SPRING ARRIVES IN THE SOUTHERN APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS

Twenty four forsythia bushes are blooming around my home. These bushes are filled with tiny bell shaped flowers. Natives often say, " my yellow bells are in full bloom." They are a welcome sight, one of the first flowers to bloom in spring. Daffodils also bloom at the same time. 

CALL FOR HALLOWEEN POEMS AND SHORT STORIES

CONGLAVE: A JOURNAL OF CHARACTER is open for submissions for Issue 8 - Autumn, 2014 death, candy, costumes, leaves, pumpkins, ghosts, whatever halloween means to you. Conclave is a bi-annual print journal that focuses on character-driven.

FOR GUIDELINES CLICK 

http://www.conclavejournal.com/submissions/submissions.html

AT THIS TIME OF YEAR

At this time of year, like a litany, I access and celebrate four 

major treasurers of my life:

I am thankful for my family, my amazing family--Tim, Lynn, Jeremy, Sarah and Savannah, Pearson, Becky and Amanda. What a blessing you are to me. I am thankful for how you care for me. At this particular time of year we celebrate the addition to our family of Jeremy, who arrived from Vietnam on November 20, 1975 at age six. We traveled to New York to meet him, flew him back to Georgia our ancestral home, and drove him to our home on Cherry Mountain. What a blessing Jeremy has been and a true son and brother, as if born into the family. I admit I thought back then that we were saving him from war. How mistaken I was, how arrogant that thought turned out to be, for we all know now Jeremy came to save us, each one of us, one by one in some way or the other.

I’m thankful for my friends, you who have given me your love and friendship, you who unconditionally and unselfishly have stood by me during all kinds of heartache and  during unbearable situations--those who have visited when I was sick, brought food or sent or brought crates of cooked food when I could not prepare my own. Thanks for your calls, flowers, Emails, cards, and for regular comments you left on my site. Your care is paying off, for I have been blessed with health and strength.

The Victory Rose

At this time of year, and daily I am thankful for my beloved pets--Queen of the Mountain Sasha (13 years of pure love) and young Roxy who has enough love to go around and much energy to share. They are most responsible for keeping me daily up and moving--saying “Let me out”, “Let me in,” Feed me, “Bath me,” “Give me my Frontline,”  “Spray my wounds,” and “Where is my “candy?”

Here at the end of the year, each year,I also celebrate my writing and acknowledge how much writing (both mine and yours) sustains me. This year, I especially appreciate having had my poem “Our Great Depression” included in the Georgia edition of Southern Poetry Review, chosen by James Smith, Editor, and having my poem “Pink Pantsuit” featured in Ted Kooser’s wide reaching newspaper column, and having my book LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE with  a number of poems included by Michelle Aldredge in the Sunday poetry feature of GWARLINGO. 

Life is good, and I am thankful.

http://www.gwarlingo.com/2013/the-sunday-poem-nancy-simpson/#comment-35562

LEAF SEASON HITS ITS GOLDEN PEAK IN THE SOUTHERN APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS

You can get here from there. This is a real place known to be  located "above the frost line." The huge joy is having bright autumn leaves and flowers all in color at the same time.

National Poetry Month - Celebrating Poet Joan Ellen Gage.

It's National Poetry Month. My goal this year is to celebrate southern and Appalachian poets. I called for poems that celebrate life itself, poems that especially honor human life and the human spirit.  

Today, Here Above the Frost Line, we celebrate poet Joan Ellen Gage. She lives part of her year in Florida and the rest in the mountains of Western North Carolina. She has two collections:  Water Running Downhill and Embracing Your Inner Cheerleader.

BY DESIGN

by Joan Ellen Gage

What is a breast?

It is, by design, in its simplest form

A source of nourishment

A literal “fountain of youth”

A breast is an ornament

Of the flesh, ascetically varied,

Rounded, pillowed, or arched

An achingly beautiful sculpture of nature

A breast is a haven

For comforting small humans

Or sheltering family and friends

With arms and bodies enfolded tightly, as in prayer

A breast can also give or receive

Pleasure, with our partners

As active participants

In the mating dance of life

A breast is the epitome of the heart

Of womankind, as with our breasts

We nurture, comfort, and love.

That is why we hold them so dear

Through breast cancer, women may

Lose these deeply personal pieces

Of their flesh, that share so much

And give succor to life

But, we must remember that

Women are the origin of strength

In this world, and with or

Without breasts, we are the same!

