Poetry Feature
Arkansas, The Natural State
I stood today on top of Petit Jean
And felt a kindredship to all I found,
And I,
intrigued by such a lovely scene,
Was
grateful for the beauties that abound.
The
spirit of a mountain miss was host,
Her
phantom figure hovered, light as wind,
And I
became enchanted by her ghost,
As we
stood on the ledge at river’s bend.
I
asked her of her legend and its truth;
Of how
she stowed away to sail from France,
Of how
she cropped her hair; became uncouth,
To
give her love and lover one more chance.
“It is all truth; the future will proclaim
My spirit guards this mount which bears my name.”
Then,
as we talked, my personage subdued,
And I
became, as Petit Jean, a ghost,
And
with uncanny knowledge I reviewed
Historic deeds of others who could boast,
Of
coming to this great green state to live;
To
homestead and to plow their plots of land;
To
mine the hills; to hunt the woods and give
Their
very lives to make it far more grand.
I
spoke to men who also came to look
For
ways of life upon the river’s road;
They
pushed their crafts to every shallow nook
And
rounded bends of hardship with each load.
The Indians told me their tales of woe,
Of how they battled as both friend and foe.
They
told me how De Soto searched for gold
And,
trudging through the swamps to look for it,
As
upward, through the mountains and the cold,
He
traded with the natives, matching wit.
La
Salle then came to claim the Arkansas
But
left to join another group of men,
De
Tonty came to start, as did John Law,
A
river post where trading could begin.
These
men with whom I talked could really boast
Of
being first to settle on this land,
Of
fighting long and hard to save the Post
Where
then was housed the laws and all command.
My spirit saw the past and lived it through,
A vision of the old when it was new.
As
history passes, the seasons came in view,
And
time and space and beauty knew no date.
I saw
each month in its most brilliant hue
And
gazed at it as if I tempted fate.
I
looked at Spring and thought it surely best,
For
everywhere the land was newly green,
The
pristine white of dogwood seemed to test
The
worthiness and beauty of each scene.
Then
summer came with nesting meadowlarks,
And I
beheld the golden days of fun,
As
tourists came with camping gear to parks,
And
found their pleasures under shade and sun.
I watched the summer visitors with awe,
They loved this state of mine . . .this Arkansas.
Perhaps they liked spelunking in a cave,
Or
digging for a diamond at the mine,
Or
floating trips that made of them a slave
To
mountain streams, to setting out trotline.
Perhaps they liked the baths at old Hot Springs,
Or
climbing under rushing waterfalls,
Or
smelling the sweet air that summer brings,
Or
listening to whippoorwills’ faint calls.
I
think they surely liked the little creeks,
That
tumble down deep-set against tall bluffs.
I
think they liked the deer and quail that seeks
New
hideouts when invaders find their roughs.
The eager tourists came to see our state
Because the opportunities are great.
Then
suddenly, as Autumn took her turn,
The
Ozark Hills became a brilliant hue.
In
blazing reds the forest seemed to burn
Across
the valleys, up the mountains too.
In
delta lands I saw vast cotton crops,
And
harvest fields of rice, bowed down with grain.
The
short-leaf pines were green with heavy tops,
And
muscadines hung heavy down the lane.
Then
winter came attired in snowfall white,
And
lovely landscapes suddenly seemed bare.
The
prairie sky was filled with ducks in flight,
And
sounds of happy hunters filled the air.
O Arkansas, which season is your best?
Each one seems far more lovely than the rest.
What
makes you great? I wondered as I looked.
Is it
your timber, standing straight and tall?
Is it
your rivers wide and roughly crooked?
Is it
your lovely Ozarks in the fall?
Is it
your heritage that makes you grand,
Your
opportunities . . . yet still unknown?
Is it
your rich oil fields, or delta land
That
makes men proud to choose you for their own?
O
Arkansas, I see your very breath,
In
hazy clouds that skim your vast terrain.
I know
about your struggling with death
And I
have felt your birth with labored pain.
O land of mine, I find you truly great,
No wonder you are called “The Natural
State”.