A Poem from my Forthcoming Book

I thought I’d share a poem that will be featured in my new book, The Journals of Lt. Kendal Everly: Poems of the American Civil War. Lost in a murderous shroud of war and hate, Everly kills an enemy, a young Confederate solider.

A dead Confederate soldier

Silken Filaments of Salvation

August 4, 1861 – Entry IV

His neck was thin. My fingers
slid around it as they might caress
your neck, Elizabeth. Yet, it was slicked
with blood so it felt as if I tightened

my grip around a fish. Hunched over
like Notre Dame’s bell ringer, I pulled
his head closer to mine. He might
have thought I meant to kiss him.

My heart, my mind, both bubbled
with some foul Satanic froth,
both marvelled at the deepening color
of his face, a deep purple, a fine wine.

I gulped the dying gasps of this boy
as if his death would envelop me
with the silken filaments of salvation.
My fingers tightened. His neck grew

thinner, a wet string. His mouth,
like a gate, opened, dark and wide,
attempting to conjure breath. His limbs
flailed attempting to embrace the air.

His eyes, opened wide like globes.
Damn you, I screamed. DAMN YOU.
And then, there was death. He was still
And I was lost. Dear God, I am lost.

When Hurricanes Strike…Write

Hurricane Sandy unleashed her might and fury on the Northeast last night. My family and I spent hours in the dark, listening to winds rage and trees fall. Thanks be to God, our home wasn’t damaged and our power was restored this afternoon. Neighbors and friends were not as lucky.

As Sandy swallowed us and all, I picked up a pen and wrote a poem. A night of nature’s ferocity compelled me to think of man’s ferocity. I wrote of the the First Battle of Bull Run. In this poem, my developing manuscript’s title character, Lt. Kendal Everly, enters the battle. A teacher, Everly inadvertently leads some of his students into the fray.

Thunk and Thud

Like a spear’s tip,
I pierced the fray.
My students, my boys,

chained their resolve to mine:
together, our voices twisted
into one horrid cacophony,

a chorus greater than hell’s
demon song. My sword, drawn
and splitting the air before me,

caught the sun, blazed
like a blade aflame.
And that heart, that thunk

and thud, beat against my brain.
Louder now: so maddening loud.

Bull Run Revision

Thanks to the fine criticism of a good friend, the poem featured in my last post has been revised. One poem has become two.

Still, I Tremble

July 20, 1861

A force has gathered,
mighty enough to fracture
Achilles’ spirit. Lincoln presses us

to blood and battle;
we are his dogs. Gen. McDowell
will unleash us, but he unbinds

a legion of pups. Tonight,
I dread not death. It will visit
me when it wills. Still, I tremble.

As a Moth

July 20, 1861 – Entry II

Soon, fate will call me to lead,
to carve the battlefield with my courage,
and rally these boys with each drum

of my heart. As a moth follows a flame
to its death, I fear I’ll usher my charge
into hell’s foulest fire.

Related articles

• On the Eve of Bull Run (thelintinmypocket.wordpress.com)

On the Eve of Bull Run

I again return to my developing manuscript, The Journals of Lt. Arthur Kendal Everly. In this poem, Everly sits on battle’s treacherous brink, the battle of First Bull Run.

Please comment. I value your opinions.

Moths to a Flame

July 20, 1861

A force has gathered,
mighty enough to fracture
Achilles’ spirit. Lincoln presses us

to blood and battle;
we are his dogs. Gen. McDowell
will unleash us, but he unbinds

a legion of pups. Tonight,
I dread not death. It will visit
me when it wills. Still, I tremble.

Soon, fate will call me to lead,
to carve the battlefield with my courage,
and rally these boys with each drum

of my heart. As a moth follows a flame
to its death, I fear I’ll usher my charge
into hell’s foulest fire.

Related articles

• When a Story Happens… (thelintinmypocket.wordpress.com)
• Civil War & Wine at The Winery at Bull Run (winecompass.blogspot.com)

Bull Run and the War’s First Civilian Casualty

The Henry house after the 1st Battle of Bull Run

July 21 marks the anniversary of the 1st Battle of Bull Run, also know as the 1st Battle of Manassas. The battle claimed the War’s first civilian casualty, Judith Carter Henry.

“When the battle began on the opposite hill, artillery shots were coming threateningly near (to the Henry house). The family first considered trying to move Mrs. Henry, 85 years old and bedridden, to Portici, the home of Robert Lewis, one mile southeast of the Henry home. But in the growing confusion, that was out of the question.

There was a spring house to the southwest in a depression that seemed less exposed. They carried Mrs. Henry there, only to have her beg to be taken back to her own bed. This was done as soon as they realized that the spring house was no safer than the dwelling.

While the Henrys were gone, Confederate snipers had taken up hiding positions in the home. In an attempt to dislodge the Confederate sharpshooters in the house, Union Artillery Captain James B. Ricketts turned his guns and shelled the house.

A shell hit Judith Henry’s bedroom and the bed on which she lay was shattered. She was thrown to the floor, wounded in the neck and side, and one of her feet was partially blown off. Ellen Henry sought refuge in a big fireplace chimney during the bombardment, and her subsequent deafness was attributed to injury to her eardrums from the violent concussion produced by the shelling.

Judith Carter Henry died later that afternoon, the first civilian casualty of the Civil War, and was buried in the garden she loved” (http://www.civilwarwomenblog.com/2008/06/judith-carter-henry.html).

Here’s a poem for Mrs. Henry. It’s in the voice of one of the Confederate snipers who was positioned inside the Henry home.

Apologies

We poked our muskets out them windows
looking for boys get’up in blue. I wanted to pop
one with a feather in his hat. Feathers meant
the Johnny wearing it was important. But this

old hag was screaming something awful
in the next room. I’d swear, sharp as it was,
she could skin a coon with that shrieking.
Shut up, lady, I yells. I’m trying to pluck

some feathers. Right then the war barreled
through that house like a horde of spooked
buffalos – artillery, damned artillery.
Whole house shook. Dust settled over me

like sugar on a cake. My ears were humming
and my head was thumping, but I crawled
over to see if that old bitty was ok. Found her
sprawled in  a mess of dust and blood.

Artillery must of grabbed her foot when it flew
by cause she was missing one. Just a bone
was left poking out her leg. I told her I was sorry
for yelling at her, but she didn’t seem to care for apologies.

Related articles

• First battle of Civil War still relevant ()

Terrible Fire

Having recently finished and submitted my manuscript, I’ve been taking a few more breaths between poems. Still, the urge to write envelopes and so I write.
 
Commemortaing the Civil War’s Sesquicentennial, the United States Post Office has and will issue stamps depecting important Civil Wa. The first two stamps were released on April 12, 2011. The Fort Sumter and First Battle of Bull Run commemorative stamps began the Civil War 150th Anniversary Commemorative series. The First Battle of Bull Run stamp is shared above.
The poem shared below finds its inspiration in the stamp.

Terrible Fire

I can’t remember it clearly,
at least not all of it – sound roared
over the earth, over me,
battered my thinking like the ocean

would pummel a spot of sand –
but I can still see the horses,
groups of them pulling artillery
on wheels that spun as a chariot’s

wheels might turn. And the horses,
their eyes, burnt – the glowing
coals of terrible fire.
Now I know that can’t be; I know

it wasn’t, but still that’s what I saw –
eyes burning, smoking so hot the air
stank with ash and sulfur.
Yeah, that stink was just cannon fire,

but I still don’t care to mount a horse.
If they galloped out of hell,
they could gallop back. I won’t
be settled on one when it does.