Barbara Groce moved to the mountains of North Georgia with her husband
Bill in1994. It was then and there she began to study and to practice poetry.
Her poems have been published in Pegasus, Wild Goose Poetry Review,
Journal of the Kentucky State Poetry Society, and Reach of Song, the
annual publication of the Georgia poetry Society. The poems here are
reprinted with permission of the author and are from her recently published
poetry collection titled The Dancing Years (Cardinal House Publishing
2012.)
In the golden afternoon
of a summer day, I stood
on our front porch looking
at the cloud of dark gray smoke
rising from a hillside
about two miles from us.
I heard my husband softly say,
“Come here.”
In our back yard eighteen deer
stood motionless, and every head
was turned toward the hillside,
although our house obscured the
view.
We had not heard a sound.
Our presence on the back porch
did not frighten them away
as it always did before.
In a few minutes they continued
toward the forest, their earth tones
becoming one with woodland hues.
Later we heard that four lives
vanished
when their plane fell from the sky
into the hillside of a
hundred shades of green and
boundless yellow flowers
growing wild in the golden
afternoon of a summer day.
Scenes From a Walk
As the autumn day slipped away,
I thought of our old home and friends
felt a hint of loneliness,
and decided to go for a stroll.
A walking stick eased the way
on the gravel road near our cabin.
Each step was an uneven scrunch
until I attained a rhythmic pace
attuned to the road and natures array.
Tinges of red and gold touched the trees.
Clumps of ragweed, yellow daisies,
and the last of Queen Anne’s lace
edged the curving roadway.
Yesterday’s rain erased the haze
and a feathery breeze arose
from an unblemished place,
danced with the leaves and caressed my face.
The roadside creek babbled and swirled,
ever smoothing its age old rocks.
From a tall evergreen a screech owl called.
From the woods nearby came the repartee.
A Goldfinch alighted atop a thistle,
a small brush fire,
its aroma evoking childhood days
when we played in dirt and leaves
from morning until night,
embracing nature, a pleasant
earthy taste lingering long past sunset,
dinner and our bedtime pillow fights.
The sun dropped into an apricot sky
behind the farthest layer of hills.
Then the startling moo of a Beefalo
declared that he was heading for the barn,
the clang of his bell fading to naught.
In an instant the thought entered my mind.
Now this place is my home, too.
Want to buy a copy of Dancing Years?
Purchase from the author .
$14.95 including shipping
Barbara Groce
PO Box 746
Morganton, Georgia 30569
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