Smooth Ol' Sam

Smooth Ol' Sam

Here upon this easel,
I'll paint the atmosphere of Woe.
Memories etched in leather;
dust bowls, drought and early snow.
Sincere, ample Earth,
tools that nurse the plains.
Grants from generations -
entrusted to weathered hands.
Deeded without intention,
to Smooth Ol' Sam.

The lender fed the Vulture
from our hand.
The Carnivore unleashed,
traded Life for land.

I lift this empty canvas
where Van Goghian sunflowers should blaze.
Nature remains,
Man in the field lays.

To annul this marriage
of conspiracy to Control,
I step upon this smooth stump,
I Proclaim:
"Tis Thine,
This Earth is mine !!!' *

(*excerpt from a book of poetry: 'A Swan's Life,' by James Robinson, 250 poems in search of a voice in the wilderness. )