We will still nurture

We will still comfort

And we will still love

We will do this, by design

from Water Running Downhill

For Tina and all of her sisters

The Invader Within

by Joan Ellen Gage

Was the cause environmental,

Or was it family genetics?

How did this happen?

Perhaps, it was just karma

Bringing me this dark, unwanted gift

This cancer

The alien DNA

Hidden in the structure

Of the genome

Its time bomb releasing

Microscopic invaders burrowing

Into tissue, my tissue

Facing myself in the mirror,

Today, chopping long dark hair

Shorter, and shorter still

Wondering who is this stranger

Who stares back

Stone-faced and resolute?

I begin this deeply personal

Uphill battle, or is it downhill?

Warrior stance—I am ready

“Let’s do this!” to my husband

We travel silently to chemo

Unspoken words blowing through

Our minds like autumn leaves

He holds my hand as we begin

IV dripping, we watch morning TV

Oblivious to the screen, thoughts

Still flowing, overflowing, synchronized

With the IV releasing the drug/poison

I will it to find the interloper

“Seek out the alien intruder, now!”

Many weeks have passed, now

Time has slowed to a turtle’s pace

I have sat in that recliner

Many hours, with needle piercing my flesh,

Chemo flowing, a soft cap covering the baby fuzz

Where my hair used to be

I turn my mind inward, pray and give thanks

Liquid ninja’s course through my veins

“Finish it”, I pray, “amen”.

from Embracing your Inner Cheerleader

For Sheryl and all her sisters

More about the author - click on her site.

http://www.joanellengage.com/

Comments and words of encouragement that celebrate poetry

during this special time of year will be appreciated. Below.

National Poetry Month April 2013

"...My heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the golden daffodils." -William Wordsworth

The Daffodils by William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud    That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd,    A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine    And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line    Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A Poet could not but be gay,    In such a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie    In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye    Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

a note from Nancy Simpson -- I was assigned to learn this poem from memory for recitation in elementary school. I did commit it to memory, but I did not have full understanding of "daffodil" because I lived in Miami, Florida where there were no daffodils, only hibiscus and bougainvillea. When I moved to the mountains of western N.C. in the sixties, I saw the hill of golden daffodils and you could not shut me up from saying Wordsworth's poem over and over again. Photos here are mine. I grew the flowers and I took the pictures.

April 2013, The Beginning of National Gardening Month

Today National Gardening month Begins.  April 1, 2013

                              
Forsythia, aka "Yellow Bells" in my neighborhood

Spring is late, it seems. My flowers want to show themselves but dare not because of relentless winter. Truth is-- spring has arrived. Twenty forsytia bushes along with the last of the daffodils bloom today in my yard. It's time to plan and to plant.

Whether you grow flowers or food, it's time to give a head's up. Here in the southern Appalachian Mountains where I live,(western North Carolina) Spring has not arrived in it's glory but one leaf and sprout at a time.   

I'm off gardening restriction finally. It is slow and steady for me, but I am working 30 minutes to one hour each day. 

Check out GARDENING WHERE YOU ARE

http://www.bhg.com/gardening/gardening-by-region/gardening-where-you-are/?psrc=bhgregiongardeningapp_mbo

NATIONAL POETRY MONTH Coming Soon

Our fellow NCWN West member Jayne Joudon Ferrer hosts YOUR DAILY POEM. I subscribe and get a daily poem. Now that National Poetry  Month is ready to begin, Jayne is offering a chance for all  to get a poem a day during the month of April 2013. Want to? Click below.

If you know anyone who might enjoy celebrating National Poetry Month with a poem a day, invite them to visit www.YourDailyPoem.com, enter their email address in the "Subscribe" box, and click the "April Poetry Parade" option.   Thank you! Jayn

WORDS INSIDE AND WORDS OUTSIDE

Hello friends and fellow writers. It has been a long time, I know.  My journey took me far away, but I am on the return, on the mend. I've missed you, I suspect, more than you have missed me. 

 First thing, I see that I am still a word person. Here's proof. Some words found inside and some words found outside of my home.

Let me hear from you. Send a comment or an e mail or call me.

SUNSET ON 11-11-11 AND MOONSET ON 11-12-11

NOVEMBER DAYS IN THE SOUTHERN APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS 2011

 WINDOW OPEN TO  THE VALLEY.

 THE LAST GLORIOSA DAISY IN MY GARDEN.

 LEAVES, LEAVES, LEAVES.

DO YOU WANT ME TO QUIT WRITING?

