Rebecca's PenThe creative works of R.E.W.

About R.E.W

I am author, artist, history buff, wishing to share these three passions of mine with anyone who cares to read this blog. The main drive between these three deep interests of mine is imagination.

History isn't just people and events in a dusty book. Writing isn't just words in a tome. Art isn't just random images in a photograph, sketch or painting. I'll give you examples of what they really are.

A poem I wrote for history writing course in school.

 

“Coming! They’re coming!”

The gale conveyed to blue-clads

“Rebels are coming!”

All eyes anxiously turned to

Distant, vast, gray lines

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Amidst thunderous

Blasts, shells pelted the ground, some

Sending men to doom.

Cannons shrilled their deathly song

And suddenly, all was still.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

 

Rebels paused, waiting

For the Southern battle cry

To sound. Harbored men,

Clad in blue, waited till the

Bleak cannon smoke cleared, waiting.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

After cannon fire,

All was silent, as both sides

Gazed. Union soldiers

Crouched on Cemetery Ridge

Behind a low stone barrage.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Then, through the stillness

Rose the cry among Rebel men

“Forward! For Our South!”

Furling in the wind, the flag

Of Dixie pointed—onward!

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Through rye, trampled grass,

Advanced fueled Confederates,

Under Union fire.

Furling, fluttering, flying

The Rebel flag danced boldly.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Again cannons roared,

Yankee blue-coats stared—listened.

Cries of freedom rose,

Like a banshee’s cry, afar,

While gray lines moved forward.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Columns and columns

Tense Union soldiers aimed true.

Down went Rebel boys,

Crumpling beneath bullets.

Woe to mothers, their boys gone

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Here and there, grays would shoot

Fervency swept away, while

Enemy men fell.

Could be friend, father, brother…

Remember the South—no fear.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Death hung in the air,

But Rebels kept on going.

And now desperate

They charged for a cause alive;

Streams of blood were their pathways

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

 

Acrid smoke around—

Thick, ominous and rousing.

Over the bulwark

Rebels spilled, chilling cries rose

While they brandished bayonets.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

Hand to hand combat

Ensued. Guns blasting all ‘round.

Down fell one—another.

Yet they clung onto hope

These Rebels fought for Dixie.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

But gone was one man

Another and another.

Till haggard, fell back

These Rebels. Down plummeted

A chance for triumph. Vanished.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

 

Back Confederates.

Back they went across the field.

To the bleary Lee.

“It is all my fault!” he cried,

Despaired. But the South’s hope had vanished.

Pickett’s Charge advanced

Young and old Rebels, as one

For the South!—they all perished.

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One Response to Across a Battlefield

  1. Dan says:

    This poem reminds me of the many war shows I watched growing up in the middle of the Viet Nam War. Pain from hunger, lack of supplies, death of buddies, war injuries, freezing weather with improper clothing. Then there was the terror of death, with enemy always nearby, sometimes approaching at night and sometimes awaiting in ambush, finding mutilated families in their own bombed out homes. Always on high alert, watching comrades die, due to lack of medical care and asking themselves if it is worth the sacrifices.

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