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Posts Tagged ‘Civil War’

The Bloody Angle by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, blue and gray, bodies trampled into the mud, Civil War, Confederate, Dennis Allen Lange, generals, horrors, muleshoe salient, oak tree felled by bullets, poems, poetry, rebels, Robert E. Lee, Spotsylvania Courthouse, The Bloody Angle, Ulysses S. Grant, union, Virginia on July 23, 2020| Leave a Comment »

—

At Spotsylvania in ’64,
I fought and somehow lived to fight some more.
I fought near very center of the front –
The Bloody Angle of the salient,
A fingernail that tore, and torrent bled –
From wounded Blue and Gray and from the dead.

The Angle was the likely weakest spot,
Which both sides knew, so armies formed a clot,
With wave and wave of Blue prepared to send,
And Gray entrenched at all costs to defend.
I fought there and its horrors know too well;
Yet you will think it bloody lies I tell.

So massive was the steady charge of Blue,
For twenty hours we could not subdue,
Or stop the penetration of our line
Till Blue and Gray did equally combine
With shots close range and fighting hand to hand –
A horror only Satan could command.

The terror that we had to stay alive
Fueled strength to make the weary strive
Against exhaustion of our flesh and soul
To try and keep our lives, keep body whole,
Not like the thickened oak* that, riddled, fell
By all the bullets flying in our hell.

Rain reigned and trenches softened into mud
Soaked by the falling water, flowing blood.
The mortal blows were given face to face
And wounded fell among them in that place.
Five deep the bodies were, dead or alive,
While we fought on above them to survive.

I sob to tell you of this ghastly day:
The Blue, still charging, and we standing Gray,
Had fought from dawn and still fought toward the night
And trampled dead and wounded out of sight!
Both armies killed men with their hands and feet,
The nightmare that my nightmares still repeat.

I fought there and its horrors know too well;
Yet you will think it bloody lies I tell.

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The battle at the salient was a 200 yard wide stretch.

*Federal fire was so heavy and some over the confederate troops in trenches that an oak tree two feet in diameter was felled by chipping bullets.

https://ironbrigader.com/2014/04/22/union-soldiers-recall-fighting-mule-shoe-salient-spotsylvania-courthouse/

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Electing Lincoln by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, Limericks, My Poems, tagged Abraham, bard on the hill, change in fortune, Civil War, Confederates, Dennis Allen Lange, Electing Lincoln, Jubal Early, limericks, North South, poems, poetry, rebels, second term, Sheridan, Sherman burns Atlanta, Union army victories on March 13, 2019| Leave a Comment »

—
It looked dim for Lincoln’s election
To second term till changed complexion.
…Sheridan o’er Early won;
…Atlanta burned till it was done.
The army assured Abe’s selection.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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Wilmer McLean’s Farms by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, My Poems, tagged Appomattox Station, bard on the hill, battlefield, Blue Gray, Bull Run, caprice, Civil War, Courthouse, Dennis Allen Lange, end, fox and hounds, house of peace, Manassas, Outnumbered, poems, poetry, Rober E. Lee, shot and shell, surrender, Ulysses S. Grant, union confederate, Wilmer McLean's Farms on January 28, 2019| Leave a Comment »

appomattox

—

Along the banks of Bull Run lived –
…At what became the scene
Of two Manassas battlefields –
…A farmer named McLean.

The fighting was so near, a shell
…Crashed through a window pane.
It did not kill a man that day,
…But Wilmer’s hopes were slain.

Then, Wilmer had enough of War
…And he moved far away
Where battle’s sounds would never reach,
…Untouched by Blue and Gray.

‘Twas Appomattox Court House where
…He chanced to choose a farm.
No bullets flew to chase men there,
…In its calm rural charm.

But Lee, outnumbered by Grant’s men
…Like fox by many hounds,
Fled to the new place Wilmer chose –
…Onto its very grounds.

At Appomattox Station was
…The nearest shot and shell.
And Lee, surrounded, his men starved
…Gave up the Civil Hell.

Into the parlor first was Lee,
…And Grant soon took a chair.
War-weary Wilmer hosted them,
…And Gray surrendered there.

McLean fled War, but following
…It acted with caprice.
Though War came to his farm’s door, it
…Became a house of peace.

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Impregnable Fort Fisher by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, Limericks, My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, Ben Butler, Blue Gray, Civil War, Dennis Allen Lange, Edward Ord, Impregnable Fort Fisher, limericks, North Carolina, North South, poems, poetry, Thank God for the victory, Ulysses S. Grant, union general on July 22, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Fort Fisher

—
Ben Butler called Fisher too solid.
Grant fired him, which Ben thought was squalid.
…He showed a committee
…His proof, wanting pity.
They listened, their faces all stolid.

But news came, and streets filled with cheering.
Fort Fisher had fallen; the hearing
…Was filled with great laughter
…Which Butler joined after,
Concluding that Ord was unfearing.

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After the Union’s General Benjamin Butler was removed by Grant and replaced by Ord, Butler went before a Congressional Committee to plead his case. In the midst of that hearing, while Butler was explaining with charts and graphs and maps that Fort Fisher was impregnable, newspaper boys began shouting the headline that Fort Fisher had fallen and cheering began in the street. “Impossible!” was Butler’s first response but a message was soon sent into the room confirming it. Laughter spread through the room and Butler finally joined in. He concluded with, “Thank God for victory.”

