| From Stone Bridge Poems from the Battlefield a work in progress |
| Copyright 2005-2008 K. Mercurio Gotthardt No part of this page may be reproduced without express consent from the author. |
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| Speaking to Specters for A.C. Through your ageless eyes, I understand your replies to what you most fear: trembling from the tip of the fuse to the cannon's opening, the rip in the air of civil war, tear in the veil that lies, 'there is but one truth.' You can never know for sure where the dead will go, leaving us the rot. Only those mindless enough not to think are not distressed at our hot blood seeping from wounds to grass, to dirt, to the stones, to earth's heart below, union of bodies with things we cannot see, and more we cannot know. |
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| Scouting I still search for you near the cemetery walls, near Stovall marker, behind the rock ridge of historical ruins, and all I can do is wonder again at your instant, untimely disappearances. |
| The White Deer Twice blessed, I have been, with this wordless beauty, an only Deer, here, white with eyes that defend meaning more than rutting and eating, here despite the ways of the woods. Wisdom leaks from its pale eyes, and paralyzed, on this rough trail, I stood, waiting for some other sign, burnt bush or a song: "Do not fear, my child," I felt that it would say. "You are held by old earth-- there is nothing wild here that can ever claim you so long you still search." Humbled as human, bathed in the scent of the wise, faith towers like Birch: Twice blessed, I have been, with this Deer, the trees and skies, this haven, my church. |
| Guided Tour Behind the Stone Bridge No one to lead you besides this wrinkling map-- follow their faces. Then, ask yourself why dead boughs bend but still leak sap. When did these places stop brandishing boys in branches? How did they teach these children to hide, to aim at each noise? Turn your eyes to the cold creek and then to the guide. If you run be quick, or you will part the forest like you were the dawn. |
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| Commander-in-Chief "I cannot trust a man to control others who cannot control himself." --Robert E. Lee Your steel control steers us south, through the pine-tree tunnel, under bombarding cones, through needles, stone, and prayers for our dead. Our feet are bloody. Our clothes are torn. We reek from the squelched fuse of understanding. We follow you like addiction, begging for bits of regular rest, daily bites of bread, salvation from this bitter cup and respite from the memories of our dead. |
| For the Healer for David You are my healer, and I, your rebellious warrior. I come to you bleeding and needy, weary from this past battle. You wrap me, and soothe me, and remind me I am strong, that war is worth it. |
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| I falter, I nod, recovering. But my condition is critical, and you are only one. You can only do what you can do. You lean close to hear my latest mumble: Who will heal the healer? |
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| The Prison Camp Survivors I might have lived longer on a memory than anything that really occurred-- the hiding, confiding, despising, the guarded wood that hedged us in, the thick talk of bombastic fear, the bragging that kept us breathing. I'd stare you down on any given day, hold my thin patch of ground, refuse to walk away, this stubborn fury wreaking starving resolve, the relentless rush of self preservation and the need to protect a nation. What is it that kept us alive so long when cages held us fast? Was it hope or will or stupidity, competitive pride or vanity, or was it the raven circling our camp daring our dare to survive? |
| Stonewall Down You told me to build a wall from the rubble, fragments of earth and strength and clay; you told me to stack stones, one upon another, fill in the cracks with dust and water. I did as I was told. There was no way it would ever hold. It came crashing down on an exhale. |