I’ll admit it. This post is an attempt to persuade you to buy at least one of my books, Private Hercules McGraw or The Journals of Lt. Kendall EverlyBoth books were nominated for a Pushcart Prize, a national literary award.

(Obviously, I’m not the world’s greatest marketer.)

In this piece, Lt. Everly laments what he has become. He’s a pacifist, a school teacher, but the war has transformed him into an efficient killer. Here, he thinks about his children, his legacy, his terrible, terrible legacy.

Sudley Springs

August 1, 1861 – Entry III

Sudley Ford, they called it: a shallow swathe of water.
Its music was peace. It tempted me to sing with it,
to prop my back against a stout tree and dream

of the children. Their laughter: it’s foreign
to me, an old poem I once knew, but now the words – forgotten.
Perhaps Phillip might have stormed through the water,

a young bear after a fish. And Abigail – I imagine
she would spend hours collecting the dandelions that speckled
the grass between the oaks and ash trees,

and bunch them into a bouquet, only to set each bloom
on the water, watch them drift away – forever gone, forgotten.

16 thoughts on “Legacy

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  13. I think the issue today for writers isn’t marketing – it’s discovery in an age when everybody has the same online marketing tools and where the effect of everybody using those tools is to bury the whole lot under ‘noise’. The Amazon publishing model is amazing… if you’re Amazon.

    That said, quality will out, I hope – and your poetry is fantastic.


  14. Pingback: This thought FREAKS me out | The Bohemian Rock Star's "Untitled Project"

  15. Pingback: Poem / Poetry – Integrity’s Touch | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

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