THE CIVIL WAR


In 1860 life was good,
Till its simpleness ceased one day.
The North wished to save the Union
While the South chose to break away.

America was torn apart
As six hundred thousand died.
Throughout four years of total war,
Women without husbands cried.

The sad fact of the Civil War
Is what was left at its end.
Too many times, men’s evil acts
Destroyed both foe and friend.

The problem was, once it began,
There was no peace or compromise.
Total victory must be proclaimed
Before rage would leave men’s eyes.

Destroy all that helps the enemy,
Was the cry of either side.
Anything to obtain victory,
As death on horseback did ride.

Black men dressed in old uniforms
Became the Union’s reserve.
They fought and died for their freedom
And their rights they earned and deserve.

Lifestyles would forever change
For all who survived the war.
It had ended as it began,
With sadness, misery and more.

Both sides prayed to the same God,
And spoke words from the Bible.
The prayers of both were not answered,
For all involved were liable.


FREEDOM


In their new uniforms,
The young march off
Not knowing who shall return.
With a proud devotion,
They brandish their flag
Leaving loved ones to wonder and yearn.

May we all be buried
By all of our children
Is an ancient tribal prayer.
They’re so easy to lose
But so hard to forget;
Such a burden for a parent to bear.

Oh, the taste of victory
Shall soon be forgotten;
But, never that which was lost.
For those rows of white headstones
In peaceful green fields,
Make it easy to tally the cost.

America has survived all attempts to destroy
Knowing the cruelty of war,
And, we who remain
Must help keep her free
For those who can march no more!


THE KANSAS FRONTIER


Coronado, in his search to find gold for Spain,
Was the first European on the green Kansas plane.
Explorers and traders were arriving from France.
They saw the buffalo and the Indians who danced.

At the mouth of the Kaw were campfires in the dark;
Two men by the river named Lewis and Clark.
Large numbers of Indians, forced out from the East,
Resettled to Kansas where the buffalo feast.

So, many a cowboy decided to stay,
It wasn’t very long and most Indians were forced away.
When Missouri joined the Union; the slave states equaled the free.
Which way would Kansas vote, congress was anxious to see?

The Heart-Landers were bleeding; their towns were on fire;
As raiders from the slave states tried to force their desire.
The settlement of Lawrence was sacked by a mob,
In revenge came John Brown, who would murder and rob.

Kansas joined the Union as the Civil War began.
After four long years of tragedy, many women lost their man.
Cattle trails met the railroads as they pushed across the state.
Farmers planted corn and wheat as the buffalo awaited their fate.

Those frontier days have long since gone, though the sunflower is still here;
My childhood home of Kansas where the buffalo roam with the deer.


BLACK POWDER BRIDGE


A courier rider hands his papers to me;
They are instructions from Robert E. Lee.
I am advised now is the time,
To stop the troop movement on the Rock Island line.

I muster my men and they load up the boats,
We powder our pistols and darken our coats.
Traveling the currents, the sun slips from sight,
As brave men with a purpose have gathered to fight.

We capture a bridge before the moonrise,
The Yankees who are here shall soon feed the flies.
The evil of war feeds on my brain
As I light the fuse to destroy a train.

Above us a trestle of timber and tar
As we pull our oars for a willowed sandbar.
From the banks of the river; we watch it approach;
There’s shadows of soldiers, in the windows of a coach.

With a burst of bright yellow and a roar in my ear,
I hear them scream as they ’re falling in fear.
The river is boiling in steam, steel and stems,
Back home their families shall soon sing funeral hymns.

The one lone survivor was a red stallion stud,
I lassoed his neck, and freed him from the mud.
As I ride in his saddle beneath the stars that shine,
I pray for forgiveness and some peace of mind.

War is a lesson we ‘re eager to learn
When man has that fever to murder and burn.
Lord, please forgive me for what I have done,
For all those I’ve silenced were some mother’s son.


THE FEVER OF FEAR


Cannons are bursting hot metal from the ground.
Soldiers are looting and burning our town.
The fever of fear rushes through my veins,
As too many Bluecoats jump from troop trains.

Smoke from hot barrels is swirling around,
As four thousand muskets volley their sound.
All of my comrades have stopped a lead ball;
Most cry out, then stumble and fall.

Even the young lad who carried our flag,
Now he lies dead as he clings to that rag.
Wagons with the wounded trail blood on the ground,
Death and destruction are easily found.

The Generals are crying ’cause they can’t stand defeat;
But it’s always the soldier who dies on his feet.
Horse hooves are pounding on a bridge made of boards,
As the sunlight reflects from the blades of their swords.

