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A Writer's Web Corner
John Achor |
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PEA RIDGE
1st place, poetry contest, Arkansas Writers Conference
© 2001
I hear the crack of musketry, an' I hear the cannon's roar,
I never figured that fightin' was, such an awful chore;
Up a country road, like me an' Pete as kids would walk,
To get to them fishin' cricks, or jes to sit and talk.
I'll write to you my darlin', as soon's the day is done,
When there's some time to spend, when the battle's won;
I'll tell you how ol' Pete an' me, has come along this way,
An' hope and pray that we live to see, jes one more day.
The skirmish line's a forming', an' we're movin' through the trees,
The wind is kickin' up a bit, it's a cool an' chillin' breeze;
It'll dry them stains of sweat, an hide them signs of fear,
I dare not let my friends see, much less the brigadier.
The firin's growin' louder now, I can hear the Minnies fly,
Whippin' through the twigs an' leaves, like death's mournful cry;
We're on the move agin', it ain't much after dawn,
Some of us is fallin', an' some is marchin' on.
The Yank raised up and aimed his gun, at me or was it Pete,
I shoved my friend aside, an' looked for cover in the battle's heat;
But 'fore I'd moved I'm down, I'm down before I'd fired a shot
Oh Lord that ball it took me down, my belly's burnin' hot,
I'm lookin' down now, on a field of crowded stones,
Holes in the ground, that are filled with guts and bones;
There's a stone I see, a sittin' atop of fresh turned sod,
It's the one for me, but says: He's known only to God.
It's me I cried, it's me, it's me, it's me,
Don't cha know who I am? Please come and see;
Then I seen the stone next to mine, an' it was for ol' Petey,
Ol' Pete'll never let me down I thought, he'll remember me.
The long day's done, it's quiet now, an' the fightin's o're,
Twilight' s come and we can rest, don't need ta march no more,
I'm sorry my darlin', I won't be comin' home, no steps must I retrace,
Here I'll rest for an eternity, just waiting to see your pretty face.
The history of the poem titled "Pea Ridge"
It took me nearly four years to write this poem.
In 1998 before we moved to Arkansas, my wife and I were driving from Hot Springs northward toward Fayetteville. We saw the signs announcing the Pea Ridge National Park, a Civil War battlefield and decided to interrupt our trip.
We stopped and entered the Visitor's Center. We spoke with the Park Rangers, viewed the exhibits and then went outside to inspect the actual battlefield.
We drove around the perimeter of the Park and walked over part of the grounds. As I did this, the idea for this poem struck me. The first two lines - virtually the same as in the final version - came to me there on the battlefield.
Over the next couple of years, I'd bring out the notes I'd made and struggle with a rhyming dictionary. I'm not really a poet, but I felt the need to finish. Progress was slow, rewrite after rewrite, but I kept working.
Late last year (2001), I decided that the time had come to finish. I expended several hours a week and the final product accompanies these notes.
One of my personal axioms is that every 50,000 to 60,000 words of writing I touch something - something deep inside me. I don't know exactly what I touched, but this project falls into that category. I also refer to these times as "tearstains on the paper." I'm glad I was able to stick to it and finish this poem. It was a labor of love.
© 2003 John Achor
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