I've been burning the wires during the past few days chatting with my fellow writing friends. One thing stayed consistent as we talked about our lives.  We all made it through the stupendous White Christmas, that held many of  us snowbound on our mountains for a week.  And we are all writing here in the first days of the new year, all submitting our poems and stories for publication.

That stays with me, stays on my mind as I drive down the mountain with all snow gone now, myself finally out and about again, going to grocery and to the dentist. It amazed me that we are all writing, all submitting our work for publication. It  gives me some unexplained hope.  To be honest, I thought I was finished with the writing business. The business of writing is discouraging.  I had two books published in 2010,  but still I can not recommend writing as the way for anyone to find fulfillment.

Yet, here I sit, day after day. Writing.  When I told my son I am writing again he was surprised.  I said, "If I could quit, I would quit."  And I think he understood.  There was a glow of understanding on his face. It reminded me of many years ago when I finally finished my Bachelor of Science Degree and was propped up on my bed writing poems by the dozens. My son, such a small boy then, came in and jumped and bounced on the bed and did his best to distract me. I understood that he thought when I got my degree, I would be all his again. I told him I was working on a poem. He bounced more. I said, "Do you want me to quit writing?" He shouted YES. I said, "I can't quit." That was the end of that. He went on with his life and I went on with mine.

So, here I sit, years later. Still writing, with poems mailed to my favorite publishers.

SUNSET NOVEMBER 26, 2010 IN THE SOUTHERN APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS

Crocus stand as rumors of spring here above the frost line.

..."held in abeyance by a great leaf wall" lines by Nancy Simpson

My window on the valley closed. The curtain has been drawn, so I no longer see the ridge line.

But do not feel sorry for me. My woods are filled today with multiple shades of the wild flame azalea.







I am "held in abeyance by a great leaf wall every shade of green we can imagine." (lines from "Walking Up With a Friend."

WHAT SHE SAW AND WHAT SHE HEARD by Nancy Simpson

On the mountain a woman saw

the road bank caved in

from winter's freeze-thaw

and April rain erosion.

Trees leaned over the road the way

strands of hair hung on her forehead.

She gaped, her face as tortured

as the face she saw engraved in dirt.

Roots growing sideways shaped brows,

two eyes.  Humus washed

down the bank like a nose.

Lower down, where a rock

was shoved out by weathering,

a hole formed the shape of a mouth.

The woman groaned, Agh.

Her spirit toppled

to the ground, slithered

under the roots of an oak.

She stood there as if lost, asking

What?  Who?

Back to reason, back home

she finished her questions:

What can one make of the vision, that face

on the north side of the mountain?

Reckoning comes, a thought:

it is not the image of a witch nor a god,

but Earth's face, mouth open saying,

Save me.

Previously published in Pembroke Magazine

edited by Shelby Stephenson.

WEATHER REPORT Above the Frost Line

With ten nights in the twenties or lower, the hard freeze finished off the flowers in my garden for the year. The rose bushes stand green, but the bright Knock-Out roses are brown.  All of the perennials have bent under the cold and have begun to hunker down.  The only thing of interest are some seed pods and variegated evergreens.   Even the Camellia's pink blooms, that thrive in November, always through Thanksgiving, have shriveled and turned transparent on the bush. 

In the past ten days, cold as it has been, we've had sunshine each day.  This fall, I've been more aware of the sun, how at times I can be surprised by light, by the way it beams down in shafts in specific places on the property.  I have been surprised several afternoons, when sunbeams bounce around my living room.  Yesterday,  I caught myself talking to no one,  saying  outloud, "It's okay. It's the sun.  Everything will be okay."

SOUTHERN POETS AND WRITERS - A REMINDER

Fellow Poets and Writers, 

___It is time to take those last shots, make your vivid photos and print them.

___It is time to photocopy your poems and stories and send them out on the mail truck.

December will be too late.  

November 1, 2008 LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE MEANS:

Living above the frost line means - no frost up here on the mountain as yet. Each night,  the weatherman predicts below freezing temperatures.  I look out the next morning on flowers in full bloom.  Yes, it even snowed last Tuesday. Snowflakes rested for a few minutes on fuchsia sourwood leaves.  The Knock Out Roses were happy to get a drink, and not one of their blossoms withered from the snow.  The butterfly bushes, blooming since spring, are still sending up their cones of color.

Yes, yes.  I know the hard freeze will come, but until then, maybe through Thanksgiving, perhaps into the first week of December, I shall have flowers blooming in my garden, and I shall have finished poems on my clipboard.   That is what it means to live above the frost line. It means that  in this special dwelling place we get extended growing time.