Quickly I hide out in the roots of a tree,
Where the dirt has eroded and there’s just room for me.
After dark I sneak out with the cover of fog,
Then float down the river, as I cling to a log.

Songs of their victory, ring out through the night,
While from the cold, muddy water, I see their firelight.
It makes me remember my old country church,
Where the preacher spoke God’s word from his holy perch.

That the seed of all conflict began in a cave;
When man, like the wild wolf had to prove he was brave.


THUNDER IN THE GROUND


Cannons are bellowing from a ridge far away.
The battle lines are forming and there’s little time to pray.
Musket balls are pelting like hailstones from the sky;
I’m so full of fear cause I don ’t want to die.

From beyond yonder hill comes a terrifying sound,
It’s the music of the buglers and there’s thunder in the ground.
The fast-riding troopers have all drawn out their swords.
They ’re shouting and screaming as they charge up the gorge.

It’s hard to believe how many make it through;
As they’re hacking and shooting at the boys dressed in blue.
Then come the soldier men who run upon their feet,
Every time I drop one, my heart skips a beat.

There’s a storm on the ground made of death, dust and smoke.
My throat is so dry, I can ’t help but choke.
The fury of the battle is bound to settle down,
When most of the fighters lie dead on the ground.

After dark, the stretcher-bearers are afraid to search around.
The wild hogs eat the wounded and I can ’t stand the sound.
Come dawn, we dig ditches for all the brave, lifeless men.
Then quote words from our Bible praying heaven lets them in.


SLAVERY


When you chain the neck of a slave,
The other end fastens to you.
Your heart and soul become corrupt,
And all which is evil you’ll do.

No government shall exist for long,
Who’s people are not really free.
Though around the world there are those,
Who stay blind to how life should be.

Any who must enslave others,
Will dwell in their own living hell
After death, they’ll join their master,
In that place from heaven he fell.

But till then we’ll fight and resist
Making them put their chains away.
And those of us who may die first,
From heaven shall watch and pray


BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER


In the course of becoming officers
The young men of West Point bonded like brothers.
Till roomers of Civil War transformed friend to foe,
As many cadets chose to serve others.

Fifty-five of sixty major battles fought,
Were lead by graduates of the long gray line.
Yankees and Rebels ravaged one another,
For to kill and plunder were virtues of the time.

Over six hundred thousand soldiers were consumed,
Not counting multitudes of population.
Cities, farms and the countryside were laid to waste,
Before our Union was restored to a nation.


THE LITTLEST SOLDIER


Nine year old Johnny Clem who stood just four feet tall,
Ran away from Ohio to answer his country’s call.

He joined up with the Union and became a drummer boy,
Soon to prove the gun he wore was far more than a toy.

Armed with a sawed-off musket, cut down to just fit him,
He shot a Rebel horseman who tried to do him in.

Awarded his sergeant’s stripes and the silver medal,
His comrades offered him hot coffee from their kettle.

The newspapers of the North, gladly published his story,
Telling of the nine year old who earned his country’s glory.


THE BATTLE


The moon is sky high
And perfectly round
As it highlights the beauty
Of disputed ground.

Life is a journey
Where the passage is free.
After, there’s judgment,
By the living and Thee.

Tomorrow’s carnage,
We’ll survive if we can.
Death and dismemberment
By the hand of man.

Some will stumble
With absence of breath.
While others charge
Into the face of death.

We’ll race toward the battle
And pray for the best,
Hoping somehow
We pass God’s test.


BUGLES


Their red and blue, ragtag flag stood out,
Against their dust covered uniforms of gray.
Savagely we fought to kill our enemy,
As the battle raged on in the heat of the day

Volley after volley we put forth our blaze,
With thousands of led balls snapping flesh and bone.
Blistering sweat rolled down every face,
As the tunes of war by bugles were blown.

There was a clanking sound of ramrods in barrels,
As each new minieball was loaded and fired.
Some shot aimlessly into the smoke,
While others took aim at the worn and tired.

Bullets were popping like the fourth of July, S
Yet our enemy kept surging ahead.
All at once they broke and ran off in groups,
Scattering as for the forest they fled.

From behind the protection of a stacked-stone wall,
The victorious cheered or just sat starring,
At all the bodies of friend and foe
While for the wounded the surgeons were caring.

Soon the war was over and I survived,
Despite it’s brutality on trampled ground.
From boy to man I was transformed,
Though, still in the night I hear its sound.


THE HINGE OF HISTORY


The hinge of history swings in all directions
As the happenings of the past are written down.
Out of all that has occurred since man’s beginnings,
Less has been recorded than waits to be found.

