"mcclellan" poems
The big gray dog home with a Walkman on my chest ,
The long drive from Anniston , hitting every small town
to the West ...
Driver please drop me off in Hapeville , destination Kelleytown or
Covington , anyplace on Earth will do , anywhere but Fort McClellan !!
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
As we walk the blazing black asphalt,
manicured and graded for modern passage,
we can scarcely imagine these same footsteps,
trod by General McClellan and traversed
by the very fugitives that he fought to free.
The civil peace was broken when the machinery came,
ripping railroad ties and spikes from her gut,
erasing and smothering the Confederate footsteps,
gentrifying the mud for our convenience,
replaced by the smooth tar of unification.
This new Mason-Dixon did not divide peoples;
it conected communities.
Now on our bikes we don our spandex and lycra in Alexandria -
no shoveling of coal for this engine -
with a sip of our energy elixir,
whizzing over the Sycolin bridge and past Tuscarora Creek,
quickly turning around in Purcellville for the return trip.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
1.
There goes Hooker’s nose
Larger than life, breathed in
“Majestic, it sprang” from his face
“The marvel of time, the wonder of men”
Molded by the General and his
lyrical men
2.
Whip Bobbie Lee you may,
for this miracle happened
in the strangest way
in the meadows,
in the bright of day
three invaluable cigars lay
3.
Some men smart in ways unimagined,
appear as Janus in the midst of kings,
feign blunder to catch the unsuspecting plunderer,
who waltzes right in (or away) from his fate,
******* the grit out of men, they lose faith
4.
To His right is the good thief
and he inclines his head
But a thief is a thief, nonetheless?
5.
Two-hundred-ninety-nine-hundred-two men are in the cornfield, their mouths silently forming hurrahs and their hands slack at their sides.
Two-hundred-ninety-nine-hundred-two-men are ****** eagles of Indiana.
6.
“No shock can destroy”, the carnage of Shocksburg
“The world shall behold”, “the triumph of”
“Tyranny, sorrow, and darkness”
“Hurrah for the” “dream
of a madman, the song of a fool.”
7.
McClellan sees double, no, triple.
And Lincoln, victory where there isn’t.
And I, beauty where one should not.
8.
Let men become crusaders, emancipators, and proclamators,
of all things and
all things good and just.
9.
Your arms resemble corn stalks and your eyes
poppy seeds. Spread-eagle yourself, at the mercy of
the Kingdom of Heaven.
Say your last Hurrahs and clutch that laundry tight
to your chest.
10.
Disillusioned people get nowhere, at least illusioned people can
walk themselves over to the doors of Death?
11.
Samuel is like many other black laborers in the infantry-- mistaken in the most wonderful way.
“Hurrah! for the Union” he says.
and I begin to teach him how to write.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
Tedious and tiring. Arrayed before me like a king’s court, books open, but eyes on me. Sucking on the **** of my wisdom, absorbing little. A lazy October sun peeks through the windows, highlighting the auburn hair of the girl in the front row...the one who sits, legs slyly parted, hoping I will notice her lace ******* and...
But no, I am sated and cannot rise to interest for her. Silly thing, thinking her ****** and obvious try at seduction will rouse me. Yes, she is a pretty specimen, but I have a garden of such flowers. Wilted roses that give me no more pleasure.
Soon the bell will ring and these pathetic creatures will pour out the door and I will wait for the next herd, bored by their very existence. I feel like a cowherd readying to lead the bored and boring cattle to sentient awareness, dim though it may be.
I do not bother to look up. There is no need - they are all the same. I begin to lecture when there is an interruption. Can these creatures not get to class on time?
Hoping to berate the latecomer, to vent my squirming spleen and make the day less cloying... She is there...this new student. This rose who must be in my garden of perfection. Breath leaves my lungs and I am struck dumb. I, who am strong and stalwart...a prime alpha male am rendered a stuttering child.
Her name - Rose McClellan. My Rose. She hands me her class card and chooses a desk far in the back. My heart is beating loudly, my hands have a sheen of sweat. Nothing about this day is ordinary now.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
Much I don't understand
But still I Sally forth
Charlotte in the South
Boston in the North
Please protect my little town
People here good to me
Battle of South Mountain
McClellan battles back Lee
So often so very scared
Cycling bipolar swings
My anxious anxious mind
And if pigs had wings
My dad so good to me
Grateful for my brothers
Endurance. Persistence.
My Uncle Marty: A Man for Others.
Discovers!
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 9:32 PM UTC