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
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.
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
Slowly into autumn goes the ash of life –
fading grey the colors in the shade of season’s strife.
Crack the flesh to wrinkles in these hands next to callous worn.
Creak the bones by years gone by from toil and the laden born.
Cut a life long’s deepest green in shades of rusting red.
Fold the summer’s grasses down, prepare a winter’s bed.
Hush the bird alone whose song in morning rings,
yet listen closely to the verse in what his evening heart does sing.
Touch the river’s stones exposed in autumn’s waning draw.
Feel the naked sense of woods standing still in quiet, raw.
Draw the shadows cast, as long, by sun in autumn sinking.
Embrace the fade and raise a glass to everything your soul is thinking.
Solemn is the musk of woods that color in decay.
Quiet is the rustling hush that whispers through the day.
Somber is the acrid sky that bends a sharper focus,
brings clarity to mind and eye to close this year before us.
Thus by aging hand, this pen upon this yellowed paper,
fits into this autumn’s glove to beg the fade one favor…
“Do drip the honey sweet, of autumn’s red and gold,
grant these calloused crackling hands another page to hold.
Fit your progress slowly that I may see each gold leaf fall.
Grant the sun a warming breath upon my face before the call
of winter so lets in –
Please let me toast this fade again!”
In honor of D. A-Bone
“Toast to the Fade”
Filed under Memory, Mountains, Nature, Photography, Poetry
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.
Part two of “The Courtyard Ghosts” has been written from the perspective of our lady love, reflecting…
The Courtyard Ghosts
Part Two
From Parapet Window
I know not how the morning came,
to greet my day, defenses down,
where prideful steed, purposed horse,
brought gentle smile on soulful course
to gaze upon my window –
Witnessed spring in daffodils,
midst blossom’s rush and songbird’s rill
my cheek and heart engaged to blush.
But what of this moment then?
When from his horse he let me in…
Yet I in no loveful longing,
still rushed on spirit’s open wing
as if no love I’d ever seen
and he my one, belonging
to my heart’s secret past,
knew all of me and my desire,
within my heart the ripples cast –
thus I could not forget.
My longing so betrayed my state
of home and family and this life’s fate,
that I could never reach for him.
Yet every morning, there I’d sit,
at courtyard window’s parapet,
to see the smile and loving nod,
thus acknowledging this secret love,
so in kindle this desire –
relentless, yet in-actionable.
So the seasons came and went,
before one word was ever spent,
no touch, no kiss, no ravaged throes…
and I in hesitation –
And so the courtyard trees did grow,
with harvest’s reaping by spring’s hand sewn,
the window cornice stained by rain
and years of aging left in vain
to memories’ sole recall.
Until I now – in feeble age,
no longer rise again to gaze
upon the courtyard, there below.
And in my heart I know,
that I have loved, yet touched you not,
your eyes and smile and nod have taught
my soul the truest meaning,
that love is love, lest regret,
my heart stirs hard from this parapet,
and joyous has the longing been.
For pain in missing our love’s chance
was supplanted by a smile and glance,
and then a nod goodbye –
farewell my love, goodbye…
for this her last recount,
to silent room and window’s light,
as knowing soon her soul, in flight,
will gaze there nevermore.
Family Prayer
At rest and peace I find thee,
silent ‘neath the clustered trees –
With truth and love I bless thee,
while praying from my knees!
Filed under Family, Memory, Photography, Poetry
gentle souls of slient will
The following was written in honor of the Sycamore tree that saved St. Paul’s Chapel, during the attack on the World Trade Center Towers, Sept 11, 2001.
The chapel was bult in 1766 and is rich in American history from George Washington and the American Revolution and on…
The Pain of Trees –
Some have said that trees are souls
whose speech is long and laborious,
that if you listen long and still,
you’ll hear conversation glorious.
But too, a warning goes with such,
that if you listen, as is told,
that years around will move quite fast,
but you, as trees, will not grow old,
but remain in time disjointed,
until a greater tragedy,
of humankind’s perception,
draws you back to human time,
there loose your tree’s reception,
from time in parallel, thus as pointed.
Of these trees, such lifetimes spent
that see the world rush by.
Ours, for instance, scurries past, intent
on lifetimes blurring ride.
These trees, in slower gesture, gage
the ether through their day,
yet theirs, in months or years foretold,
draw slow the words they say.
StilI, I believe their hearts are instant
to worldly changes about them,
for a tree will burn or break or fall,
if instant purpose befits him.
As such, their gentler, greater reason
holds purpose to their vision,
yet time’s response chains fast their motion,
a temporally disjointed prison.
Yet their compassion runs so deep,
that for us, their honest hearts do weep.
For humankind’s transgression
is to live this life “at speed”,
focused on our appointed purpose,
and the attached immediate need.
Yet these trees, with love’s compassion,
reach slowly, thus, to show
their kindness, that shapes care for us
in simple strength of limb and bow.