Babylonians kept chronicles of history,
Hebrews wrote the past as a dramatic story.
Greeks had no faith in the future at all,
Believing mans repeated errors doom his glory.

Christians added a new dimension to history,
Looking forward to Christ’s return to earth.
An on going drama involving man and God,
Believing all are created of equal worth.

Some have asked why must we study history;
It just encourages us to live in the past.
When we forget history we repeat its mistakes,
As the outcome of humanity is cast.

All Poems By
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web

This message has been edited. Last edited by: TomZart,

I'm partial to the lyrics of "Tenting Tonight."

A friend of mine had seen this etched into a wall of an old military post back east some where.
A tatered old rag on a worm eaten pole.
Does not seem likely to sture a mans soul.
But were the deeds that were done when
that pole was a staff and that rag was
a FLAG.
Author is unknown but to God.

Thank you both for your time and reply.

There are a lot of songs of the time that are done it stanzas like a poem. I have a book at home with alot of songs and poems of the time.
Here are a few exerpts from a calander I have.
Stonewall Jackson's way
We see him now the old slouched hat
Cocked o'er his eye askew,
The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat,
so calm, so blunt, so true.
That "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well
Say he, "That's Banks; he's fond of shell
Lord save his soul! We'll give him"...well,
Thats "Stonewall Jackson's Way"

2 stanzas to a song thats outlawed in Georgia.
"Marching Through Georgia"
"Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never make the coast!"
So the saucy rebels said and twas a handsome boast. Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon with the host.
While we were marching through Georgia.
So we made a thoroughfare for freedom and her train. Sixty miles of latitude, three hundred to the main; Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain
While we were marching through Georgia.
"Southern Soldier Boy"
I hope for the best, and so do all
Whose hopes are in the field,
I know that we shall win the day,
for Southrons never yield.
And when think of those that are away,
We'll look above for joy,
And I'm mighty glad that my Bobby is
A Southern Soldier Boy.

Thank you for your helpful reply.

MWSA Book Review TOM ZART MOST PUBLISHED POET ON THE WEB
Love, War & More Author: Tom Zart Publisher: Publish America Reviewer: Bill McDonald – President of the MWSA A Poet’s thoughts, on history, emotions and more… Normally you pick up a poetry book and it may run about 50 to 80 pages but not the man who is called “The Westport Poet." Poet Tom Zart gives the reader their money’s worth of poetry in his fine collection called “Love, War & More." His book, at 267 pages, is filled with the thoughts and emotions of a dedicated poet and his vast spiritual tastes for life. His prose runs the gauntlet from relationships, battle, butterflies, and even one that ends the book called “Katrina,” about what happened in New Orleans. My favorite poem in his collection deals with turning 60 years old since I can relate to that experience. His poems are easy to read and more traditional in nature, as opposed to all those beat and new age writings that flourish in newer poetry books. It is readable by all mature family members and thought provoking at times. His war poetry covers everything from Pearl Harbor and D-Day to present day battles. He honors Soldiers and Sailors and our nation through many well thought out pieces of prose. There is something of interest in his collection of poetry for all readers. This is one of the most assorted and diverse collections of poetry ever assembled in one volume. For poetry lovers this will be a great book to buy. This book is given the MWSA's highest rating for a poetry book - 5 STARS!

Confederate Poem
Here is thy trusty blade !
Take it, and wield it in a glorious cause;
Defend our firesides, battle for the laws
Which our forefathers made:
And stay, that on thy breast my hand
May place the blue cockade !
Circa 1861 Author Unknown
Exerp from the poem
"The Confederate soldier's wife parting from her husband"


Song of the times
God save the South, God save the South,
Her altars and firesides, God save the South!
Now that the war is nigh, now we arm to die,
Chanting our battle cry, "Freedom or death!"
Chanting our battle cry, "Freedom or death!"

exerpted lyrics from "God save the South"

Thank you for your reply and great poem.
Tom Zart

Here are some more exerpts from
Songs of The Times
" We are coming Father Abraham"
We are coming, Father Abraham, Three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding streams and from New England's shore.
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear.
We dare not look behind us but steadfastly before.
We are coming Fater Abraham, three hundred thousand more.

"All quiet along the Potomi9c"
All quiet along the Potomic, they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
"Tis nothing, a private or two now and then
will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men,
Moaning out all alone the death rattle.
"All quiet along the Potomic tonight!"

"Shiloh's Hill"
The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere,
While others who were dying were offering God their prayer,
"Protect my wife and children if it is Thy holy will !"
Such were the prayers I heard that night on Bloody Shiloh Hill.

