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Details | Free verse |

Tabula Fractus

Tabula Fractus

         come with me to this moment
         where remembering begins
         the bubbles in my head pop
         and there we are
         hammering truth to fiction
         future to past
         words are the floor we're stepping over

         years later  past the wire fences
         rain like medicine drops
         across the narrow plane
         days grow up here
         flowery months of yellow red
         absorb the rumored poison
         I thought I had it
         figured out

         night looks back in anger
         eating up the air
         I have to find a place
         snap the light switch on
         bolt the darkness out
         all this just to breathe
         a little
         finished with the first part
         too feeble for the last

         it melts
         turns to vapor
         finely pulsed through woven flesh
         I've dropped my last decision
         fire for the nothing there
         that slips around me
         convex layers
         spirit wings appear above me
         this time we won't remember
         the crawling ashes singing
         autumn burns within me
         the guardrail grammar crashes hard
         against this sharp abatis
         I am not what I think
         nor from thinking thus descended


Details | Epic |

The Boy At Ticonderoga, Part I

Duncan was a young British soldier,
new recruit at fifteen years of age,
a good lad who followed his orders,
he was a fifer who liked to play,
his tunes directed men in the field,
the Blackwatch soldiers who didn’t yield,
deployed in 1758
to America, to wilds great.
Sent to take the fight there to the French,
in New York’s rugged northern mountains,
from long Lake George the march would begin,
a desire for vengeance to quench,
after what happened the year before
at William Henry, the blood and gore…

Abercrombie was put in command,
but left many duties to George Howe,
a young officer, and steadfast man,
lots of leeway to chap was allowed.
So out would row 18, 000 men,
excited Duncan plunked amongst them,
largest force seen on Yankee shores,
compared to the French, near five times more.
All of the men’s spirits running high,
highlanders, militia, native scouts,
the outcome didn’t seem much in doubt
when the lake’s northern end they espied,
the French had all fled that patch of earth,
Howe’s forward columns got to their work.

Duncan was not part of this advance,
his unit was unloading behind,
ahead Howe encountered men from France
trying to retreat behind their lines.
Loud gunshots echoed back through the woods,
young Duncan, then, did not feel so good,
went about unloading with frayed nerves,
after some hours, then men returned.
They spoke of a skirmish amongst trees,
how the noble Lord Howe was shot dead
in the fighting, before the French fled,
after suffering casualties.
Now Abercrombie alone took charge,
which didn’t help to lift people’s hearts.

The next day Colonel John Bradstreet went
with men to reconnoiter the scene,
up Rattlesnake hill his troop was sent,
saw the fort, information was gleaned;
Fort Carillon looked in bad repair,
and they could see no forward lines there,
with a charge they thought the French would break,
but they didn’t see their great mistake:
Trees and shrubs shielded breastworks from view,
and branches formed into abatis,
through which no marching line could persist,
none of these things Abercrombie knew,
and fearing reinforcements in time,
he chose to strike, left big guns behind.

CONTINUES IN PART II.

Book: Shattered Sighs