For through their pain they long to reach
with love and service true,
there save our lives by presence,
there share such deeper clues…
…by river’s edge in raging flood
the willow’s arms outreached,
low and touching water’s surface,
these helping hands beseeched
by nature’s darkest moods
when waters rage and storms do brood.
How many different lives have reached
a safety shore from trees that strive
to help a drowning innocent,
keep man and beast alive,
when fortunes opportune?
Who of us in storm or strain
have ,’neath these gentle giants, remained
in warm and drying solitude,
through onslaught of a summer’s rain?
In trees I’ve heard of safety there,
where man and beast alike
were saved, by tree’s with gentle care,
in perches found throughout the night,
‘bove tumult of nature’s raging rivers,
‘beit opportune, or purpose found,
these trees’ compassion is life’s sweet giver,
but what about the souls who’ve drowned?
Souls once lost, whose last path drifted,
beyond the reach of the giant’s stance.
What cost is rendered of the pain of trees
when compassion’s lost the chance
to save a soul?
What of their pain, when all is done,
and their chance, reduced, to gather
the bodies of the lost and drowned,
when God’s called truth such. Rather
catch a soul and save a life,
than reaper’s helper,
blind with strife.
In trees at fall of sadness setting,
I’ve felt their pain, their sad regretting
that their time moves long beyond us.
Their eyes in tragedy can not change,
nor be diverted beyond the range
of where the reaper’s death lust
call’s to the will of God.
These gentle souls of silent will,
despair for us, through our ills
that disjoint us from their distance.
So many lives they share past ours,
when months and years comprise their hours,
upon histories’ repeated insistence.
Such weeping, sorrowful moans they make,
or whisper love’s ‘cantation
upon the breeze, that she might take
the pain from such libation.
And so it is, these gentle souls
hold pain for life’s sweet balance,
that begs them watch, or help, or sum,
where God’s call forms a keeper’s valance.
Such bittersweet task it seems,
for those whose fields and mountain streams
lend beauty to God’s purpose,
yet, more than love
beneath the surface…
Filed under History, Memory, Nature, Photography, Poetry
The following was written on the one year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks… September 11th, 2002.
As I read this I find it still ring true for me, and yet it echoes a concern for who we are today…
_/_/_/_/
September 11, 2002
In reflection of all that has come to pass, and with hope in all that can potentially be, I have slowed my world down today, to observe. I have witnessed emotions’ range and have felt the deepest sincerity in all that I have taken part in. For me, this one-year milestone, of the tragedies of September 11 2001, has left me with a longing that I must share.
This morning’s sunrise was quite profound. As I sipped my coffee, looking eastward out of my breakfast nook’s window, I was greeted with a broken sky and the rosy edged clouds from last night’s rain. Gray and gentle giants stretching toward the eastern horizon, gently kissed by the dawning sun. The sky held the deepest blue and set my view in a very powerful background, providing a triumphant and yet foreboding setting for the red, white and blue of the morning. My mood seemed to match, as I felt reassured by our nation’s collective resolve exhibited over the past year, and yet I felt apprehensive in the light of on-going struggle. As I sat in silent reflection, the words of Abraham Lincoln’s second inaugural address played through my mind. “With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan–to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.” I sat mesmerized.
My radio was on in the background, and as if called by my own will, New York’s Governor Pataki initiated the memorial service at ground zero with Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. The clouds outside my window seemed to change their color in response to his words, providing a balance of gray and white, while the sky’s deep blue lightened a shade, yielding a canvas for hope.
Moments later, former Mayor Giuliani began reading the names of the victims of the attack on the world trade center towers. Gordon McCannel Aamoth Jr., Edelmiro (Ed) Abad, Maria Rose Abad, Andrew Anthony Abate, Vincent Abate, Laurence Abel, William F. Abrahamson, Richard Anthony Aceto, Heinrich B. Ackermann, … The victim’s faces, those I could recall from the web pages I perused last year, began to drift through my mind’s eye. The tears began to come and I began to realize how much we have lost. Lost lives, broken families, and lost loves. As a nation, we are different now. We have realized, most likely for the first time that we are not an island of security. That our financial and military power is not what differentiates us, but that which makes us unique, and subsequently, that which poises us as a target of such acts of terrorism. I also realized that we have gained. For through our learnings of such experience, we have found a new resolve that echoes old values, such as those our very nation was founded on. And in such, we have gained temperate understanding of just how precious this life truly is, and how diverse and distressed our world society has become. In this, I believe, we can proudly say that we stand alone among our allies and enemies, for our nation exhibits a worldly sampling of all nations, all cultures, and all beliefs. Our lives and values are based in true freedom, founded in trust and honesty, and are exhibited through peace and compassion. And in such, we extend a greater love through our exhibition of this understanding. This diversity is of our design, driven by our desire, and forms the very mettle that identifies Americans as people of natural determination and resolve.
