Best Historymen Poems
This sacred soil that once resounded with the musket's rattle,
Imbued with mingled blood of Blue and Gray spilt in brutal battle,
Now stands serene with only whisperings of the restless ghosts,
Of gallant men who sacrificed their all among the frenzied hosts.
Are those the sighs of vagabond souls heard with each subtle breeze,
As zephyrs rustle the dancing leaves of stalwart, guardian trees?
Is that the winter's wind that shrieks about Round Top Hill,
Or the screams of dying troopers, their fatal destiny to fulfill?
Are those the moans of men left to die, their laurels won,
Or the boles of ancient pines groaning 'neath the searing sun?
The wind wafts tall grasses that on The Wheatfield grow;
Could this be waves of spectral infantry, advancing row by row?
Lightning flashes and thunder echoes across the rolling sectors,
Reminiscent of once roaring cannon, now long-silent specters.
The battle was o'er with the repulse of daring General Pickett;
Thousands of souls lay dead on bloody field and tangled thicket.
Lincoln's powerful address yet echoes o'er that hallowed clay,
To honor heroes, no matter the color of cloth they wore that day.
Do their fretful spirits yet roam, wondering if they died in vain?
Rest in peace dear souls - because of you this nation rose again!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 the Fraser/Devonshire "Dazzle Us With History" Contest - Jan 2011
Memory or dream from hell I cannot tell
The vision of stygian forests where harpies dwell
And men from them among men spawned
Greedy gullibles that on pagan mysteries fawned
Evicted from stygian caves to wander bared
Of human comport and yet in human shape
By cultures of war in Cerebus’ loath prepared
These monsters of men defy, steal, kill, rape
The African land still, and virgin virtue defiled
In all her children stolen, manacled, despised
Toss upon dread waves like dead meat, disguised
From pity of sharks, innocence, kindness biled
By the same fiends frantic at the Judean cross
And this colonial evil is unsurpassed in dross.
They should have known such deeds are wrong
If they had known we are people too, and he
The Eternal light, the bringer of the griot's song
How they murdered him in grim glee of prophecy:
When each of us are enslaved or kill, he dies
Again in that wickedness entrenched in vanities.
The ill-equipped revolutionaries fought and died to set this nation free.
Against all odds they triumphed sending George's troops back across the sea!
The precious freedoms we cherish today were won due to their staying power.
It can truly be said of those courageous men that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Men in Yankee blue held the line at Gettysburg with unwavering resolve.
Mr. Lincoln steered a steady course that a united nation might again evolve.
Alas, it took a fearful toll and bled the nation of its youthful flower.
Valiant men died to make others free - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
In June of Forty-four, brave men stormed Normandy's shore to force a breach.
Heroic American soldiers forfeited life and limb upon that crimson beach.
They took a noble stance in order to knock the tyrannical Axis out of power.
History books will record forevermore that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
During the tense decades of the Cold War, dauntless warriors were on alert,
To protect and defend our priceless liberties that others sought to subvert.
Like a sturdy oak they didn't bend nor did they deign to cower!
A grateful nation will ever proclaim that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Valorous American troopers yet today strive to uphold freedom's cause,
To stem the tide of terrorism that seeks to impose its despotic laws,
To bring peace to embattled peoples and install just leaders to power.
'Twill be told in generations to come that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
"He was a brave, resourceful and honest boy. He would have been a successful man under
other circumstances. I loved the youngster in the old days and can say now after the passing
fifty years that I still love his memory. He has gained an unfair and undeserved reputation.
Most of the stories told about him are simply not true at all. He was born into poor
circumstances and did what he did to get by. He was a thousand times better and braver
than any man hunting him." - George Coe, close friend
He was a remarkable boy. Far above the average of the young men of those times and he
undoubtedly had the making of a fine man in him." - Susan McSween, close friend
He had a great personality and could ingratiate himself in people's good graces very quickly.
He had laughing blue eyes, always smiling or laughing, very accommodating and good
hearted. He had an innocent timid look and all of this took with the girls at once."
- Lily Casey Klasner, resident
"All the wrongs have been charged to him, yet we who really knew him know that he was
good and had fine qualities. We have not put our impressions of him into print and our
silence has been the cause of great injustice to him." - Martin Chavez, close friend
"He (The one who killed him) was afraid to go back into the room to make sure of whom he
had shot. I went in and was the first to discover that they had killed my little boy. I hated
those men and I'm glad I've lived long enough to see them all dead and buried."
- Deluvina Maxwell, very close friend
"He has gained an undeserved and unfair reputation to this very day,
and so his truest to life story written poetically is my mission to set the record straight."
- William A Cleator, Me
****************************************************************************
That last quote of mine actually does rhyme poetically,
and so that justifies my posting all of these documented quotes from history
about this well known historical figure, but who is he?
****************************************************************************
To Continue Go To
2. "Quien es?" "Who is it?" Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195856
Symbolic of the hypocrites custodial conceit.
All pretense of perfection
Can provide but brief protection
From the madness at the margins of the mind.
