Appalachian Poems - Poems about Appalachian

Still God, through the storm

I don’t feel strong – my soul, it grieves
I don’t feel wise – my spirit sighs, then weeps
I don’t feel sure – my heart cries out
I don’t feel resilient – my life is but a breath…

Once in a while, I remember how she screamed,
The storm of the century – the storm
Who scattered the trees, tore

western north carolina

muddy waters recede
give up beloved dead recovered
appalachian songs eternal

Thru-Hiker

I wanted to find myself, so I got lost in the woods,  
Turns out life’s easier without all the shoulds.
The rhythm of steps was a meditation  
Twelve hours a day in God’s lovely creation.

Even when I was tired, wet, hungry and cold  
I didn't get jaded; nature didn't get old
In the south,

Appalachian Heart

City born Northerners,
Kiss the last rays of sunlight,
With pampered lips
While those of us born and raised 
In the south, Appalachian –

We dust off the melting sun
With a laugh that sheds the heat
From our pores and restores our
Hope for the star strewn silhouette, 
Breaking through the endlessness 
Calm and strong, worrying,
With the distance between 
Morning and

Appalachian Homecoming

You were born here,
Blue Ridge foothills,
spirits of Cherokee in 
Appalachia's olden heart and veins.
Scots-Irish influence of beloved
bluegrass,
moonshine of the drinking kind.

Your parents weren't the responsible
type,
as you and your three sisters spent
your childhoods in foster care and were
once left with your mother's cruel friend
for two years,
you went through so much.
Your single grandmother Robbie
did the best she

Who Am I Off the Mountain

I came down from the mountain today and I couldn’t figure out who I was. 

I thought maybe I was a shadow but that requires something to block the light. I thought I was a ghost but that Implies there was once something there. Maybe a shell. Old and forgotten where someone use to live.

Home

They’ve always been there, unaware
When I felt lonely, lost, longing
For the presence of the light’s caress,
Softly unfolding beyond the azure
Skies, whispering joy over my soul, into
Shimmering that twinkles, above
In the skies and below, in my eyes

They’ve always known me, as a child
Silent and the only one belonging
Beneath their gaze, in the warm haze
Tenderly blowing winds

Appalachian Moment

Hill country
snow is thawing
The wind is a Spring scented ripple
- coltish

Nature for a little while
asks: "come and play"

Of course you smile
Long years are released
from that tightly packed jail
you had been carrying along
for so long

Now the deer come
one 
then too many to count
as they thread through
the tree-line

now they are nibbling
at your presence here
their large brown eyes
feed

The Good Life

Mornings, light and smiling
Coffee brewing, black
Meat frying in a cast iron skillet
Grease, flour and milk, stirred together
Gravy poured over steaming biscuits
Granny’s breakfast – typically
Grown to life from a wood cookstove

Noon, gentle sunshine
Picking cornfield beans, breaking
The beans and then washing them
Placing them into a vessel, a pot
Seasoned with pork - fatback
Cooking over the sweaty heat 
Of

Blue Ridge Mountains

Long ago, formed by His hand
Courageous and bold
Like the oak and the elm
Whispering truths 
Silencing every doubt
They call to the spirit
With tenderness, inspiring
A fire that brings passion
Alive, wild and warm,
Soothing the spirit and 
Coloring the will in brilliant hues
Of God breathed guidance

Old as time, they seem so wise
Haggard and worn, their charm
Is the laughing dreams
That

Appalachian Trail Walk

showers of castanets 
on a tin roof
a stop-over for the night 
        on the longest hike

a bushel of owls 
in each drip of rain 
   aftershocks of mice nibbling through
the wires of a sleepless mind

listening 
through ear shaped microphones

pigeons scrabble overhead
     

Directions

Take that road down yonder, she said
Toward the signpost that reads, lickskillet
Turn right up thar and then left after that
To a highfulootin road that’s paved in black

After you see the red store building by the crik
Turn to your right and you’ll be at Old Jack’s street
From there you go over the mountain a ways
And keep

Memories In Appalachia

Every morning at close to four
She made the coffee, percolated
Poured it into cups with saucers
And they each would have a cup
Pouring the potent black liquid
Into the saucers before drinking
The cooling solution from them

This was only one more glimpse
Into the heart of Appalachian living
A day by day extravaganza of insights
Carried down from the Irish ancestors
Who’d come

Getting Ready For Winter

Sawing logs, one after another
Into two feet lengths
Just for the specific purpose
Of standing them up on the ground
Awaiting the iron axe
That will create a comforting
Roaring fire in the hearth
Come this winter’s cold

Canning fruits and vegetables
To store on the shelves
Awaiting the moment in time
When they’ll be lifted out
And opened slowly, carefully
With appreciation for the color
The scent

Appalachian Dawn

I have a passion to hold a lamp aloft,
to capture one acre of starshine
before the sun writes a new dawn.

Rusting Chevys bloom in the half-light.
Nightjars depart on shadow wings.
Shimmering’s walk toward my window
on silver slippers.

A native mildness calls me out
to the green hollows
where poppies cling to secrets.
I’ve a yen to lean like a greening barn
that’s

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