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Another poem of mine about Fort Fisher:
https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2017/03/30/fort-fisher-sounds-by-dennis-allen-lange/

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Presidency, Penitentiary, Asylum by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, My Poems, tagged Asylum, bard on the hill, burned Atlanta, Civil War, crazy like a fox, Dennis Allen Lange, drunk, General William Tecumseh Sherman, insane, Penitentiary, poems, poetry, Presidency, president, triumph, Ulysses Grant on June 23, 2018| 1 Comment »

sherman

(General William Tecumseh Sherman)

Some thought that Sherman was insane
…In early days of war.
Though at the end most didn’t, while
…Atlanta thought it more.

He mused, when he in triumph stood
…Before a nation, glad,
“I stayed by Grant when he was drunk,
…And he while I was mad.”

They thought he’d make a president,
…A leader, great, of men.
He said, “I’d rather choose instead
…Locked four years in the pen.”

Most likely, he was crazy then,
…Just crazy like a fox,
To not let people lock him in
…A presidential box.

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The Conquered Banner by Abram Joseph Ryan

Posted in O-R, Poems of Other Poets, tagged Abram Joseph Ryan, bard on the hill, Civil War, confederacy, North and South, poems, poetry, rebel flag, The Conquered Banner, union on February 5, 2018| Leave a Comment »

—

Furl that Banner, for ’tis weary;
Round its staff ’tis drooping dreary;
Furl it, fold it, it is best;
For there’s not a man to wave it,
And there’s not a sword to save it,
And there’s no one left to lave it
In the blood that heroes gave it;
And its foes now scorn and brave it;
Furl it, hide it–let it rest!

Take that banner down! ’tis tattered;
Broken is its shaft and shattered;
And the valiant hosts are scattered
Over whom it floated high.
Oh! ’tis hard for us to fold it;
Hard to think there’s none to hold it;
Hard that those who once unrolled it
Now must furl it with a sigh.

Furl that banner! furl it sadly!
Once ten thousands hailed it gladly.
And ten thousands wildly, madly,
Swore it should forever wave;
Swore that foeman’s sword should never
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever,
Till that flag should float forever
O’er their freedom or their grave!

Furl it! for the hands that grasped it,
And the hearts that fondly clasped it,
Cold and dead are lying low;
And that Banner–it is trailing!
While around it sounds the wailing
Of its people in their woe.

For, though conquered, they adore it!
Love the cold, dead hands that bore it!
Weep for those who fell before it!
Pardon those who trailed and tore it!
But, oh! wildly they deplored it!
Now who furl and fold it so.

Furl that Banner! True, ’tis gory,
Yet ’tis wreathed around with glory,
And ’twill live in song and story,
Though its folds are in the dust;
For its fame on brightest pages,
Penned by poets and by sages,
Shall go sounding down the ages–
Furl its folds though now we must.

Furl that banner, softly, slowly!
Treat it gently–it is holy–
For it droops above the dead.
Touch it not–unfold it never,
Let it droop there, furled forever,
For its people’s hopes are dead!

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To Burnside At Fredericksburg by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, My Poems, tagged Abraham Lincoln, adieu, Ambrose, bard on the hill, battle, Blue Gray, bullet's pain, Civil War, confederacy, Dennis Allen Lange, North South, poems, poetry, pressure to fight, rebels, To Burnside at Fredericksburg, union, Virginia, waves on September 28, 2017| Leave a Comment »

(In the Civil War battle at Fredericksburg, Virginia, Burnside sent Union troops again and again across an open field toward the Southerners behind a wall on the Sunken Road and perched above on Marye’s Height. The Union was slaughtered before retreating, 13,300 casualties vs.4500 for the South.)

30122008953_f5b6f4c4ae_o

The sunken road. The Union attacked across open level ground from the right,
suffered many losses, and were repelled each time. Marye’s Height (pictured below) is a steep hill to the left. Confederate cannons fired down on the Union from there.

30673881481_0c5271ba51_o

Did you, with ease, your blue waves send
To beat the shore that would not bend,
To paint their blood upon the wall
They battered ‘gainst, that could not fall?

Did you e’er feel the bullet’s pain
So they would not roll forth again
To-ward the South perched on the height,
No chance to win within blue’s sight?

Did they give their brief lives in vain
So you’d not have to bear the pain
Of facing Lincoln’s pressure to
Press on and fight, or bid adieu?

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The pictures are mine, taken a couple of years ago to a trip to Virginia where I
saw 5 major Civil War battlefields including Fredericksburg.

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John Bell Hood Wrecked His Army by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in Civil War Poems, My Poems, tagged Atlanta, bard on the hill, Civil War, Confederate, Dennis Allen Lange, flanked, Franklin Tennessee, General John Bell Hood, lost, Nashville, North and South, poems, poetry, rebels, Thomas, union, William Tecumseh Sherman on September 1, 2017| Leave a Comment »

john bell hood

—

Hood battered Sherman’s men to no avail,
Gave up Atlanta, fled, and forged a trail
To Tennessee, his thirty thousand worn
By war and miles, a cob with half its corn.

At Franklin, Union lines were fortified,
Which checked not John Bell Hood’s aggressive side.
As futile as the clapper ‘gainst the bell,
Hood hammered and six thousand Rebels fell.

A dozen generals were dead or gone,
And fifty leaders more lay on the lawn.
But Hood was like a moth drawn to a flame,
And hemmed in Nashville with his army lame.

Blue’s Thomas, turtle-like, took his sweet time,
Then poured forth from the city at his prime.
Gray’s west was flanked; the Rebel line was rolled,
And Hood was done, a story finished, told.

Hood’s army’s head at Franklin was bereft.
Now, half of half was all that he had left.
Post-Nashville, fewer feet by far remained,
And Hood resigned, his honor ever stained.

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