Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Settlers

After the garrotte of the oppressor,
quartering, gauntlet and bludgeons,
came armies and builders of railways,
when Earth People had retreated
into pockets of resistance.
Europe’s hounded families
heaved across the Atlantic,
gambling on hopes and dreams,
copper cooking-pots,
bibles, linen, silver spoons,
oaken dressers salvaged
from the Great War, heirlooms.

Some lost their bearings
in the enigmatic grey-green expanse,
where beauty was concealed
under a mantle wider than their understanding.
Blasts scouring tablelands
swallowed moisture from ocean swells,
challenged rain clouds gathered over the Andes
awaiting right of passage.

Perhaps it was only
squatter’s jeers through cabin shutters
at those who lost their way
that made people doubt.
Many would thread their way back
to luminous northern cities,
shrugging their shoulders
at the enduring, waterless gale.
Only the hardy remained.
They had no means of going back,
nor a single love in their heart
wedded to their mother country.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

another wave of immigrants to squat on land that I fairly and squarely stole from our Indians?
Well, as long as they have Green Cards--okay .... But I don't want any Remorian nor the Irish! They are all wetbacks! After all, I must draw the line somewhere -- QUICK, hand me a sheet of paper and a pencil! Gracy, I can't find any flaws in your poem, and that's why I scribbled a lot of nonsense instead.

I had to find time to read this fine piece, may I say wow, you have bought a quiet graceful dignity to those who suffer the wrath of greed and your words just perfectly written. I wish no one to lose their home their identity nor their families but it happens time and time agian in the worst of ways

Thank you...Teddy

Good morning, Jerry. You make me laugh, don't worry, this is about Patagonia and there were no Indians here. The indigenous tribes were only treated well by the Welsh, everybody else considered them savages, same as all over the world.
In my area, they can now fly their own flag, their language is taught in several rural schools and they have their own "parlamento", a word taken from the Italians, except that the Chieftan sits and listens to all his people and maybe other Chieftains. That's how they settle their affairs as a nation within the Republic of Argentina.
I'm glad you like my poem and tx for the laugh.

*
*
*
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan,
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great….

An Essay On Man, III, Alexander Pope.

author comment

Hello Teddy, thanks for commenting and saying fine things about my poem. I agree with you about the harsh treatment of minorities, it never stops. Sad indeed. We're enjoying lovely Autumn weather over here. xxx

*
*
*
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan,
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great….

An Essay On Man, III, Alexander Pope.

author comment
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.