#lincoln
Same old stairs
same old knees
climbing, climbing
higher than one might please
I'm only one of thousands
who've visited the man
who sits in the chair
in DC near Maryland.
In his day
He helped free people in need
he lived his life doing good deeds
I wanted to thank him
this one last time
so I went ahead and made the climb.
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 3:49 AM UTC
𝓐𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓱𝓪𝓶 𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓷'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮,
𝓝𝓸𝓻 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓘 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓶.
𝓘 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓮𝓭
𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭.
𝓟.𝓢. 𝓘 𝓯𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓭.
Jul 29, 2024
Jul 29, 2024 at 9:00 AM UTC
He rose from humble roots to lead the land
A man of courage, wisdom, and resolve
He faced a war that tore the nation's band
And vowed to heal the wounds and to absolve
He knew the evil of the slaver's chain
That bound the millions in a cruel fate
He fought to free them from the endless pain
And end the curse that stained the Union's state
He signed the proclamation of their right
To live as equals in the land of laws
He gave them hope and dignity and might
And earned their love and gratitude and applause
But not all hearts were moved by his decree
Some hated him for daring to defy
The order that they claimed was meant to be
And plotted to cut short his noble life
They struck him down one fateful April night
A coward's bullet silenced his great voice
The nation mourned the loss of its bright light
And wept for him who was its finest choice
He left behind a legacy of grace
A leader who had freed a race oppressed
He showed us how to seek a better place
And live according to our highest quest
We honor him as one who shaped our story
A martyr who had paid the highest price
We cherish him as one who gave us glory
A hero who had made the sacrifice
Jun 14, 2023
Jun 14, 2023 at 11:15 PM UTC
Lincoln died today
He hustled to an early grave
After patience bore the pain of hell
One final bullet to his dismay
Robbed him of the end he craved
Not of time or the sullen knell
But the kiss of a dagger in his worn hand
A battle lost and a battle won
A perdition purged a new ring rung
He's left this hollowed land
Consecrated by blood and gun
And travels now to songs unsung
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 9:16 PM UTC
The president of the United States is Donald Trump
and under his presidency the country is in a slump.
Could it be because of the way it has been managed
with all of the scandal and divisiveness seen to jump?
The style of politics that a leader in office exhibits
determines the country's fate that enables or prohibits
its people to aspire to their true potential and glory
which is why the current situation is one that inhibits.
It's much better to face the truth than hide behind a mask
of one who doesn't take responsibility for their own task
that's performed in such a way, blaming everyone else
for everything that goes wrong, in deception does bask.
Abuse of power often comes with the way one is elected
if the people themselves have of their leader so detected;
and asked to stand before them to face their suspicions,
when there's any evidence of wrongdoing to be inspected.
One is reminded of the saying that goes something like this
given by Abraham Lincoln perhaps to describe the time of his
own presidency that encountered strong opposition in the past
of the country's history that was so far from being one of bliss:
“You can fool some of the people all of the time,
and all of the people some of the time,
but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”
― Abraham Lincoln
It must be really hard for anyone to live under constant media scrutiny
with the social unrest sparked by a needless death bordering on mutiny
together with all the media reports about issues, the country's in a mess;
the forthcoming elections will tell which way it'll go to regain stability.
___________________
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 11:42 PM UTC
These are poems about Ann Rutledge and her romantic relationship with Abraham Lincoln.
Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge
by Michael R. Burch
Winter was not easy,
nor would the spring return.
I knew you by your absence,
as men are wont to burn
with strange indwelling fire —
such longings you inspire!
But winter was not easy,
nor would the sun relent
from sculpting ****** images
and how could I repent?
I left quaint offerings in the snow,
more maiden than I care to know.
Ann Rutledge’s Irregular Quilt
by Michael R. Burch
based on “Lincoln the Unknown” by Dale Carnegie
I.
Her fingers “plied the needle” with “unusual swiftness and art”
till Abe knelt down beside her: then her demoralized heart
set Eros’s dart a-quiver; thus a crazy quilt emerged:
strange stitches all a-kilter, all patterns lost. (Her host
kept her vicarious laughter barely submerged.)
II.
Years later she’d show off the quilt with its uncertain stitches
as evidence love undermines men’s plans and women’s strictures
(and a plethora of scriptures.)
III.
But O the sacred tenderness Ann’s reckless stitch contains
and all the world’s felicities: rich cloth, for love’s fine gains,
for sweethearts’ tremulous fingers and their bright, uncertain vows
and all love’s blithe, erratic hopes (like now’s).
IV.