"The Volunteer"
Our rights have been usurped,dear
By Northmen of our land,
Fanatics raised the cry, dear,
Politicians fired the brand.
The Southrons sourn the galling yolk,
The tyrant's threats defy.
They find we've sons like sturdy oak,
To raise the battle cry.

"Carry Me Back to Tennessee"
writen by a Conneticut minstral group 1865
They said that I would soon be free
And happy all de day.
But if dey take me back again,
I'll never run away.
Then carry me back to Tennessee.
Back where I long to be
Among the fields of yellow corn,
To my darling Ellie Rhee.
The war is over now at last,
De color'd race am free,
Dat good time comin on so fast:
I'm waitin for to see.

More tome later.

Than you,Thank you.Thank you

Tom Zart

Flag of Ft Sumpter
Unfurl the banner upon the ramparts high
Where Columbia's fold may descrie it;
The stars and stripes we now swear to defend
Though they in perfidy defy it.
The shouts of the rebels may fall apon our ears
The cannon their thunder may rattle,
But while God is with us its folds still shall wave
In triumph throughout every battle.
chorus;
Its bright stars shall be o'er land and o'er sea
By us e'er sustained and defended.
The balls of the rebels must pierce our true hearts
Ere the flag of Fort Sumpter be rendered

More to come later.

Thank you for the poem and reply.
Tom Zart

"Grafted into the Army"
Dressed up in his unicorn, dear little chap,
They grafted hin into the Army,
It seems but a day since he sat in my lap,
But they grafted him into the Army.
And these are the trousiers he used to wear, them very same buttons, the patch and the tear,
But Uncle Sam gave him a bran' new pair
When they grafted him into the Army.

Thank you for your time and reply.
Tom Zart

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, sfely rest, God is nigh.
Fading light, dims the lights,
And a star gems the sky,gleaming bright.
From afar, drawing nigh, falls the night.
Thanks and praise, for our days,
'Neath the sun,'neath the stars,'neath the sky;
As we go, this we know, God is nigh.

There are 2 stories behind this toon we now call
TAPS

bangfxr,
I don't mean to butt, in but could post the rest of TAP and the story behind.
Thank.

I am trying to find the rest of the words to TAPS however I keep running into only a bit here and there I will find ALL the words.
Story 1: Gen Dan Butterfield wanted a special toon for just his corps. This way when he was to come up on line with his troops they just had to listen to the bugal calls.The soldiers called it "Damn Dan Butterfield"
Story 2: After the battle of Shiloh/Dunkers church
union troops were checking the wouned and an officer was seen kneeling over a dead rebel bugler who turned out to be his son. The officer found in his belongings some sheet music with notes on it and didnt think about it until later. He wanted to give his son a military barial and was told NO however he could have the use of a bugler and after burying his son he asked the bugler to play the notes of that page and the haunting melody has been used ever sence.

ROLL-CALL

"Corporal Green!" the orderly called;
"Here!" was the answer loud and clear,
From the lips of a soldier who stood near,
And "here!" was the word the next replied.

"Cyrus Drew!" then a silance fell;
This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear-man had seen him fall;
Killed or wounded he could not tell.

There they stood in the failing light ,
These men of battle, with grave dark looks,
As plain to be read as open books,
While slowly gathered the shades of night.

The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood,
And down in the corn, where the poppies grew,
Were redder stains then the poppies knew,
And crimson-dyed was the river's flood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side,
That day, in the face of a murderous fire,
That swept them down in it's terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.

"Herbert Cline!" At the call there came
Two stalwart soldiers into line,
Bearing between them this Herbert Cline,
Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

"Ezra Kerr!" and a voice answered "Here!"
"Hiram Kerr!" but no man replied.
They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed,
And a shudder crept through the corn field near.

"Ephriam Deane!" then a soldier spoke;
"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said,
"When our ensign was shot; I left him dead,
Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

"Close to the roadside his body lies;
I paused a moment and gave him to drink;
He murmured his mother's name, I think,
And Death came with it and closed his eyes"

'Twas a victory, yes; but it cost us dear:
For that company's roll, when called that night,
Of a hundred men went into the fight,
Numbered twenty that answered "Here!"

I have information concerning "TAPS" there are NO official words to the tone that ends a soldiers drinking and to return for final roll-call. The 1 story of the union officer finding his dead confederate son with the music is only a myth. its good for telling around the fire but not true. The true story is Gen, Dan Butterfield did have it done however its adapation and changes of Gen Scott's TATOO 1834 and another tone adapted in 1848. He wanted a tone for just his command. Mor eon this can be found on google.