And to the soldier's on the field
The liars soon will be revealed
As weapons turn to lock and load in kind.
The promise was perverted
By the pompous and the proud.
While men of honored greatness
With their genius speaking loud,
Are pushed aside by brokers
Who collect the lesser crowd.
They break and batter dreams
And turn the hopes of men to dust.
With all the wrecking balls beleaguered
They have raped the promised trust
And torn our sacred temples down
For minor profits in the ground.
The genius of these immigrants
In death how proud they stand,
Their contributions prominent
On this, their chosen land.
The people once paraded with a passion and a pride,
To serenade with songs they love the sacredness of soul;
The past should be protected by the present to provide
A living link to history that unifies the whole.
I hear their vital voices still
Reverberate as one
As out of sacred shelters spill
Their sacred songs once sung.
The Fight for Freedom
Three or four thousand years ago,
The ancient Greeks fought for Liberty
As now we know.
And before them, the persecuted Jews,
Rebelled against the yoke of tyranny.
Although the ?ght for Freedom
Was long and hard,
In the end they did not lose
And Freedom rose unscarred!
Centuries later the English people did uprise
Or their freedom would have surely died
And King John, the unkind
The Magna Charter had to sign.
For Freedom many men have died
And for it they a King de?ed.
Freedom is such a precious thing
No one can take it away
Not even a King.
And so it goes through all the centuries,
How men have worked and bled and died,
How men have fought for Freedom
With their women by their side.
These things we now recall
In the midst of the greatest Battle of them all.
All over the world men are dying today
That we may live in peace tomorrow.
And in the peace that’s yet to come
We will not hate and none we’ll shun.
“Black, yellow, brown or white”,
We’ll say, “These and all the others
We are proud to call our brothers.”
And when that happy day arrives,
I think that God up in His skies
Will say, with voice so mild,
“Now I am proud to say, Man is my child."
I came to find again the fresh fountain
With footprints of Conquistadores framed
In mud: residue of a brick mountain
From behind which white anger once had flamed.
The missing fort was not all time displaced
But cougars dying without an escape
From your history. Wrapped in me and disgraced
I saw the Caribbean full landscape
Wilting in the salt of mossy lakes. I
Saw men like cougars unwilling to die.
I found the seasons changed into bright cold
And the evening sun the only sure gold
Above slithering gangrene of jagged sea
I found birds strumming on the fret of glee
But nowhere could I find the thing I sought
Beyond the migrant men in a dream caught.
I dreamt a dream,
So horrible and cruel,
That my screams echoed through the house,
The sight of the the men in dark cloaks,
Struck fear into my soul,
Though I did not know why,
Until I seen the woman,
Her body bruised and mangled,
Her deep green eyes filled with tears of agony and dispair,
Her hair, which had once been long and silky,
Now was rudely chopped and tangled,
One of the men in cloaks began to speak,
And as he spoke another man poked te woman with something sharp,
I heard her screams,
I saw her blood,
Then I saw the brutal man, tie the woman up,
I did not understand why,
It seemed so wrong,
The crowd in which was gathered,
Stared in a uneasy, fearful silence,
The only sound being that of which the men in cloaks made,
When they lite the fire beneath her feet,
I heard myself crying out, telling them to stop,
I felt someone grab my arms,
My screams echoed hers as the flames licked her flesh,
They tried to drag me away,
As I struggled, I watched her die,
Burnt alive,
The crowd disappeared,
Staring at me with knowing eyes,
I suddenly knew,
The next woman to be burned,
Was myself.
The Fight for Freedom
Three or four thousand years ago,
The ancient Greeks fought for Liberty
As now we know.
And before them, the persecuted Jews,
Rebelled against the yoke of tyranny.
Although the ?ght for Freedom
Was long and hard,
In the end they did not lose
And Freedom rose unscarred!
Centuries later the English people did uprise
Or their freedom would have surely died
And King John, the unkind
The Magna Charter had to sign.
For Freedom many men have died
And for it they a King de?ed.
Freedom is such a precious thing
No one can take it away
Not even a King.
And so it goes through all the centuries,
How men have worked and bled and died,
How men have fought for Freedom
With their women by their side.
These things we now recall
In the midst of the greatest Battle of them all.
All over the world men are dying today
That we may live in peace tomorrow.
And in the peace that’s yet to come
We will not hate and none we’ll shun.
“Black, yellow, brown or white”,
We’ll say, “These and all the others
We are proud to call our brothers.”
And when that happy day arrives,
I think that God up in His skies
Will say, with voice so mild,
“Now I am proud to say, Man is my child."
Six guns blaring, outlaws glaring, as they ride into town
A band of men, tired and weary and just all worn down
There they are sitting high, as if they could reach the sky
They come from afar, to stop a band of thieves
Outlaws so bad, everyone is sad, for they have killed
More than a few innocent women and children that came into their view.
Those who were there, those who did care, tell what happened that day.
The band of men, though weary and down, brought every single one of them outlaws to the
ground.
These bands of men are still celebrated today, everyone has heard of these men all around.
For they are the Texas Rangers you see, courageous men, heroes most especially for me