Sometimes the Mist of the Mountains

Country spirit
healer of small hearts

teach the children of Adam

lost in mountain grass

the old ways.

Hold them with folk tale memories

and grandma’s quilts and read them

Whitman when they are young.


Wrapped in fields of wild white Indigo

you wait in blue mist mornings.

Red dirt roads point

the path with dogwoods

and scattered glades

leading to the porch.

Tonight whippoorwills

echo your cry

hickory smoke spreads out

layering the holler

below the Appalachian stars

shooting across a blackberry sky.

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10 Responses to Sometimes the Mist of the Mountains

  1. jeques says:

    Rich imagery carrying the message across achieving clarity, speaking loudly. great work!

    I wish you well.

    ~ Jeques

  2. Scot says:

    Thanks for stopping by and the kind comments.

  3. nochipa says:

    In case I didn’t let you know already…I think this poem is off the chart good. I really love your imagery and your language here.

    Nochipa

  4. Scot says:

    I read your comment on the Bridge, but thank you..:) …was it accurate for the region?

  5. Pris says:

    Ohhh…this left me reeling. Wonderful poem. Much needed poem!

  6. Scot says:

    Thanks Pris for stopping by and your much appreciated words!

  7. johemmant says:

    Oh how I love this, especially this:

    Tonight whippoorwills

    echo your cry

    hickory smoke spreads out

    layering the holler

    below the Appalachian stars

    shooting across a blackberry sky

    this sings!!!

  8. Scot says:

    thanks for the comments

  9. Vincent says:

    You give me hope. The America I knew vicariously through the Beats four decades ago is not dead. There are those who still care, still have the vision. Bless you!

  10. Scot says:

    Vincent
    Thank you for the kind thoughts and words.

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