.

The Settlers

—to my forefathers, and all the intrepid men and women
who settled the Oklahoma panhandle.

Across these barren hills, the cold winds blow,
As bitter now as in those days long past,
When first their rustic wagon, rolling slow,
Came down a slope against an icy blast,

And settled on this grassy spot below,
Its bonnet battered by the wind’s assault,
Where, with a tug of reins and raspy “Whoa!,”
The driver brought his horses to a halt.

They’d come from far away to stake a claim,
To build a future on this wild frontier.
Despite initial doubts, by faith, they came;
They dared to trust in God and cast out fear.

Their journey here had not been free of pain,
For fever met them early on their way
And struck their youngest, who infirm had lain
For days, before death ferried him away.

They’d spent long nights, with shotguns by their side,
Stretched out beneath their wagon in the cold,
Their sleep disturbed each time a screech owl cried,
And by their fears of what the dark might hold.

The wild hog’s grunt, the lone coyote’s howl,
Strange rustling sounds beyond the campfire’s light
From some wild creature creeping, on the prowl,
Would keep them praying all throughout the night.

And now, at last, they’d reached their future home,
Upon this windswept plain, this “no man’s land,”
They’d come to settle here, no more to roam,
To labor hard, upheld by God’s own hand.

Thus, having only what was in their hearts
And in their wagon, they asked God to bless
Their efforts to establish in these parts
A home, a shelter in the wilderness.

Their trek here ended, yet there still remained
Around them threats and dangers close at hand.
The life they knew would never be the same,
Now that they’d come to this forbidding land.

The first task that befell them was to build
A dugout, which they’d need to stay alive,
A place of refuge, safe and dry and filled
With everything they needed to survive.

Such dwellings, carved out from the solid earth,
With sod roofs lying just above the ground,
May not have seemed like much, but they were worth
Their weight in gold when twisters came to town!

Then they would serve to keep a family safe
As violent nature tore through field and farm,
When howling winds bore down as if to strafe
Them all, the sod walls kept them all from harm.

But dugouts serve a temporary role;
Their roofs can leak or give way in a storm.
They cannot keep out viper, mouse, or mole
Nor buzzing flies in summer when they swarm.

The dream by which the settler’s hopes are fed
Is to construct a frame house that can be
The hub of farming life in years ahead,
A proper place to raise a family.

And so this pilgrim couple got to work,
Determined to give birth to their brainchild.
Though perils threatened, they refused to shirk
From making here a palace in the wild.

Right here, they lived and worked and worshipped God,
And raised up offspring as the Lord ordained,
And bearing hardship, farmed the fruitful sod
Through years of toil, as long as life remained.

And now their earthly frames which once were strong
And full of youth, have found a place of rest
Beneath the land on which they labored long,
Received at last into its earthy breast.

That land which they were pleased to call their own,
Which gave them grief and joy, and tears and smiles
Now shelters them beneath the winter’s moan,
In silent chambers, after many miles.

No rain drops reach them where they nobly lie,
No frigid breezes ever chill their frame,
No raucous laughter, nor a wailing cry,
Disturbs their sleep where every day’s the same

Their pilgrim journey ended, here at last,
United with the precious land they loved,
They slowly merge into that sea so vast
Of fertile soil fed from the sky above.

I greet them here upon this winter’s day
While standing by their graves, now draped with snow,
And thank God for their lives as thoughts give way
To visions of their journey long ago.

I look upon this land with grateful heart,
Stretched out before me, which they used to know;
And though, in terms of time, we stand apart,
I feel their pilgrim’s blood within me flow.

Their spirit, like the fine, wind-driven dust
That blows across this landscape without end
Blows through my soul and makes me feel I must
Share in their dream, their legacy extend.

That legacy of faith and hope and love
Lives on in me by God’s most gracious will;
And when, like them, I sleep, may God above
Make His wind blow through future pilgrims still!

.

.

Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. 

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.


