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Forms
Across the darkened street
Pale windows that
Glow like dying
Embers of a fire
Once strong dot
The building’s façade
I see the forms...shadows
Embracing caressing
Your touch
Comes to mind
And it hurts
And enslaves
I wonder are you
Gone or not
My hands punch
Into my pockets
And as I go the
Shadows retreat
into the past
#poetry #love #pain #writing #shadow #dark #prose #poem
Middle Kentucky 1862
One of Henry’s darkest years is ending and the notion of home and any sweet warm memories lie crushed under the weight of a year’s worth of fighting. The only memories kept now are of federal troops treading their boots across his farm stealing and pillaging and the feelings of despondency felt as he stood amongst the ruin of his home watching their blue uniforms march out of sight with all of his livestock and the winter’s supply of grain in tow. Never again he murmured that cold day. Now a year later, federal troops again threatened desolation throughout the country and Henry stood dressed in the ragged grey uniform of the rebels, musket squarely placed on his shoulder ready to uphold that oath.
A gentle breeze flowed over Henry, momentarily alleviating the suffocating, sticky heat of an August day in Kentucky. He stood with the men of his company in a line of battle at the edge of a thicket. Through the drops of sweat streaming into his eyes, he saw to their front an old field littered with broken fences and trampled stalks of corn crushed by the back and forth movement of troops engaged in combat. Grey smoke rose from the far end of the field where the distant crackle of musketry marked the current extent of battle. Discarded and broken equipment as well as the bodies of the dead lay about in heaps. Stretcher bearers running to and fro steadily gathered and carried the wounded past the grey line. The veterans feigned indifference but the green soldiers stared in horror as the cold bloody dead and the tormented cries of the wounded seemed like a scene only found in Dante. Henry ignored the wounded but the fingers of bile slowly clawed up his throat. Fighting back the feeling he reminded himself that surviving a few small fights made him a veteran and he reasoned that sickness wasn’t deserving of a veteran. He also didn’t want to look weak in front of the veterans of the company because they accepted him; even though they nicknamed him “Tiny”, his coolness in battle and grit had provided him a deserving place amongst their ranks.
The company commander bellowed “Forward!” and Henry stepped out in unison with the others. Henry stole a glance to his right and spied the captain sword in hand leading the company and a few paces back from him, waving gently in the breeze, the stars and bars of the rebel battle flag.
One step, two steps- the grey line moved forward in a repeating thump of footsteps that reminded Henry of a muffled drum beating a funeral march cadence. To his left clouds of smoke exploded in the air followed by the thunderous pulse of noise from a battery of artillery. Henry heard the whoosh of cannon balls flying through the air and felt relieved that they were directed on other places and not on him.
Besides the soft footfalls mixed with the gentle thump of equipment bouncing off legs the advance across the field was eerily quiet. Most feared that today was their last and they hid any fear through their silence. Slowly the line crossed the field till they approached the thick fog that hid the fighting. Acrid smoke from the earlier fighting hung like a wall and as the line passed into it visibility fell to a little more than a hundred feet to the front. Musketry roared to their front like a violent beast and as they moved forward the victims of the fighting appeared in the gloom like ghost wandering across a graveyard. As they passed the men could see the horror and fear etched in the wide eyes and pale deathly expressions of the wounded as they slowly dragged their shattered bodies back to the rear. A few steps further and the grey line started to come across the newly dead. One or two twisted agonized bodies soon turned into more and finally heaps of bodies showing where the fighting had been especially intense. Henry stole a glance at them as he passed. The sightless eyes and the malevolence of their broken and shredded bodies drew a cold breath across Henrys heart. He shivered slightly.
The musketry rose to a climax just out of sight in the fog to their front, and then suddenly died away to an uneasy silence and seemed like the silence before the storm. Two guttural “hurrahs” echoed through the air as frightened rebels came crashing out of the fog crying “They’re comin----They’re comin “. They pushed through Henry’s grey line heading for safety in the rear.
