Salute
Bunker Hill, Yorktown, Lundy’s Lane,
Monterey, Bull Run, Gettysburg, Shiloh,
Antietam, St. Mihiel, Belleau Woods,
D-Day, Saipan, Iwo Jima, The Bulge,
Chosin Reservoir, Pork Chop Hill,
Ia Drang, Khe Sanh, Hamburger Hill,
Iraq and Afghanistan.
Famous battles in American history.
Washington, Scott, Grant, Lee, Custer,
Pershing, Patton, Eisenhower, Nimitz,
MacArthur, Westmoreland, Abrams.
Famous leaders in American history.
We are all familiar with these names and places.
But what about the nameless men and women?
The faceless citizens who gave up families, jobs,
education, comfort.
The ones who gave America their blood, bodies,
minds to defend us and set others free.
Their blood has stained countless lands.
Their wounds, physical and mental,
should remind us that freedom is not cheap.
The noncoms, privates, petty officers, junior officers.
The occupants of The Tomb of the Unknown,
the Punch Bowl, the French cemeteries, Arlington,
and countless unknown graves.
The living dead who suffer from grievous wounds
and PTSD.
These are the true heroes.
A man whose eyes seem distant and cold
takes me on a journey through history
with thoughts of wonder and interest
leaving me with more questions than answers
about his life, his dreams
there's a profound sadness in his picture
and a sense of pride
he's dressed in his Civil War uniform
from the Massachusetts 13th infantry
standing in front of a cabin with a porch
and a couple of rocking chairs
off to his right is a well with its bucket
a hound dog lays at his feet
stones in the ground placed like a sidewalk
lead up to his boots
below the picture sits a creaky old rocking chair
where I sit to rock back and forth
while thinking about my great-grandfather
who survived Gettysburg, Antietam, Fredericksburg
and other battles is why I am here
(Battle of Antietam, Sharpsburg, Maryland, September 17, 1862; 2,100 Union dead, 1550 Confederate dead)
the day September seventeenth
in eighteen sixty-two
found stalks of corn in Maryland
grown high as horses' heads
while rebel soldiers clad in gray,
invaders to this place,
stood vigil in dawn's wispy mists
as quiet Sharpsburg slept
when from the creek Antietam
charged boldly Stars-and-Stripes
so all-day-through fierce battle raged
in pasture, corn, and road
till sunset quelled the violence,
loud cannon-thunder ebbed,
replaced by floods of helpless moans
from maimed and wounded men
while from the carnage rebels skulked
across Potomac's flow
to breathe their safe Virginia air
as blue-clad victors wept
and set about the burials
of dead, both gray and blue,
three-thousand plus six hundred more
American souls lost
that day, September seventeenth,
in eighteen sixty-two.
Silent, dawn crept low and solemn
Over the Virginia valley
The misty orange haze of a pale sunrise
Cloaking the farmer's field
Blue and Gray, mixed with red
Life fleeing with each labored breath,
Stillness broken only by
The rattle of death's leave
Mother Earth sorrowfully accepts
The pain, the regret, the wastefulness.
Generations lost forever,
Over the cornfields of Antietam.
I fear no man nor any man's intent
I am not afraid of fire or of flood
The Devil can keep his phosphorous scent
And I am not moved by another's blood
I pride myself on having a brave soul
I risk my life in pursuit of freedom
I fight for man's rights as a common goal-
Grandpa died on the field at Antietam
But when I'm alone and put down my gun
Darkness and darkness alone is my fear
I speak not of the darkness of the sun -
It's the absence of Sense that brings a tear
I see a coffin lowered in the ground
In dirt that has been dug and sanctified
I am alive inside and hear no sound -
No light, no smell and I am terrified
I waste little time on this baseless fear
I fight today's fights and forget that dream
But now and then that darkness brings a tear -
I bite on my fist to stifle a scream
9/29/2016
for contest Your Greatest Fear
When the wind is just right,
I can close my eyes and
pretend I'm in Middletown,
pretend I can see the Blue
Ridge Mountains off in the
distance with the haze that
gives them their name.
