Long West virginia Poems
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Coal
Standing at the West Virginia state line
Looking into the green mountains of Kentucky
Seeing a past that I would long to forget
Memories of moonshine and watermelon wine
Of a girl with a sweet Georgia accent
And the smell of magnolias in her hair
A house in a town of 300
Seven children sharing a single bed
They cuddle close for warmth from the winter cold
Reading by firelight late into the night
Coal dust covers everything I own
A world made up of just shades of gray
A life of sadness and depression
Their faces are black from coal dust
Their lungs filled with cancer
No one will mourn their deaths
Everything and everyone by the company
Even their souls are owned by the mines
People live and die never knowing better
Never looking out of their small town
Never seeing beyond the entrances to the mines
Their eyes tell of such suffering
Children starving and unable to learn
As their clothes fall apart and fall in the mud
No one knows of how they live
No one knows how they suffer
No one knows how they die
No one cares as long as the coal keeps coming
No one cares
momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
child bearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."
A love of fast cars that he could not afford
led him to be a poor fourth place in his own race.
He once lived in an ancient Toyota van,
just for a week, but long enough to establish
that he was weak, and needed an older woman
to finance any future souped-up muscle car.
A woman with a sloppy caboose
mature enough to own a patch of land, adopted him
to tend a spread of dirt and raise chickens.
For a while he thrived in a mediocre way
until cock crows came between them.
He financed a much used Mercedes.
but the payments were too tight for his loose life style
so he buried it at night
in a mud pit at the side of I-75.
What he really wanted
was a girl dumb enough to love him prematurely
as if he were a thing to be worked upon,
but then grey hairs in an otherwise flaxen field
foretold the end of those country songs.
In a grungy bar of lost hopes
he hitched-up with a slow thinking quick drinking woman,
someone’s ex on a reliable government check.
Eventually settling down with her in a holler
in West Virginia.
He took his Stetson off, dutifully plowed her and the land
while collecting motor parts for his perfect fantasy car
one he could never quite toggle together
or ever drive.
In 1971, John Denver wrote Take Me Home Country Roads
and though in 1997 he passed away…
I imagine he’d be smiling knowing his song is still being sung today.
Country Roads take me home
to the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads
Country Roads came on the radio in the bookstore the other night
and I found there is still magic in John’s song…
when an older couple in the store began to sing along.
Then a younger couple, then a family with children began to sing along
for a moment it’s as if time had slowed…
and before I knew it everyone in the store, including me,
was singing take me home, country roads..
It was a spontaneous unplanned flash mob…
people of all colors, sizes and shapes…singing that chorus…that verse
and when the song was over we all smiled, nodded to each other
then happily dispersed.
There is a lot of discord in our country at this moment
and it was wonderful to hear and see…
together in the bookstore…this moment of harmony.
When cruelty and brutality become the norm…
When evil is spewing out lies and trying to re-write history
We need more moments when people come together to celebrate humanity.
This was a reminder as this evil works to separate and divide us
wherever we may roam…
together we are strong…we have each other
Together…we can take each other home.
Country Roads take me home
to the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads.
This Fall the woods in West Virginia
will blast out loud with a blazing plethora
of audible colors
that will begin gently with a rustle
then build upon that painted whispering
into a vocalization of such intense tones
that will eventually POP
! -
raining down a bright leafage of glorious flight,
and blazing away an autumnal sound
of both glory and respite;
an interim death
that will rise up
after a winery slumber with the sweet
green songs of an awakening Spring.
Here in West Virginia where I do not live
or call that place my home,
but visit with a sensitive ear at this time of year,
while I watch the trees rollicking-out
their rainbow party-songs at the edge of loss.
I was born on July 20, 1958.
Being one of seven children and having a mid-summer birthday, even as a young boy, it was
not uncommon for my birthdays to come and go without much fanfare.
In the winter of my Fifth Grade year at school, we had an assignment to write a short-story.
I was already in love with writing way back then. My short story was on a topic that was
very much in the news at that time and a very interesting and exciting theme for a young
boy. I wrote a short story about me being the youngest astronaut in the space program and
being selected to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon. I was aware at the time, that
the US and USSR were in a Cold War race to be the first country to achieve that lofty goal
and I knew it was bound to happen soon. To make my story even more special, I wrote that
this wonderful event would take place over the coming summer, on my birthday!
Well, lo and behold, as the winter turned to spring and spring turned into summer the Apollo
11 space mission launched from Cape Canaveral carrying three astronauts, two of whom
were targeted to walk on the moon.
As my 11th birthday approached, without any notice from anyone else, I watched in awe as
the Apollo 11 made its way to the moon. On July 20th, 1969, the lunar landing module,
Eagle, set down on the moon! I remember expectantly waiting for the astronauts to be given
permission to exit the Eagle and step foot on the moon’s surface as the hours of my birthday
ticked down.
It was about 10:00 pm eastern time when my parents finally sent us all to bed on the news
that Mission Control made the decision to wait until the next day to send Neil Armstrong out
of the lunar module. With tears in my eyes, I went to bed thinking that I missed my chance
to share my birthday with history and to have had my short story prognostication come true.