Henry’s company commander cried “Halt” bringing the entire grey line to a standstill. Henry looked forward through the haze. He could hear footsteps to his front and slowly the federals materialized out of the smoke about a hundred yards away. They approached shoulder to shoulder and with muskets on their shoulders they appeared like a long unbroken wave of blue ready to crash onto the rebels.
“Company Volley Fire!...Ready” cried the Captain. Henry pulled his musket off of his shoulder and cocked the hammer.
“Aim” Henry raised his weapon and aimed it at the distant blue line.
“Fire!”
The entire grey line erupted into a thunderous storm of fire and smoke. Henry squeezed the trigger and felt the recoil of the musket kick into his shoulder.
Now it was their turn. Henry saw the blue line level their weapons. He heard the roar of their muskets discharging and less than a moment later a swarm of lead ripped through the rebels killing and mutilating men up and down the line. Henry was pushed to the side and he glanced sideways and watched the man next to him crumple to the ground missing a chunk of his head. Henry flinched momentarily in revulsion at the carnage but his training and coolness took over as a surge of excitement filled his mind pushing all fear to the back. Even with the pulse of his heartbeat pounding in his ear like a war drum Henry quickly reloaded his musket like a machine.
The captain again called for volley fire “Ready! “Henry cocked his musket.
“Aim!” he leveled it at the blue federal line.
“Fire!”
Again Henry heard and felt the crash as his musket discharged. The smoke cleared slightly and to his surprise he noticed holes in the blue line. The captain ran in front of the company and with his saber held high and pointed at the federal line he cried “Take it to em boys!” The Captain burst into a run towards the federals and the rebel line with the distinct yelping cry of the “Rebel Yell” exploding from everyone’s mouth, the men accelerated to full running speed. At about a hundred paces from the federals Henry saw the muzzle of their muskets lower; he braced for the expected crash and smoke of volley fire that followed. Men skipped, tripped and fell as the bullets hit their mark. The federals lowered their weapons into a defensive position ready to meet the rebel charge.
At fifty paces some of the federals turned and started to turn tail but the federal straight ahead of Henry squared his shoulders and peered directly at him even though his eyes were wide with fear. Henry lowered his shoulder and aimed directly at the man’s midsection.
The grey line of men crashed together like a tidal wave smashing into immovable cliffs. Henry felt the jarring impact as the force of the impact drove Henry deep into the federal’s chest; knocking him backwards to the ground with Henry falling over the top of him. Blows and kicks pummeled Henry as the men from behind stampeded over him. Regaining some composure, Henry scrambled to his feet as best as he could. He looked at the federal below and brought the butt of his musket up to deliver a crushing blow. The federal looked up and squealed, blood from a wound started to stream across his face. Seeing the fear etched across the man’s face Henry lowered the musket, quickly stepped over the man and moved on to get back into the fray.
All around Henry men clubbed punched and stabbed using rifle butts, fists and knives. Few used bayonets due to an overarching fear both sides had of the weapon. To the right Henry’s friend Emmitt got knocked to the ground. The federal stood poised to deliver a second blow. Henry rushed over screaming while swinging his rifle at the man’s head. The rifle butt caught the man just over the bridge of his nose. He fell like a limp ragdoll instantly. Henry quickly inspected Emmitt who seemed just bloodied and dazed when a growl echoed next to him. He looked up just in time to see a federal whirling his rifle at his head. Henry ducked as a gust of air whooshed an inch over his head. He balled his fist and brought it up into the federal’s crouch. The man grunted and reeled over in pain. Henry followed up with a smashing kick to the face then pushed him off to the side. He looked about trying to get a picture of the scene around him; blue mixed with grey all over but Henry thought there seemed fewer federals now.