Years later on a pilgrimage, by tenderness obsessed,
Dale Carnegie, drawn to her grave, found weeds in her place of rest
and mowed them back, revealing the spot of the Railsplitter’s joy and grief
(and his hope and his disbelief).
V.
For such is the tenderness of love, and such are its disappointments.
Love is a book of rhapsodic poems. Love is an grab bag of ointments.
Love is the finger poised, the smile, the Question — perhaps the Answer?
Love is the pain of betrayal, the two left feet of the dancer.
VI.
There were ladies of ill repute in his past. Or so he thought. Was it true?
And yet he loved them, Ann (sweet Ann!), as tenderly as he loved you.
Ann Rutledge was Abraham Lincoln’s first love interest. Unfortunately, she was engaged to another man when they met, then died with typhoid fever at age 22. According to a friend, Isaac Cogdal, when asked if he had loved her, Lincoln replied: “It is true—true indeed I did. I loved the woman dearly and soundly: She was a handsome girl—would have made a good, loving wife… I did honestly and truly love the girl and think often, often of her now.”
Ann Rutledge’s grave marker in Petersburg, Illinois, contains a poem written by Edgar Lee Masters in which she is “Beloved of Abraham Lincoln, / Wedded to him, not through union, / But through separation.”
Ann Rutledge’s original grave at Old Concord, once neglected, has a fairly new marker provided by her family. One side of the maker, along with her name and dates, reads: “Where Lincoln Wept.” An account popularized by William Herndon in his biography is that Lincoln was so distraught by Ann’s death that he knelt and wept at her grave. On the reverse side of the marker is carved “I cannot bear to think of her out there alone in the storm. A. Lincoln.”
Herndon was Lincoln’s law partner and a friend. He also attended poetry readings with Lincoln, who wrote poems himself. Lincoln called Herndon "my man always above all other men on the globe."
Following Lincoln's assassination, Herndon began collecting accounts of Lincoln's life from people who knew him. Herndon wanted to write a faithful portrait of his friend, based on the hundreds of letters and interviews he had compiled, plus his own recollections. He was determined to present Lincoln as the man he actually was, not as a romanticized national hero and saint, and this meant revealing things other biographers would omit or elide, due to the puritanical conventions of that day. Such details included Lincoln’s suicidal depression and his contentious relationship with his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln. And Herndon maintained that Ann Rutledge was Lincoln’s only true love.
Keywords/Tags: Ann Rutledge, Abraham Lincoln, poem, poems, poetry, love, lover, mistress, paramour, romance, romantic, quilt, grave, Dale Carnegie, William Herndon
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 10:42 PM UTC
I'd walk
and rather
shoe my
**** now
so laid
her heart
and soul
with my
bacchus pride
and love
or deceit
when true
justice was
vantage there
with boot
to regain!
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 7:28 PM UTC
electrocution marks
the hall
with flatulence
that table
jars a
rebuttal from
his umbrage
their rounds
o explosives
polarized steps
in building
avenue to
the union
with twist
whether turbulent
lifestyle now
this millennium
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
the night we stay with Satan\
shore cycles of Karma will swing\
true plink betwix auditorium plunk\
Kin deep wreaking frail grim reap\
Keeping the Peace maker horn\
charmer reborn slumber Sparrow\
swarm base oiling gladness churn\
long face wide zygomorphic burial\
laced golden silence relish relics daze\
tyrance maze efface miraculous Mayans\
fingere lunge literal transliterating Dunya\
distill animation by God triangulate\
Panagia onomatopoeia layman infiltratIon\
red writen circuit burnt innocence clipped\
insulant urn of the surgat son\
opening null locking sun in all dials\
primeval mercifulness\
primordial noteworthiness\
may be relieving points for taking\
and giving a flying shackle **** back\
one down pass it around another lie\
shoved down the throat again\
found in the bottomless pit awake it\
() thing worse than being lost when\
it's your Necessities that are looking\
Ain't that the truth although tainted\
Eluding absentmindedly words\
flow retroactively channeling\
purposeful jurisdiction thinking\
actuality is thee meant to be what\
consequently conceptualized where\
attitudes collect pealing aptitude\
manifests inception dictated in\
comforts own skin pretentious\
dictators impose upon Carthage Pillars\
irritatedly prioritizing Pagan fillers\
reflect surround sinners encroach\
exploring Asia Minor capacity inspect delve interest\
coach self linguist design intellect major retrospect\
outspand intrinsically extort distortion awaken\
infernal declarations transmogrify\
straight lines entwine utterance\
embrace praise Raise feathers halo\
Altitude of the Almighty deity maker\
genuflect bare Manitou provocate heir bait\
albeit Iron Maiden answers prayers fate\
giveth and be not deceived receive\
A divinity Key degree Aleph hook creek\
handling sobbing grief debrief steam decree\
kneeling bleeding evaporate disguised healing\
trees spree free be guarded prophetic maven\
emancipate to the seventh greet Phoenician Valhalla Heavens\
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
What is sharing? Abraham Lincoln said "Sharing is Caring..."