Trending now:

17 Responses

  2. Roy Eugene Peterson

    What a beautiful tribute with great rhyme and rhythm that tells the story of undaunted will to establish a new life on previously unbroken wilderness and build for the future. I particularly identify with this intrepid tale of hardship, since that was the lot of my ancestors in South Dakota. I could feel the caring and sensitivity in every verse as I read and reread it.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks, Roy, for your remarks. I wrote this poem around Christmas time, when I often think of family members who have passed on and reflect on past Christmases with a sense of nostalgia. This year, my thoughts stretched even further back in time to generations of ancestors I never knew, who settled in the Oklahoma panhandle and put down roots from which future generations would spring. I cannot help but feel a sense of sense of respect for them because of the sacrifices they made and the commitment they had to persevere through hardship and trial in pursuit of a worthy goal, sustained by their faith and by an enterprising vision of the future. They passed on certain cherished values to their children that have endured through generations and have shaped my own outlook, to some extent, for which I feel a sense of gratitude. From what you say about your own ancestors in South Dakota, I´m sure you can identify wiht those feelings.

      Reply
  3. James Bontrager

    A nice piece of rhymed and metered history made extra special by the authors connection to the story that is felt throughout the poem.

    Reply
  4. Cheryl A Corey

    This reads like a novella as it tells the story of your sodbuster ancestors. Very well done, Martin.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks, Cherly. I like that term “sodbuster”– very colorful. I´m glad you enjoyed reading the poem, and found it engaging like a novella.

      Reply
  5. Brian A. Yapko

    I very much enjoyed this skillful tribute to your pioneering ancestors, Martin. There is a stolid strength to the poetry which mirrors the subject. How easy it is for modern, self-absorbed people to forget the sacrifices, struggles and bravery of those who settled our country — especially when so many these days war against history and seek to deny recognition of such immense achievements. Your fine poem keeps the memory of these brave men and women alive. Well done!

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Right, Brian. One could add the virtues self-reliance–acquiring and refining the skills and judgment needed to survive and thrive in those hostile conditions–efficiency (in terms of getting the most from the tools and resources available) and often extraordinary energy.
      A welcome and well sung tribute, Martin.

      Reply
      • Martin Rizley

        Thank you, Julian! You and Brian have highlighted the virtues of our pioneer forefathers that I wished to recognize in the poem.

    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks so much, Brian, for your appreciative response to the poem. I agree with you so much about the importance of showing respect for the “sacrifices, struggles and bravery” of those pioneer families who settled the lands west of the Mississippi, instead of denigrating them in the interests of a woke agenda that refuses to recognize their achievments. Of course they were not perfect; of course, they made mistakes, but let us show honor where honor is due. I myself feel very grateful for the legacy they passed on to their descendants and was well pleased to write this poem honoring their memory.

      Reply
  6. Yael

    This poem is much more fun and educational to read than some chapter entry on the westward migration during the 19th century in a history book. Well done!

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks, Yael, for your feedback. In high school, I found American history a boring subject– in part, because of the dry style of the textbooks, and the tedious preparation for exams, which involved little more than memorizing names, dates, and place names. In the years since, as I have gotten older, I have developed a much greater interest in American history. But it is often the case, I find, that history is made more interesting when presented in narrative form with characters whose personal experiences draw you into the story.

      Reply
  7. Margaret Coats

    Martin, this is an easy reading but strong and steadfast story. You neglect no struggles from the journey, through the long passage from a determined decision to exhausting vigilance in which no care is spared, yet a precious child is lost anyway. Then it’s into the sod, up from the dugout, and building a farm and home, and returning at last to land thoroughly paid for by labor, all the while sustained by faith. I admire the careful choice and placement of vocabulary throughout this lengthy poem. One might call these settlers “independent,” but you show they would not recognize the description. They acknowledge constant dependence on God, and on gradually developing circumstances as they work through life. It’s good to see that theme in their dream. Your coming into the tale expands it as readers relate to someone more like themselves both being present and taking up the torch, so to speak. Splendid language and structure, with a most suitable and satisfying conclusion.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Margaret, I always feel so honored by your thoughtful, reflective analyses of my poems, given your extensive background as a Harvard-trained and degreed language and literature teacher. I think you have highlighed some of the main features I wanted to communicate about the pioneer couple in the poem, who represent my own ancestors who settled in the Oklahoma panhandle– namely, their sense of dependence on God for undertaking the formidable task of building a home in a wild and unsettled territory and their willingness to persevere in that task, despite painful losses and trials. Thanks for sharing with me your reflections.

      Reply
  8. Shamik Banerjee

    Such a well-written ode to the brave ones. Your pieces leave me amazed, Mr. Rizley. Thanks for sharing this.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Shamik, for reading and commenting on the poem. I´m really glad that you enjoyed it and looked forward to reading any forthcoming poems of your own– hopefully, in the near future.

      Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.