Suddenly someone backed into him. Henry swung around and was immediately swallowed by red, white and blue colored cloth. He promptly realized that it was the federal colors fluttering around his head and he and the flag bearer stood back to back. The magnitude of the situation seized Henry instantly. He balled up his fist and swung towards the back of the man’s head. The impact struck home, painfully jarring Henry’s hand as two bones snapped. He was oblivious to the pain as the flag bearer collapsed. The flag dropped from the man’s hands falling towards the ground. Henry firmly caught it midair and inhaled to let out a victory shout when a wallop the size of an elephant slammed into the side of his head. Henry’s victory shout turned more towards whimper and as darkness closed about, he tucked the flag under his body. Then blackness and oblivion fell.
Henry’s senses slowly came back. The darkness lightened and shapes moving about appeared as his vison cleared. Shouts and the mournful wails of men in pain filled his ears as the distinct scent of blood and chloroform attacked his nostrils. Henry came full awake and he found himself lying on the ground atop a soiled, blood caked blanket. He soon realized that he was in a field hospital though where he didn’t know. Nor did he care because an eruption of pain seared through his head when he tried to turn his head.
He reached up and felt the greasy fabric of a makeshift bandage covering his head.
Henry heard a foot fall right beside him. He painfully turned his head and found himself staring up into the face of a kindly looking gentleman smiling down at him. Henry immediately found himself comforted by warm and friendly impression the gentleman’s appearance even though his clothes were stained with the blood of a days’ worth of surgeries.
“Glad to see you back.” The gentleman said with a lighthearted quality. “Figured you’d come around, didn’t know when though. Let me have a look at ya.”
Henry sat still as the gentleman examined his head and eyes. “I’m Major Dawson though most call me Sawbone.” Sawbone gave a small smile as if he was pleased,” some even call me a dirty bastard but that’s only when I’m working on em.” “I saw you when they brought you in you’ve got quite a lump. Broken hand too but that should also heal.”
“What’s your name son?” Sawbone asked.
“Henry Sir.”
“No, no SIR... just Sawbone‘ll do fine.” “Now I was the one and only to check you out when ya got here and it seems to me that not everything here is what it seems. But I figure it’s your business and not mine but I do have two questions for you. It may seem stupid but it gives me an idea of what to do with you but first...why exactly are you here?”
Henry looked up into the man’s eyes, “well sir—uhh ... I made a pledge that no one would leave me helpless anymore.”
Sawbone smiled slightly, “good enough answer and the second is what’s your nam___”
“There he is” interrupted the Henry’s captain as he strode up next to Henry. He kneeled down, “How ya doin private? Did a hellofa thing out there. Yanks turned and ran after you got the colors.” He smiled broadly, “won us the day.” The captain grabbed Henry by the hand a shook it violently. Henry winced as his broken hand cried under the captain’s grip. “Yes sir did a hell of good job. Now you just lie there a get healed, tha boys’ll be glad to hear about ya.” He dropped Henrys hand, stood up smartly, gave a departing smile and quickly strode away.
“We’ll I guess you’re a hero or something. Might make it harder on you because now everyone is lookin your way. I hope you know how to handle that.” Sawbone bent down a sat next to Henry. “Ahh ...need to sit for a minute and I also to ask you the other question and I don’t think you’d like it too much if go and shout it for everyone to hear.”
Henry knew what he meant and braced himself for the shock.
“As I was examining you for I noticed a couple of things that I thought odd. First of all you have a wide bandage going around the top of your chest. There’s not wound there so the only reason for having that is to hide something, maybe a couple of things. Secondly you also have a long scar that’s not quite healed. So.”
“As I told you I vowed to never be helpless again.” a bit of irritation tinged Henry’s reply,” I first met the yanks when they visited my farm. When they left I had nothing, including my honor and only that scar to show for it so now I’m here fighting like every other man in this army. ”
Sawbone smiled slightly “Yes you are but, what is your name again?”
“Henry.”
“Now I’m a doctor and you can’t hide certain things from me so again what’s your name and I mean the real one?”