What is it though?
*I want to share my dreams with others,
I want to share this wild world with them,
I want to be a part of the natural goodness,
I want to find truth in solutions, not problems,
I want to avoid being part of a cult,
I want to avoid the haters, graffiti and gangs,
I want to achieve higher goals than laymen,
I want to be something different, not insane,
I want to have an uncommon interest,
I want it to be one not necessarily having to be
That of religion, destruction, politics or guns,
I want others to believe something different,
I want us all to be able to share honest, simple love.*
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
*To her I am a Warrior
To them I am a Coward
To some I am an Addict
To me I am* Strong
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
The year of Eighteen Sixty Five
Lincoln, shot and dead
The war was all but over
Destruction in it's stead
Blue and Grey divided
A nation great and strong
Was there ever a true winner?
So much of this was wrong
Brothers against brothers
Tearing families apart
It was a war with different issues
At Fort Sumter did it start
Slaves were not the forefront
When the war became a war
It was a war to stop secession
Then it became so much more
Johnny Reb comes marching home
Not the home that he once knew
It was now a state of new rebuilding
There was no more Grey, just Blue
Did it truly make the country
Unified under one flag?
Or did it become so much more splintered
Under a torn and tattered rag?
A President was murdered
But, the war, continued on
The ties that once did bind them
Were now just truly gone
The beauty of the country
Burned on Shermans' seaward trek
Left the Southern states demolished
And the plantations, just a wreck
The slaves were granted freedom
Through Emancipation at the end
But, in the south, it never happened
The landowners had to bend
Although the war was over
Slaves were free men after all
But, with nowhere left to go to
It was like a game without a ball
Many stayed and cropshared
Worked the same land as before
Now, they worked the land as freemen
Nothing less, and nothing more
Brothers still divided
Blue and Grey deep in their souls
Almost eight score years have passed
And the nation is still not whole
Grant and Lee at Appomatox
Ended the war and sent men on their way
But, it took days for the message to be heard and
Many more died in those days
Three Quarters of a Million
Lost their lives, in this young nation
One thing never altered
The place of a man's station
It split apart the country
Broke it down, to build anew
But, did it really matter
Now, with Johnny Reb in Blue?
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Before I went my way
I was unsure if my car tire popping
constituted omen or bad luck.
That is the frame of mind I was in
leaving Lincoln.
Now I realize most of this is temporary
distraction, soon Nebraska passes and
Missouri remains, as it always has.
One year later I will change my college major,
theatre to sociology.
Lincoln taught me lessons, not
all of them important. I found true solace
in watching others, why they walk like that,
what their hair says about their politics,
microbes erupting into civilization.
Leaving Lincoln behind was so remarkably
necessary in its devices. I will always
make time for my thoughts, my seasons,
thanks to the dull, blinding cold of
Lincoln, Nebraska.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
In Lincoln
two times I was drunk
one only slightly.
I was lonelier than I'd
ever been. I hope I never feel
that way again.
Three times I felt alone.
More times I was sick to my stomach.
I do not regret a single second.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Hearts sparse in this carpark,
the wind feeling rowdy, biting like a
small rabid animal with no collar
wandering the city alone at night.
The car is making me claustrophobic,
I've spent far too much time with the heat,
too many minutes burning cigarettes and
my hands near-numb from the caffeine.
Poems are less like action movies and
more like action paintings exploding
in suspended motion. I'm sure we all
remember when art felt new. I can't
recall when it didn't feel so lived-in.
(*And of course this poem is merely
a memory of feelings, which is not much
of anything to me or you because the past
is dry and done and does not intrude.*)
Lincoln, Nebraska is a livelier city
than one expects. It is like going to an
art exhibit expecting Rothko and getting
Basquiat, bombast and immediacy.
My favorite poet is Craig Morgan Teicher
because he and I may ramble but he is not
afraid to sacrifice accessibility for
feeling. He could find the beauty in the
image of Lincoln, Nebraska in January.
I will soon need to devise another way
to keep myself entertained so let us
say this CD spins one more time and
maybe I can go for a walk, clear my head.
I do not intend this to be wrought with
sentiment, but there are times I am not
as cold as this city. There are times
the mind must scream
so the heart stays safe.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC