Soapbox

Song of Ohio

I wrote this poem at the Ohio Poetry Day event, where attendees were challenged (after a presentation from a lady on the Bicentennial Commission) to write a poem about Ohio, in the spirit of the bicentennial. I didn’t expect this to be a hit, for political reasons, but it won second prize! The Bicentennial Lady wasn’t judging.

Where the broad brown river flows
On its timeless journey
To join with the Great Father Water,
Proud dark eyes once watched from among the trees.
Silent feet trod narrow trails
Where the smoke from village cookfires
Smudged the pale morning sky.

Ohio: a land of plenty
Cradled in the sweep of the Beautiful Water,
Rising and falling with the breath of the seasons,
With forests so dense
A squirrel could run to the banks of the great north lake
And never touch the ground.

And then the seekers came to this wild place,
Across the ancient mountains
And up the teeming rivers,
Each of them wishing to claim one small piece
Of that beautiful abundance.

They came, with names both great and small,
And they changed her face forever
As their axes flashed in the morning sun
And gunfire echoed across the hills.
Her first children,
Those who named her,
And treasured her wild nature
Were swept away at Fallen Timbers,
Robbed by the pen at the treaty table
And poisoned by the white man’s pox
Until the last of the village fires grew cold.

Plows divided the earth,
Narrow trails became wagon roads
And flowering meadows became golden with grain.
The rolling hills were soon dotted
With sheep and cows
And apple trees.
Houses and fences sprouted
From the bones of the ancient forest.

Ohio, land of the beautiful waters,
Blushing from green to gold
In the rhythm of the seasons:
Growing, rich and giving.

And still they came,
Seeking opportunity in a good land,
And some, looking north toward freedom.
Hamlets became small towns
And quiet avenues, busy streets.
The broad brown waters
Were cris-crossed by barges and riverboats,
Bringing the people in,
Taking the coal away:
Providing wealth and opportunity.
Towns and factories grew
Along the banks of her rivers and lakes,
And the once-beautiful waters
Were disfigured by their own prosperity:
The morning sky smudged now
With soot and smog.

And still they come.
They come to her cities,
Seeking success
And when they find it,
They move to the country-
But they take the cities with them,
One gas station at a time
As they cut down the trees
And name their streets after them.
The rich, giving land is imprisoned
By grey concrete
Which swallows, mile by mile,
The quiet farms
That swallowed, mile by mile,
The silent forests that came before.

Ohio, land of the shopping mall,
Where people drive to their walking paths
And an SUV can travel from Cincinatti to Cleveland
And never be far from Walmart.

But still there are those
Who prefer the brilliant hues of a roadside weed
To the uniform green of a golf course:
Who cherish the wild places
Away from the noise and smell and trash of the city.
They walk along the banks of the beautiful waters,
where they can still catch the scent of a cookfire on the morning breeze
And smile to hear an acorn drop
Onto fertile soil
As a squirrel jumps from tree to tree.