tried my spirit,
the deepest love of life I’ve gained,
as every trial’s eventual end
rewards with cooling summer’s rain,
thereby my very senses thrilled,
these histories’ pages, sweetly filled.

Today, this road has risen high
to alpine glen and meadow,
where seasons rich and heaven’s nigh
bring peace of knowing, mellow
thoughts, for fears once lessons taught,
thus grant a strength of spirit true,
life’s diploma, herein wrought.

Tomorrow, then, in alpine glen,
my love will so abound,
to kiss, in bliss, my muse’s lips,
in love we both have found,
hand in hand, our past departing,
for today, our journey’s only starting.

 (inspired by Robert Frost)

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an Autumn walk – River Bend – Fort Collins, Colorado

River Bend – 14-Oct-2012
















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All the Diamonds…

diamonds

All the diamonds in this world
That mean anything to me
Are conjured up by wind and sunlight
Sparkling on the sea

Bruce Cockburn

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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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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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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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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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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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Along This Path and Forest Floor

Cirque above Emmaline Lake – Colorado Autumn

Deep in forest’s isolation,
this path I walk, my own.
Scattered light through autumn’s trees
reflecting gold in daylight’s warm.
Here, midst introspection’s calling,
my dreams take shape, my truths come home.

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…

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Dells of Green

sorrow in the ripened vine

There is a place in dells of green,
wherein a moment’s mystery’s kept,
at peak of summer’s sweetest rain,
as clouds of tear drops wept.

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.

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