At a few minutes before 11:00 my parents woke all of us up to come watch as Neil
Armstrong could wait no longer and talked Mission Control into letting him walk on the moon
without further delay.
So, at about 11:00 pm, on my 11th birthday, the men from Apollo 11 walked on the moon for
the first time in history. One small step for man and one giant link to history for one small
boy in Charleston, West Virginia.
And, that is when 11 became my favorite number.
Wild rugged den of Hatfield and McCoy,
Entered the Union with birth pangs of war.
Sweet meadows punctuate inked river beds,
Trapped in mountains black wealth of coal.
Volunteers--first to send her sons to serve.
In hidden glens Bigfoot and Mothman roam.
Raging rivers white water rafters ride;
Green valleys house her ancient Celtic stock.
Indians roamed, leaving mystic burial mounds;
Night music choir of frog and whip-poor-will.
In forests treasure of ginseng and yellow root;
Apples--green golden fruit crisped in summer dews.
Mysterious mountain culture all her own,
Infused into her native citizens alone.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, 4-15-2014
Written: March 28, 2024 For Constance La France Contest
Quote: (The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.) Marcel Proust
__________________________________
Slumber unwinds within crinkled cellophane,
Enigmatic visions come to life and sustain.
Geometrical shapes skin to pyramids, expand,
Cruising fairies sing through shimmering sand.
Hey, Captain! Ferry sails across any hurdle,
A searing streak splits the sky as a starved squirrel.
A prize is won, dock shuts, and crowds cheer,
At night, memories of you come back so near.
Delicate spiderwebs hang as stars in the sky,
Mozart hands waltz ivory piano keys sigh.
Galaxy emits a lambent, milky-white light,
Tapestry Highways sails by my a quilted sight.
A cosmic queen embarks on a cynosure journey,
Slicing over a glistening ocean during night mercy.
Colorful pathways in the sky are formed by sea swirls,
Mermaids glide fluffy waves of glistening pearls.
Behold a sturdy sail, a tough and bold ship, oh heart!
As bleak as the gnomes at dawn, it's time to depart!
On deck, the skipper is fierce and red-dripping,
Meanwhile, my soul lingers in frigid buds snipping.
Captain! Rise and hear chimes; to you, a flag raised,
You gained fights and flights, and doves amazed.
The ship has sailed safely and fulfilled its voyage,
He gulped distance, sea, time, and buoyage.
It was a time of jubilation and feelings of love,
During spell hour, they shone brightly from above.
Dived in the chaotic bliss of love, this waned,
In a misty past, the spirit soared and stained.
Rivers rush down slopes, and peaks loom tall,
Rafters ride via waterfalls as bridges never fall.
Deer graze in fields, and craftsmen, work away,
Sweets and meals sizzle on burner, made to stay.
Chili, pasta, beans, and maize are all we need,
The Alpine guy eats grits, Angus, and meat, indeed.
Riders hold on tight with flying manes and fish dives,
West Virginia alpine star twinkles and jives.
In a town in West Virginia,
The annual parade,
A holiday tradition,
Was to be differently portrayed.
For the brand-new mayor, wanting
To make all feel they belonged,
Changed the Christmas parade to Winter,
But most residents felt they’d be wronged.
It’s a sticky tricky topic
Coming up this time of year
For so many who celebrate Christmas
Make their thoughts unmistakably clear.
“Happy Holidays” simply won’t cut it
And a “Winter” parade just won’t do;
Even if there’s still Santa and reindeer
Changing “Christmas” is simply taboo.
So the mayor gave in to her critics
And the Christmas parade will proceed
Though the locals would never have changed it
In their minds or their hearts – guaranteed.
West Virginian Mountaineer, hill country free,
Born down in a holler to folks of dirt po means.
Heard wind blow wave ‘er wave o’er regal mountain peaks.
Fed on cornpone, biscuits, country gravy, and beans.
White mist over each peak a crown of majesty.
In rich valley below, unique person dwelt.
Admired sprawling mountaineer family tree.
Anyone not ‘bon up ’thar in the hills was suspect.
Ran like a deer, strong as a bear, eyes like a hawk.
Had speck of earth’s riches: smidgen from modern store.
Used outhouse year 'round, often times in the dark!
Worldly things rated low; Evermore got high score.
Shot rifle straight as an arrow flying through the air,
As ray of sunshine finds its way through leafy trees.
Had the stealth of bobcat leaving his secret lair,
Could seek up on someone; unaware presence there.
Honored no pass signs around moonshiner’s grove.
Words sounded odd to some; "Whar, thar, airish out ‘har.
Folks growed "tabaccer, lit oil lamp and wood stove.
Misjudged as brainless; mind could ace lawyer’s bar.
Volunteered one day while wearing worn out jeans.
Proud to be a soldier, as ancestry of yore.
Eager to serve country; had just turned nineteen.
Sent off to hostile land; part of medical corps.
Ten soldiers died when compound was hit one night.
Each one was honored; a national hero.
Military honors; flags, taps, and over flights.
One from West Virginia; Marine, Megan Marlow.