Tim’s Poetry
The beginning of this section will contain
the Civil War poems done most recently.
Atlanta Campaign
It started that way as usual
With booms, rumbling, and roar,
We're marched left then right then halted
We're doin' what we come here for.
We halted for five minutes often
Each time Galbreath knelt in prayer,
O' God watch o'er my wife and daughters
O' God keep them safe ‘til I'm there.
Each halt on his knees is old Galbreath
He made me nervous with it all
I said get up and stop that nonsense
You know you're more than ready to fall.
It started that way as usual
With booms, rumbling, and roar,
We're marched left then right then halted
We're doin' what we come here for.
Whiz whiz ripped through our lines so true
Explosions scream as now we are shelled,
A cannon ball tore Galbreath near in two
Then O' God were the last words that he
yelled.
We marched line after line toward their's
We seen the Yankee lines yonder get reached,
Our colors and theirs now together
Then entire Yankee works got breached.
It went on that way for a while
With booms, rumbling, and roar,
We're marched forward for near a mile
We're doin' what we come here for.
Hit in the ankle and foot I fall over
Down in a ditch the pooled blood is a
blur,
A loose horse above me gets ripped open
I crawl over as it falls where I were.
Struggling up I spied the colors so dirty
I picked up the regimental cloth,
Trampled by a thousand rebels in a hurry
This wounded straggler with colors limped
off.
We ended that day exalted
With booms, rumbling, and roar,
We're marched forward until we were halted
On July twenty-second eighteen sixty four.
Tim Desmond December 10, 2003
Inspired by the story of Sam Watkins in
his book "Co. Aych" and the 1st Tennessee Inf. Reg.
The Forage
After Atlanta’s black clouds
Those of us left, and the whole corps
Were roused to march back
West, into the Alabama route.
There weren’t no railroad
In that direction; for three days
And three nights we carried
Our roll and tramped our own.
“Take water, take water,”
The First Corporal he yelled.
“No vittles for you.
‘Til we get where we’re due.”
On the third night
The thoughts filled my head
Momma’s fried chicken, salty
Green beans, and corn bread.
We drove cattle with us now
The sergeants said soon,
We would set up a camp
And have steaks and stew.
The river was high, as we crossed
Back into Tennessee
The cattle lost footing, and
Floated by, all were lost.
On the fifth night
The thoughts filled my head
Momma’s fried chicken, salty
Green beans, and corn bread.
We halted and set up camp after
First sergeant sent us foraging
With Thomas, Henry, and Jacob
And me they called Jasper.
We found a farm
And a barn had been torched
The house stood quiet
The widow smoked on the porch.
On that sixth day
The smells filled my head
The widow’s fried chicken, salty
Green beans, and corn bread.
She told us and pointed,
“The Yankees got the hogs,
My cold cellar is yonder,
By the creek and the logs.”
Near the bank a door we found
Then a buzz and a crack
Sharpshooter smoked drifted down
While Thomas fell on his back.
At a time like this
I had no thoughts in my head
Of Momma’s fried chicken, salty
Green beans, and corn bread.
We loaded and rammed
And for a cap I fumbled,
I drew down on a head
The stilled Yankee tumbled.
In the cellar we found cold
Stacks of melons, apples,
Peaches and ham, we filled sacks
For the boys, back in the camp.
As we ate onions
It will always be in my head;
Momma’s fried chicken, salty
Green beans, and corn bread.
Tim Desmond
October 15, 2004
Summer barley
Dad’s yellow fields
Mom’s side roots
Southern raised
Run deeper
Annual battles
Smoke and booms
Gray lines ebb
Rebs load, fire
Heart pounds
Artillery teams
Rattle jingle
Cannons move
New booms
Thunder thrills
April lawn
Flame lit dinner
Enlisted infantry
3rd Confederate
Whiskey toasts
New gray wool
Stiff brogans
Leather’s smell
Enfield powder
Fires well
First drill
First Brigade
Fire by company
Fear of failure
Captain proud
By right of companies
To the line
Blue smoke smells
Battle grows
Elephant shows
Step over bodies
Spit Black Powder
Cap wings cut fingers
Sweat runs down
I’m alive
Tim Desmond September 2005
Butternut wool
Gray boys pride
I am one
Manual of arms
School of the soldier
Hardee’s own
March in heat
Tent in dirt
Duty calls
Double time
Battle line
Fire and Load
Pour it in
Place a cap
Aim and fire
Keep it hot
Captain yells
Take a hit
Down in heat
Step over me
Bugle calls
Dust at Dusk
Cool at dark
Cook fires grow
Privates gather
Yarns are spun
At flame’s glow
Through trees
Yonder camps
Fires flicker
Writing late
Candle light
In tent alone
Dawn and dew
Still gray mists
Settle low
Three days in dirt
I can live
Rebs did three years
Henry Yeager
Did you feel
What I fear
NON-CIVIL WAR THINGS WIIL BE FOUND BELOW
These may be
from different years.
Design
Blank format
Raw canvas
Color soaks
Oil smell
Dries flat.
Yellow field
Stretches wide
Under distant
Olive drab
Tree line.
Narrow sky
Blue streaks
Gray cirrus
Detail lost
True light.
Tim Desmond
November 2005