we resort to empty fields of grass
and call them our safe places.
my home is where a young beagle chases butterflies around her circle of dirt past the clothesline
and an old German shepherd refuses
the idea of privacy
and comforts me when my mother’s old Victorian house is too big for comfort.

we form bouquets from roadside wildflowers.
from susies, queen Anne’s lace and half-naked dandelions.

the front room is first to catch the eastern sun.
My grandmother leaves flowers on the window sill

and i can hear bumblebees from my bedroom.

the morning is infused with possibilities,
before the humid heat of the South weighs
me down.

I long for the mountain streams of Appalachia,
and standing under a water fall on a hot day.

I live in the city, but I carry the mountains with me
in my heart.

The mountains are home of my heart, where I can always return to
over and over.

A home of my heart to welcome a new day,
time and time again.

Nothin' hurts like heartache
a longin' that you just can't break

Woman, you did me wrong
I am gonna mend my ways

I ain't been home in so long,
never to dance with your hips swayin'

Let me go home where I belong
back to the mountains of Appalachia,
where cicadias sing and
women are sweet like moonshine

PJ Poesy Apr 2016

A-Ooga Tioga
Sky, mountain and mist rise

with morning breath
It’s crisp until coffee goes in
but no bother for that
instead, searching for sun, kept out of sight
figuring which way is east
Which way is yonder?
still, more you might ponder

As you sink into the lap of Tioga valleys
cradled by ash and oaks
fields of daisy mixed with rye and wheat
spread at your feet
like  wedding dress of Mother Nature herself

She says softly:

“Pssst, hey you
Don’t put on those shoes
tiptoe way across my seedy crinolines
lie upon me
Sink in insubstantiality with me
as I draw
rays and beams, beyond
some twenty rolling hills

In our for all future time horizon
you may still be dreaming
indulge yourself in my verdant fantasies
suck up this morning with me

This is Appalachian reverie
hear me like little turkey gobbling
dance with doe and fawn
chase jackrabbit
round and round
Why, even the silos are singing
“Pour me a cup” ”

Written at Mikey's cabin in the Tioga Hills of Pennsylvania, near Mansfield. You'd really like it there. Anyone would.
Tonya Maria Jan 2016

Gray ghosts
Approached the hillside
Left  only
Skeletal remains
Stripped all life
Layered within them
The hemlock trees
Cried out in vain

Brown lights
Illumined the horror
From Table Rock
We witnessed all
Gray ghosts
Flew in the forest
And attacked
With savage crawl

The U.S. eastern and Carolina hemlock (known as the redwood of the east) are being killed in increasing numbers by an invasive insect. The diseased hemlocks are called gray ghosts because of their skeleton-like appearance.

According to the stories I was told as a child, the bereaved native Cherokee wives wandered the skies above the hills with lanterns, looking for the souls of their brave warrior husbands killed in battle.

Our dad would take us to "Table Rock" when we were young children to sit for hours with hopes of catching a glimpse of the brown mountain lights.

********In 5 minutes I mark the anniversary of my father's passing. He was 34 years old and I was 8.
Robert C Howard Mar 2014

homage to Wallace Stevens

I - My Focus pistoned up the rise
      and all at once, the Rockies -
            silhouettes against the western skies.

II - On the road to Boulder
      a pleated ridge crawls north
            like a blue whale bound for the open sea.

III -  Appalachia's intoxicating verdure
      never fails to induce in us
            a certain mellowing of the spirit.

IV - You 'conquered' my North Face, did you?
      Why, I should skewer your arrogant ass
            like a holiday lamb culled for the sacrifice.

V - Lewis and Clark looked west
      surveying the Bitterroots' frigid expanse.
            Farewell Northwest Passage!  

VI - Pueblos stranded on Enchanted Mesa -
      their rock stairs crumbled to the valley floor.
            Should they dive to their death or starve?

VII –Touristas at Big Bend Park
      wonder at its pastel window -
            its romantic haze a toxic gift
      from stacks across the Rio Grande.

VIII – The once mighty Ozarks humbled by age,          
      dwarfed by the youthful Rockies.
            Listen up, youngsters, your time will come!

IX – We de-bussed to seize the dolomites
      with our hyper-kinetic shutters.
            Pausing for a draught of Italian air,
      I felt the whack of an Alpine snowball.

X - Before Oregon's crater had its lake,
      the mountain scorched the village below.
            Today its azure waters preach only serenity.

XI – Looking down from Shissler peak
      to the golden meadow below
            where the elk herd calmly grazes.

XII – Do mists veil the Blue Ridge Mountains
      or are there really no mountains at all -
            only clouds decked out in mountain attire?

XIII – They say that peaks more steep than Everest
      soar up from the ocean floor.
            Who will scale their sunken heights?

May 28,  2010 – Boulder Colorado

Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
Tonya Maria Aug 2015

Lonesome cries of the whippoorwill
Silky dirt between my toes
Cool days of blackberry winter
Warm nights during Indian summer....

As quick as thunder comes in a rainstorm,
it occurs to me again....
I long for the simple things

i want to roam those gentle mountains
free from the clamors of city life
nothin' but the sound of cicadas
and the feelin' of a summer breeze

i have the summer time login' for yester years
childhood memories grow sweeter each year

a poem about growing up in the mountains of appalachia
Ron Sparks Jul 2015

I know
the feelings she
stirs in my loins when I
look at her are wrong 'cause she's my

Sometimes I get silly when I write poetry . . .

the summer heat is oppressive
it's so hot and humid in the south
you become drenched with sweat
just standing still

the running streams of mountain water
rushing through rocks and then crashing down on ya
the chill of the waterfall freezes the intensity of explosion
on your skin as the water beats down on ya
there's nothing like it in the world to standing underneath a waterfall

I hug the wall of stone and feel the cold slimy surface
and my hands run through the moss growing on the side

what an amazing reprieve on a hot summer's day
God bless the mountains of North Carolina
God bless Appalachia
God bless this place called

home of my heart
where living waters flow

Next page