Farmsteads, hundreds of
years old, reappear in my mind,
and cattle graze happily all around.
I see the ancient road stretching
westward, site of much marching
and many skirmishes, the conduit
to Antietam and Gettysburg.
Near that road, I raised my children.
There is no desert there, no sage;
just woodlands and deep jade grass.
Middletown is my heart, my
soul, my dream.
And if God calls me home and
finds me worthy,
Middletown will be my heaven.
I never studied the downed limbs before Sandy.
I was savoring the muscle burn from herringboning my way up a hill or fretting over a ping in my back, the price of macho competitions in the steel mill of my youth,
Where one didn’t just carry his own weight,
He showed up the next guy.
Is that what the preening hemlock was up to before relentless winds left it writhing at the feet of puny peers?
Before Sandy I took no inventory of the fallen.
But now, as I recover my breath and shiver, the sweat soaking my collar, I honor the once wiry, powerful maples, decaying in the cantilever of weaker kin.
The snowmobile trail, obstructed, forbidden after Sandy is open, welcoming,
but now bounded with once majestic limbs, brutally cut and lifeless.
Here at Herrington Manor, alone under a charcoal sky,
I think back to my day trip to Antietam, where I, never one to study battles and count their casualties, shuddered by the ditch where thousands were piled, the earth still soaked with their blood a week after battle.
They held the field, men side by side,
Their will intact, their fears subside.
They mustered in so many fields,
And held the ground, refused to yield.
At Lexington went toe to toe,
With British troops, a worthy foe.
McHenry saw our banner fly,
Against a burning brightened sky.
At Antietam, when thousands died,
They calmed themselves, fought on with pride.
On the Eastern front fought hard and well,
To rid the world of immoral hell.
The Ardennes saw fight most severe,
The troops fought, fought through their fear.
The Pacific saw men die galore,
To turn the tide at Corregidor.
At Heartbreak ridge fought through the night,
With Stand or Die their mantras might.
Khe Sahn saw men fall in droves,
When overwhelmed by local foes.
Fallujah helped the world to see,
The need to fight insurgency.
Khandahar pit the American,
Against the dreaded Taliban.
Our troops maintained, our troops prevailed,
Against each foe our troops assailed.
And though they fought with honor deep,
The fight they fought for peace to keep.
Antietam
I lay in the creek my face to the ground
My hand on my musket, I pray I’m not found
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the battle’s begun
I fired on the troops as they crossed Burnside Bridge
Safely encamped up high on the ridge
The bullets are flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the sound of the guns
I hid in the cornfield till I heard the attack
I fired then I charged and I never looked back
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the red rivers run
I knelt by the fence there on Hagerstown Road
Knowing I’d reap whatever I sewed
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the day no one won
I gathered up wounded, I gathered up dead
There’s a lull in the battle; who knows who’s ahead
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; it’s now setting sun
I passed by the church as we fled in retreat
I prayed for the fallen, may this never repeat
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the battle is done
Our history club is presenting Antietam this month so I wrote a poem for it.
Down a strange road, they are guided by an unknown force.
These misplaced souls are all journeying on the same course.
All of them have undergone intolerable strife.
To them, this trail started at the end of human life.
There are countless numbers of men wearing blue and gray.
They have been walking down this road during night and day.
During this Civil War, each one is a casualty.
They move, although none of them has any eyes to see.
They were killed at Gettysburg, Shiloh, Chickamauga,
Antietam, Bull Run, Atlanta, and Spotsylvania.
The final one at the rear is a tall, bearded man.
He is following the others closely as he can.
This man possess some stark familiarity,
He is Abraham Lincoln, the last fatality.
Based on an episode of the TV show "The Twilight Zone"
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