Deep Blue Smoky Mountains (poem)



Deep blue they whisper,

Fog nestling deep down in their curves.

Like puffs of smoke from a cigarette

The fog drifts, sometimes lingering for a while.

Contours kissing skylines,

Dark blues meeting light blues, so defined.

The eve changes the skyline yet again,

Whimsical and whispering, for a time.

Blues turn to purple while light blues rage orange and hot pink.

I am enchanted as I rock in my ol’ front porch swing….

always watching, and sitting, in silent awe.

How long have I done this watching?

How many miracles have I witnessed before my eyes?

These mountains, it’s like they’re talking,

They keep whispering for me to hear.

Haunting, deep and stoic.

How these moments have turned into hours, days and years.

Like the blue grass beat of hill-billy rhythm,

The sky , it shakes my soul down deep.

Profound, sacred… ancient,

yet somehow always fresh and brand new.

I swear I can hear the footsteps of the Cherokee,

As the ol’time music, keeps echoing in my ear.

With a moonshine jug and a banjo, and a coon dog by my side,

I can sit here in these here mountains,

And swear I’ve touched heaven for awhile.

~ L. Davis, The Poet Farmer



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