Best Appalachian Poems
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 and deliciousness
Of a homegrown and canned food
Cutting down hay in the field
Tractor moving slowly, assuredly
Taking the blade to the grass
Green and pungent scented
Covering the field with what will
Be racked up into piles for
Baling and creating a treasure
For the barn to store for cattle
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 that stove where oak and birch
Smoked with flames of dripping
Perspiration falling from faces
Who were encouraged to listen
With wistful wishes warming
Hearts who know Granny’s garden
Will sustain the whole lot of a family
From the Appalachian mountains
Evening, flickering fireflies
Dancing through the night
Flavoring the heart with joy
As the porch swing squeaks to life
Reminding the heart that loves
Lives here, amid the beans and trees
The biscuits and pork drippings
Grease for gravy, seasonings
And the mind just a bit gladder
Because there is this devotion
Family with foundations of love
Brought to life by His presence
It is their faith that awakens
The mind, the heart, the soul
To the light that survives the test
Of time, of memories, of sighs
In the air of reminiscence, memory
Breathing music through the night
Singing praise to the God of love
The reason for all that delights
The wonder of a prayer satisfied
To the memory – this is the good life!
u CHOOSE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Theme chosen - 15.Love
April 9, 2022
Emerald pines and jade laurels
Crisp, cool air misting beyond the range
Of peaks that ascend to meet
The clear, indigo heavens complete
With bleached snowy puffs of cotton
Drifting into silhouettes, characters
Both soft and yearning – floating
Into the horizon where they play
Dancing through the impression
Of a peaceful, tender moment
God’s artistic hand pressing down
Against the Appalachian mountains
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 honeycombed with sky.
The dew bathes, hills run with deer.
The woods hold aloft their nocturnal dreams
while the sky turns those to mist
I am invited to be kin,
to the verdigris of millstones,
to the mist and blood
of feuding legends,
to the weather-worn
secluded places
where dirt roads end
and life proclaims
its right to be free.
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 to this land in America
Realizing it reminded them of the
Wonders that were once their Ireland
As the coffee moved from the percolator
To a Mr. Coffee that sat on the sink
The children began to drink from their cups
But Granny and Pa still used their saucers
A reminder of all that had come before
And the things that were past that would
Forever remain ingrained in their hearts
Appalachian Sister
Wherever I roam,
You go too.
A piece of home,
Follows.
A smile, a song,
The sound of an owl.
Those Appalachian mountains,
Live inside of me.
Your laughter,
The white water creeks.
Your voice,
The whispering winds.
Intertwined,
In my memories.
I think of one,
I think of the other.
Sisters,
And mountains.
Part of me,
We are never apart.
By: Darlene Doll Smith
We welcome Spring with blooms
From bright red and yellow tulips
It feels like the season of flumes
With the scent of fresh hyssops
Summer skies roll on around
With gently floating white clouds
Fresh mown lawns cover the ground
Leaving crisp, emerald shrouds
When Autumn happens through
With orange, red and amber hues
The entire world is a changed view
Mountains painted brilliantly new
Winter covers the world in white
Enchanting icicles hanging from trees
All the world is dazzling even at night
It’s a wonderland of a peaceful freeze
Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter
In the Appalachian Mountains we find
There is no place to be found any better
Seasons of bliss surround us with a design
God’s paintbrush has chosen our world
To leave impressions of such joy and beauty
Colors assorted, mixed and swirled
To create a vision of dreamy bounty
©July 29, 2014
Written for Vibrant Verses Contest
Deserted cabins
Trees gnarled by wailing winds
The sound of a bear
ever-taxing trail
a sense of isolation
ambitious hikers
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 fall like a summer rain
Lifting hearts and stirring souls
To listen to the sighs
The vibrant lights and highs
Of peaks climbing toward the
Clouds in heaven, rising
Like emerald rumors, inviting
The promise of wonders
Discovered on these hills
Where laughing pines unwind
To the melody of wrens
Soothing away all fear
Their ridges walk paths, completed
By rocky trails, routes
Toward the places where
Cool, clear water baths
The smooth stones in liquid
Love that comes from above
Comforting the spirit
With peace that can’t be created
By anything else – nothing
Can imagine the kind beauty
Brought alive in the heart
Of the Blue Ridge Mountains
This place is like a fountain of grace
Pouring hope out across the mind
Leaving faith to abide inside
And assuring hearts that love is alive!
We dragged the slopes to our feet.
On the summit, we burnt our clothes
for wood and there shuffled our feet
in the hush of the falling snow.
We had come out of the scuffed grass.