And yet, we are a delicately contrary people. For as we stand upon the virtue of such great values, we allow our gains and successes to wrap us in what we perceive to be our own personal, impervious lives. In times when our successes are at their greatest, and our challenges small, we exhibit an almost ignorant selfishness. We ignore our neighbors, we throw frustration upon our fellow citizens in traffic, and we seem to migrate to a gluttony of extremes. Our drive is focused upon financial growth, more service, less cost, and a need for exponential improvement. I believe that our behavior, associated with such perceived successes, is the very element that fuels the hatred of those we call our enemies today. Ironically, it is this same behavior that was once perceived to be the enemy of our nation’s founding fathers, and to that point, that which has brought us to this day of memorial. How ironic.
The radio’s reading of the names of the lost was only interrupted long enough for other memorials to begin, or for moments of silence to be observed at the very minute, one year ago, when the trade center towers collapsed. Three very distinct and individual memorials, New York City, the Pentagon, and Shanksville Pennsylvania, yet all rang with names of victims, lost lives, lost loves, and broken families. Tragedies beyond belief. Through the constant of remembering, through the tears and tightened throat of reliving the pain and horror, I made my way to a place in my town where Mozart’s Requiem would be played as part of a rolling national endeavor to promote healing and remembrance.
The daylight moved to deeper tones of color. The low hanging clouds grew gray, yet the daylight beyond became brighter and more brilliant with blue. Even a few little spits of drizzle managed to mix in. All seeming to reflect my mood, and hopefully the moods of others. Others who, like myself, were needing to reconnect, acknowledge the pain and loss, and take from that, some magic and secret element to fuel understanding for the world we now live in.
As I parked my truck and began to draw the will to move myself into the heart of the day’s sorrow, I found that I could not extinguish the sounds of the radio, still reading the names of the more than 3000 individuals who lost their lives that day. It seemed like an eternity had passed, yet the alphabetical reading was only in the “C’s”. Jose Cardona, Dennis M Carey, Edward Carlino, Michael Scott Carlo, David G. Carlone, Rosemarie C. Carlson, Mark Stephen Carney, Joyce Ann Carpeneto, Jeremy M. Carrington… Somehow, I managed the resolve to wipe away the tears, and moved myself from the truck and toward the theatre where many of my fellow citizen’s hearts would hopefully throng, along with the music, and mine.
I found a seat near the back, which was elevated, and provided a large view of the theatre. I sat alone while the hall slowly filled to near capacity. Many of the faces that began to sit around me were solemn, sorrowful. Yet so many others were taking this performance as if it were an event of opportunity. Around me, through voices overheard, were people frustrated with the remaining seat selection, people with agendas that were driven away from their busy lives. I heard comments complaining about the reading of the names during the memorial services in New York City, comments spoken in frustration that television news coverage had forced them to endure such monotony and such a waste of time. I found myself shocked that such selfish and cold comments could be made at a time when human compassion and understanding should naturally prevail. Only few around me seemed to be here to mourn, or reflect. My witnessing of such brought on a great sadness that we, as collective survivors, do not cherish what we have learned, and what we have lost of life and love, through today’s echoing pain.
As the lights dimmed and the music began, I recognized the seed of a longing that only then, I realized was growing inside of me. I realized that in the moments of the greatest tragedy ever encountered on our nation’s soil, was contained the truest and most sincere outpouring of human compassion and love. For it is the desperation associated with great tragedy or great need that drives us to acts of heroism, kindness, and sacrifice. It is this great human capability that I long for in my daily life, and the true reason that I came here today, to find it, and to claim it. Not to account for and own for myself, but to capture and echo as a prayer for all mankind to recognize and hold on to these values as operators in our daily lives. As people of any society or congregation, we truly long to embody these virtues in our own behavior, yet we distort our understanding of our own desires by way of our societal driven needs, perceptions, and the manner by which we market ourselves to ourselves.
As the greatest national power on the globe, and at a time in our history where the world is truly small, we can no longer allow our self appointed interests and egos to drive our actions within this world community. Our nation was founded from the phoenix of past tyranny and societal selfishness, and now, again, we tender that same negative inertia and believe that it is good. For the greatest thing we have gained as a result of the September 11 attacks, is that we are now placed center stage and in a position to truly show the mettle of our collective soul. Our worldly place today, whether we accept it or not, provides us with the greatest opportunity for leadership that any nation has ever been afforded. As such, our true calling is to act in the manner of behavior that provided foundation for our nation, molded our value system, and provided our compassionate acceptance of this world. In the name of all past tragedies, moments of great desperation and heroism, we must hold on to and exhibit these values in our every day lives. We must embrace and exhibit this deepest compassion, love and understanding if we truly desire to lead our global society beyond these days of malice and hatred. For the fabric of our very existence is now openly exposed, and calling for our own regeneration, urging our success and evolution. Without which, well, here we will be again, regretting past tragedy, memorializing our loss, and praying for a future peace, as nothing more than mere children of histories’ repetition.
J. Blue September 11, 2002
jaybluepoems 