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Chris Saitta Aug 2020
They said passing by me that they would put out their eyes,
The clouds did as they died across the battlefield,
As the gauzy horses stanched the wept blood,
As the thorns, gnats, and briers, wound into
A dove’s nest of bayonets and knives,
The clouds died in insurrection,
And the night breathed freely and the stars cleared the mud.
Reposting since I cannot see whether this posts or not.  No idea why this site is wonky again?
Chris Saitta Feb 2020
The farmhand burns the leaves, though the bodies of slaves
Lie at heaven’s impasse in the trees of dying looks, barring them
From peaceful death, the sad emulsified perch of love and heat,
Hung at noon like John Brown untended, bearded of sticky summer,
Heavy-headed swinging noon and the smell of honeysuckle blood,
Fetid day like the coming dirt of graves, the clinging air of disease,
Snake-winding down from the trees with no pleasure of the bitten apple.
My heart is at war with my mind
About what's wrong and what's right
When there really is no black and white
Chris Saitta Jul 2019
You who have never known the loveliness of love,
Gather your heads on the torn pillow’s edge of mud,
Under the wood-tar shadows of camphor-aided sleep,  
Where your low-flung groans are starvations of sound,
And the amputated clouds, insinuated with gangrene
And blood-stained woods, are still bound to the shooting
Stars that fell beside you and flung up hissing rays of grass.

Parents of the midnight sky, the stolen stars of your children
Open their broken mouths to the battlefield heart of trespass.
To their soldiers’ eyes, the floor of heaven is uncut grass,
Wet with rain and mold and the unlifted wings of Pegasus,
Whose unearthly hoof to unearthly earth scuffs the clod
Of the lunette for the cannons to divulge the great, stuttering
Coda of everything old, malformed of breath and bone.  

Some grass somewhere will now seem the hair of a sweetheart,
And those dead eyes will aways stare, too fond of love unknown.
So the dead soldier and grass and sky conspire to hold a woman,
So the soldier makes the truce between earth and sky,
Between man and the divine, though the chestnut trees    
In red human tongues, pay their deep-forested encomium to distance,
In misspilled gorgeousness like Apollo surveying his own tomb.
This is a Civil War poem that doesn’t pretend to examine causes or the sides, just the aspect of war and its toll.

“Lunette” is simply a crescent-shaped, earthen fortification that was used for cannon in the Civil War, with several well-preserved examples on the Chancellorsville battlefield.
America, unveiled in frugal agendas

secreted in roots of regal cypress

terminal in nature, resounding.

There has died and been buried,

a man so little known,

his flock of fledglings, so rarely

returned, echoed youthful

calls and whistles across spirits

of tomorrow. Young men beating

chests of perpetual, salacious sentiments, heralding: patriotic, passionate, eternal,

pestilent, dogmatic, sick. Hopeless aptitude lost

in pits, in trenches, in arrogant proposal,

monuments of soils erected

in earnest, divided in expectation,

by a standard of worthiness.

Casting shadows like youthful sorrows upon barren grounds such are souls.

The ringing charges they powdered

in optimistic principle besiege

timeless yods of heroism

laid upon an altar for remembrance.

A Hymn of servitude now sung

there, for those crushed beneath

crops of civility. Lecherous fathers

battling the sick condition of men

harvested on Little Round Top,

down Devil’s Den,

in the Best Western

Quality Inn.

every bone in glory

rest there.
Elizabeth Brown Oct 2018
Freedom is a mask.
We don both it and our colors,
oblivious to the snickers of our peers.
Like religion, patriotism separates us further.
How can one believe in a system
so corrupt?
Powerless yet powerful, we must stand,
lest another civil war commence.
Together, hand in hand, we
will create a new life for us all.
B May 2018
my eyes were open for two years
fear, I couldn't close them, even when it was so clear

what had I just signed up for,
you swore, why are we in a civil war

waiting for you to just ******* crash
but with your stash, you're having a blast

drifting away from reality,
carefree, giving me the third degree, you lost me

control couldn't save you
and neither could I
I knew we just both had to survive
I felt weak, but now I know I was strong
my eyes were tired for being open for so **** long

you didn't just crash, you ******* burned
you burned all of your bridges with no where left to turn
flight or fight, fright, I can't trust you without a ******* knife,
I closed my eyes, finally, and I suddenly gained all sight

I didn't need a reason to help you
but maybe I wanted to close my eyes again
maybe I wanted peace, a close to an end

because for two years,
I couldn't close my eyes
so thank you
now I am wise
Daniel Tsel Mar 2018
What does it mean to be a slave?                                                           ­               
To be stripped of everything that God gave.                                  
To be wondering and planning every single night                                                    
Whether it’s worth to leave and risk your life                        
Imagine a flower at a flower shop                                            
First cut away from the rest of the crop                          
Then sold to a man that they never knew                  
Either left to wither                              
Or sold anew                                            
Even though it’s a beautiful flower
It’s treated like a **** and subjected to power              
If it tries to grow it’s own path anew                                  
It will be forced back down
Now a flower in blue
Skull and Bones free markets calling,
          we're sailing off with your income's falling...

Skull and Bone's gain, -your hurt;
          all your fetid industries we do subvert...

Skull and Bones my outlaw swear!
          on the altar I cremate the care!
6, 7 meter rhyme
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