John L. Powell: Union Veteran of the West (1)
In Pennsylvania’s hills he drew first breath,
A child of spring, not far from death.
April’s dawn in thirty-four,
Would one day march to fields of war.
In Missouri's Clay, his vows were sworn,
To Elmina, on a winter morn.
Seven children graced their years,
Through joy, through toil, through hope and tears.
To Kansas plains the Powells came,
Before the country split in flame.
He heard the Union’s urgent call,
And joined the ranks to risk it all.
Company A, brave Eighth of name,
Through Southern fields they fought and came.
Through storms, disease, and hostile land,
With rifle, grit, and weary hand.
He did not seek the hero’s prize,
But followed duty’s quiet cries.
The war was long, the peace was loud,
Yet soldiers sought no cheering crowd.
To Colorado’s rugged grace
He journeyed west to find a place,
Where homestead soil and open sky
Could soothe a veteran’s battle-cry.
La Veta’s hills became his rest,
Among the peaks he loved the best.
A grant of land, his hands made whole,
The West now cradled heart and soul.
He died when spring returned once more,
In 1920, aged eighty-four.
The flag he fought for gently waved
Above the La Veta ground he braved.
His children walked where pine trees lean,
And left the land near still and green.
Till Charles, son of grit and flame,
Preserved the Powell family name.
Through blood and soil, through war and peace,
His legacy would never cease.
A soldier, settler, husband, sire,
Whose life still echoes through the mire.
So raise a glass to Powell’s line,
To homestead dreams and marching time.
For freedom’s price he gave his due,
A man both brave, and stalwart true.
Footnotes
Parenthetical numbers in the text (e.g., 5) correspond to the sequentially numbered citations listed below.
1. OpenAI. (2025, June). Poem, John L. Powell: Union Veteran of the West, generated by ChatGPT in response to user prompt. ChatGPT (GPT-4.5) https://chat.openai.com/.
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