Long Appalachian Poems
Long Appalachian Poems. Below are the most popular long Appalachian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Appalachian poems by poem length and keyword.
. "it's
uh edvard"
frock
t-shirt
"frock"
well
it like'uh
looks
t-shirt amber
i it
like
''do yuh''
m-hm
,)
October gallops in as stolid as a gray mare,
a blunt wind snorts furiously through autumnal trees.
Foliage rattles, but does not fall, it clings still
to green stems.
Appalachian backwoods have tough roots,
shod as they are into an earth salted
with a dark gritty ore.
Bears are foraging and reaping,
their black silky pelts clamber over gusting winds
to reach the furthest fruits
before first snows overburden stoic pines.
Today the sky is unharnessed
and racing at full tilt
It whips my raw lips like a wet mane,
it rears up to stamp down upon its own
animated onslaught.
I adjust my rucksack and reshoulder a shotgun
grin, eyes watering
caught under the stampeding gale,
buffeted now by its muscular flanks.
I need to bridle this striding wind,
to halter its headlong charge,
or better yet just surrender -
turn my back on it,
let it ride me
as we leap down from the hilltops
whooping it up like cowboys.
.
if she'z preen'nin
thuh tips uv her curly
hip length tressez
with one mitt's digits
and bare foot toez with
thuh uther
whilst set'n on thuh
porche'z edge
wait'n fer her turn
at
thuh outhouse
oh
oh
and she'z smile'lin
wait wait
and it's raining
pour'n rather
and she'z still
smile'lin
and hold on
it's
brrrr
late september
and she'zzzz stilll
kiss me
shut me up
,)
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
They brought their music to the hills,
a gritty music
that world brook no softening,
but in time the Appalachian mists
grew softer and the work less dire.
They were not one people,
they were one music,
tunes that recalled Celtic roots
that had broken the will of nations
to ever control them.
When they left those homelands
they did not abandon the high landscapes
but sought the hill country
wherever they travelled.
Now they are assailed
by their own who have forgotten
how to be free.
Music keeps them singing,
the earth is planted
with their unyielding bloodlines.
They will be the last to surrender
to those that see only a fading time,
for they dwell within their own time
and their history grows deeper
in each age of sorrow and joy,
an elegy as old and green
as distant hills everywhere.
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 could,
a beautician on her feet all day.
Her white farmhouse with no
indoor bathroom,
and an outhouse in the yard.
She fried okra better than anyone,
grew an acre of tobacco.
You were living in Texas,
joined the Navy at nineteen,
and it became your home.
We met within its ranks,
survivors of child abuse.
We wed, weren't wealthy.
We raised our daughter after
returning to your hometown.
You walked her down the aisle,
and treasured our son-in-law,
and grandchildren too.
You passed at the age of
fifty-nine,
interred by a gentle stream
in the Veterans Cemetery,
where someday I'll also be.
Appalachian Homecoming,
as banjos and dulcimers play softly. ~
.
There wuz
No
naked
None
Nope
Yet
her glove
fit
camber to camber
az the map
unto hern excited
I meant
exciting
innocuous treasure
Mine engram stored
hern
much
her rosy pink
Too
hern appalachian
touch
‘pon mine
Rust
*yesss, i did change the title, it suits the vision
30 years ago she was 21 years olds… and therein begins her tale…
for it was then her dream began…to hike the Appalachian Trail.
As a young woman filled with hope and excitement she eagerly began her jaunt
but she didn’t make it to the finish…giving up when she reached Vermont.
It was there she told herself, she made a vow,…she would not be defeated
for one day, although she knew not when, her hike would be completed.
I’ll complete my hike before I’m 30 she told herself…as her ego she consoled.
By 30 I will finish the trail…by 30 is my goal.
Then she attended college, got a job and it seemed to be her fate
that responsibilities were calling now and her hike would have to wait.
I’ll complete my hike before I’m 40 she told herself…as her ego she consoled.
By 40 I will finish the trail…by 40 is my goal.
But marriage and children found their way into her life and it seemed to be her fate
their needs superseded her wants…and her hike would have to wait…
I’ll complete my hike before I’m 50 she told herself…as her ego she consoled.
By 50 I will finish the trail…by 50 is my goal.
By 51…her marriage ended, her children grown…time was moving slow…
and her mind returned to her promise made all those years ago.
She knew it wouldn’t be easy…She knew it would be a strain
but she started hiking in Vermont and finished up in Maine.
When she reached the top of Mount Katahdin a smile overwhelmed her face
as she thought of all the years it took…to finally reach this place.
She thought how proud she was to be standing there…proud her hike was through…
proud she kept her promise…proud she made her dream come true.
At 51…she thought of the young girl who made that promise…how life had intervened.
of all that had happened to her…in those 30 years in between.
And as I listened to her story…I thought how it never is too late…
for no matter how long it may take us…some dreams are worth the wait.
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 you with small cups of wonder
You are a boy again
a lad running
to gain the very peak of the blue sky
a sky that takes you up
and spins you around
as you forget to be yesterday
My heart pounded in my ear as I ran, stopping periodically – silent, listening. Was he coming? Had he figured out yet that I’d runaway. Was he behind me or would he be waiting behind the next tree or bush? Where was he now? Or was he only inside my head, that throbbing sound that penetrated through my hopes, my prayers, my faith, so that I couldn’t quite breath and so that I couldn’t quite find the strength to do much else but run from the arrogant weight of his darkness shadowing all my good, all my light, all my chances.
I took another step and stopped again to listen, checking the silhouettes of branches with leaves dancing a waltz along the path where my feet pressed into the rich, black Appalachian forest. I was surefooted on this trail since I’d spent most of my mornings walking these very tracks with my favorite partner and canine, the little white cock-a-pooh named Yogi who knew me as his person and friend, his comrade until the end. That was then, though. Yesterday, before the darkness had betrayed my spirit and set its claws into my presence, awakening the dread, the anxiety, the fear that was so strong it seemed to cling to the tears welling up inside of me, pouring rivers of sorrow upon the mountains surrounding me.
In just minutes I found myself wading through the creek where the clear, cool water whispered, laughing at my alarm, promising my thoughts that the terror would soon be gone. Only, it would not. It was there, a lasting dismay, treading the waters of my prayers, hollowing out a hole inside my mind where it told me I was about to learn what it means to live the nightmare that has haunted me for all time. He was alive and as long as he lived I had the fear that could not be calmed, the fear that was like a vine clinging to the blossoms of my hopes, my dreams, my needs. He was alive and he wasn’t about to relax his hold on my yearnings and let me go free.
Chapter 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
September 18, 2022