Henry leaned over. Sawbone moved in and Henry whispered “My name is not Henry.” Henry pulled back slightly as the next words he found extremely hard to utter, “It’s Henrietta”
Sawbone sighed “I figured. I don’t know how you hid your secret up to this point but I got a notion that it’ll be getting very tricky from now on cause folks’ll be paying a lot of attention to you because you’re a hero. But lots of folks fighting for all kinds of reasons nowadays. Yours sounds good to me so don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. “Sawbone smiled kindly.
#civilwar #rebel #fiction #kentucky #war
Christmas Morning
My eyes flew open! It’s morning! It’s light and best of all it’s Christmas! Wow! Santa’s been here I just knew it and since I figured that I'd been mostly good, there were lots of stuff waiting for me. A wave of exhilaration flooded over me like a tidal wave filling every inch of my body with excitement. My bedsheets flew in every direction as I jumped to my feet. Like Superman, whose “S” happened to be plastered across the front of my red footies, I jumped off my bed to the bedroom door in a single bound. Faster than a speeding bullet, around the corner I flew only to come to a screeching halt halfway down the hall. Mom and Dad’s room is just to the right and since Mom says no running in the house, I figured that corner time was not the best way to start Christmas. I listened for a moment and didn’t hear a thing. Well, I thought no need to bother them; after all they’re old and probably need their sleep. So I decided to go solo the rest of the way at a walk, although it was a brisk walk.
At the top the stairs I looked down towards the bottom. Figuring that today is a day to be bold, I decided to do the stairs, two steps at a time, like Dasher or Prancer bounding from rooftop to rooftop. So, down I went. Unfortunately, the very last step caught my foot and down took on a new meaning as I went sprawling across the floor; much like my building blocks when I play monster dinosaur.
As I jumped up and found nothing broken except an owie on my nose, I realized I wasn’t Dasher or Prancer; but being Rudolph was OK too. Taking a breath, I looked about the front room. It was all very happy with the windows draped in reds and greens with gold trim and smiling Santa Clauses on every level surface. Cinnamon tickled my nose from the cookies Mom and I baked last night. I remembered the batter tasting so good; even better after it had hardened on my shirt.
“Wait!” my mind shouted. Why am I thinking of cookies? There are more important things in the living room, under the Christmas tree. I gazed towards the living room. The entrance was in the usual spot but today it looked a zillion miles away. Well it wasn’t getting any closer by standing here so my right foot took a step; then the left. It all seemed to take so agonizingly long, but step by step, another step and another the living room slowly came closer until I finally could peek in through the door. The top of the Christmas tree towered over the top of the couch like my teacher does when I write notes to Jenny. Then I knew it was time to make my move. With all of my strength I exploded into a frantic run and before I knew it, I burst though the entrance and into the living room. A sense of triumph flooded over me as I raised my hands and danced, like those guys under that big yellow fork, in the football games dad falls asleep to on Sundays.
Then it caught my eye and my sense of triumph turned to awe. I’ve never seen a grander more beautiful sight. There in the middle of the room, under the Christmas tree, was piled the biggest mound of gifts, and I’ve seen many mounds in my seven years, that has ever been seen. The Christmas tree shined in the morning light; all adorned with ornaments of every shape and size. Sparkling tinsel draped from every branch making the tree look as if magic was cascading like a waterfall from the top to the very bottom.
Underneath, packages upon packages were stacked high all wrapped in colored paper with ribbons and bows; which will look much prettier after I rip it all to shreds. As I stood there, mouth agape trying to take in all of the beauty, all of the happiness, and all just for me, my mind searched the ten words that I know to describe my joy. But when it opened to say the right one, all I could utter was WOW!