With one look back in unbelief
exhuming the long trek
the silent keen
puffing through blubbery fingers.
We pulled the hoofed trail through
the trapdoor of our unchained links
foisting for new heights.
Beyond the Appalachian Mountains
the hanging fern on pine dripped snow
on moles burrowing in gashed hollows.
We paused. In that doubtful moment
we rued the climb, succumbing to the assault
upon this stilled millennia’s eerie silence.
All that time the swivelling blizzards raged
shifting soil, eroding avalanches.
Below, burgeoning customs
unmaned the silent dignity of bisons.
All bore testimony to a familiar preparation.
And then, suddenly before our eyes
the solemn ground rose with the breeze
the spangled map changing to the quick:
Chicago Pittsburgh Kansas City
wild barnyards dry-coughing, pop-corning garages
horrent timber ribbed the coasting steamboats
the linoleum walls
the mild Indian piqued he was
by the mahogany cubism of our speech.
We wondered if coming so far
only mattered, we would be content
to build a fire, here and now
and unpack our horses.
We saw little need to go on.
One night the summit might open
up and swallow us all or old age
would come upon us like a lonely neighbour
on a pretext to the door.
© T.Wignesan 1964
London, U.K.
[from the collection: tell them i’m gone, 1983; published in Fire Readings (A Collection of Contemporary Writing from the Shakespeare & Company Fire Benefit Readings). Paris-Boston: Frank Books, 1991, pp. 36-37.]
long after midnight
he points out the big dipper...
grass for our pillows
___________________________________________
for Charles Henderson's Contest: "No Contest Contest"
/resubmitted for PD's Contest "Any haiku will do"
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 through the oaks,
Between emerald pine’s soft needles,
Inspiring the heart to laugh, breathing in
The dandelion dreams, the whimsical
Seeds dancing through the fields, alive
Like the reflection in the streams…
They’ve always colored my thoughts
In hues of inspiration, stirring awake the
Imagination, the creative urges
Birthing poetry, promises pouring out
Through the thickets, the forests…
Woods filled with underbrush, laurels
Groves so honest and completing
Hope for the quiet victory of a forest
They’ve always known me, the girl
Who loves them, their abiding grace
Sentenced to life in this place…
Where God has been, with His hand,
Painting them glorious, graceful…
Gripping the heart with their intimate
Laughter, winds soothing away the night
With the music of these mountains,
So alive – they always strive
To bring the spirit a sense of peace,
Serenity in this place – blue ridges
God’s show, on display – the way
Between moments when the light
Lets in the music, the soothing
His forever beauty – grace like the newness
Beneath the ancient crests, the stillness
His mystery roused in the elevations
Ridges, zeniths, summits – God’s reach
His peace…
They’ve always been there…
Arising through the sheltering limbs and peaks
Praise God for such strength
This is home to me, home – always home
It's fun to go to the mountains to refresh one's soul...
And serious hikers find the Appalachian Trail a great place
to take a stroll.
The beauty of nature is all around...
And the great national forest has it's own special sound.
The gorgeous plants and wild life is part of God's theme...
And there is beauty galore to enhance this wonderful dream.
So go to the mountain and refresh your soul...
And while you're at take the Appalachian stroll.
TK<
Meanwhile, our troop moved on down the trail.
One more bear episode needs be told.
We arrived at the next stop with out fail.
It was late evening and beginning to get cold.
Two of us went to the horse spring for a bath
And use the same one to clean our clothes.
As we left the spring we saw blocking our path.
A mother bear and two cubs, ...fear arose.
We hid behind a tree and watched them.
In our unlaced boots, carrying wet things.
As they walked up the path toward the rim.
We knew we couldn’t just appear threatening.
We slowly followed keeping the cubs in sight.
The mother had left the weanlings.
But reappeared on top of a bank on the right.
As she jumped we started yelling and arms flinging.
They ran, she ran, we gathered our stuff and we ran.
Yelling and flailing, we chased them past the adirondack
We...right behind, duck into it fast as we can
and tie the gate before they could come back.
Come back they did and playfully bite on the wire.
The boys were elated and good pictures taken,
To show their friends that none of us was a liar.
Bruce and I recovered after being so visibly shaken.
They finally left, and so came to a fitting end,
Our last bear episode and good laugh,
The other boys had at our expense and chagrin.
On the oldest boy and the “chief of staff”.
We hiked our last six miles with no major events.
Still time to glow for being a trail survivor.
Fontana resort awaited...hot showers, condiments
Then home...all slept soundly, except me... the driver.
© Mar 30 2010 Charles Henderson