#christmas,#poetry,#holiday.#santa clause
Christmas Morning
My eyes flew open! It’s morning! It’s light and best of all it’s Christmas! Wow! Santa’s been here I just knew it and since I figured that I'd been mostly good, there were lots of stuff waiting for me. A wave of exhilaration flooded over me like a tidal wave filling every inch of my body with excitement. My bedsheets flew in every direction as I jumped to my feet. Like Superman, whose “S” happened to be plastered across the front of my red footies, I jumped off my bed to the bedroom door in a single bound. Faster than a speeding bullet, around the corner I flew only to come to a screeching halt halfway down the hall. Mom and Dad’s room is just to the right and since Mom says no running in the house, I figured that corner time was not the best way to start Christmas. I listened for a moment and didn’t hear a thing. Well, I thought no need to bother them; after all they’re old and probably need their sleep. So I decided to go solo the rest of the way at a walk, although it was a brisk walk.
At the top the stairs I looked down towards the bottom. Figuring that today is a day to be bold, I decided to do the stairs, two steps at a time, like Dasher or Prancer bounding from rooftop to rooftop. So, down I went. Unfortunately, the very last step caught my foot and down took on a new meaning as I went sprawling across the floor; much like my building blocks when I play monster dinosaur.
As I jumped up and found nothing broken except an owie on my nose, I realized I wasn’t Dasher or Prancer; but being Rudolph was OK too. Taking a breath, I looked about the front room. It was all very happy with the windows draped in reds and greens with gold trim and smiling Santa Clauses on every level surface. Cinnamon tickled my nose from the cookies Mom and I baked last night. I remembered the batter tasting so good; even better after it had hardened on my shirt.
“Wait!” my mind shouted. Why am I thinking of cookies? There are more important things in the living room, under the Christmas tree. I gazed towards the living room. The entrance was in the usual spot but today it looked a zillion miles away. Well it wasn’t getting any closer by standing here so my right foot took a step; then the left. It all seemed to take so agonizingly long, but step by step, another step and another the living room slowly came closer until I finally could peek in through the door. The top of the Christmas tree towered over the top of the couch like my teacher does when I write notes to Jenny. Then I knew it was time to make my move. With all of my strength I exploded into a frantic run and before I knew it, I burst though the entrance and into the living room. A sense of triumph flooded over me as I raised my hands and danced, like those guys under that big yellow fork, in the football games dad falls asleep to on Sundays.
Then it caught my eye and my sense of triumph turned to awe. I’ve never seen a grander more beautiful sight. There in the middle of the room, under the Christmas tree, was piled the biggest mound of gifts, and I’ve seen many mounds in my seven years, that has ever been seen. The Christmas tree shined in the morning light; all adorned with ornaments of every shape and size. Sparkling tinsel draped from every branch making the tree look as if magic was cascading like a waterfall from the top to the very bottom.
Underneath, packages upon packages were stacked high all wrapped in colored paper with ribbons and bows; which will look much prettier after I rip it all to shreds. As I stood there, mouth agape trying to take in all of the beauty, all of the happiness, and all just for me, my mind searched the ten words that I know to describe my joy. But when it opened to say the right one, all I could utter was WOW!
#christmas,#poetry,#holiday.#santa clause
St Nicolas never comes alone
Sputtering firelight glinting
off reds, silvers and golds
gifts tucked under the tree
all the holiday cheer
while safely nestled in bed
covers tucked nicely around
and dreams of joyous morns
drift through the mind
heavy hoof beats shatter
the silence, the crack of a
whip slashes the air
binding limbs and flesh tightly
and as piercing claws
push the body downwards
towards darkness and
panicked screams are strangled
just remember St Nicolas
never comes alone
Krampus’s list names only
the naughty
be them young or old
man or woman, rich and poor
and tonight
even you
#christmas #krampus #holiday #poetry
#��ڴ��G1
Autumn warmth
A Chilled autumn breeze gusts
making me shiver as angry grey clouds
entangle overhead locking everything
into sad dirty browns ,oranges
and reds
you amble close with a smile
that reminds me of the dawn
of a very pleasant dream
and as your arms encircle me
and your cheek touches mine
I lie enveloped in warmth
such as a favorite down
comforter on a chill autumn morn.