Welcome to where I am, where my kitchen's always messy, a pot's (or a poet) always about to boil over, a dog is always begging to be fed. Drafts of poems on the counter. Windows filled with leaves. Wind. Clouds moving over the mountains. If you like poetry, books, and music--especially dog howls when a siren unwinds down the hill-- you'll like it here.


MY NEW AUTHOR'S SITE, KATHRYNSTRIPLINGBYER.COM, THAT I MYSELF SET UP THROUGH WEEBLY.COM, IS NOW UP. I HAD FUN CREATING THIS SITE AND WOULD RECOMMEND WEEBLY.COM TO ANYONE INTERESTED IN SETTING UP A WEBSITE. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT MY NEW SITE TO KEEP UP WITH EVENTS RELATED TO MY NEW BOOK.


MY NC POET LAUREATE BLOG, MY LAUREATE'S LASSO, WILL REMAIN UP AS AN ARCHIVE OF NC POETS, GRADES K-INFINITY! I INVITE YOU TO VISIT WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED TO READ SOME GOOD POEMS.

VISIT MY NEW BLOG, MOUNTAIN WOMAN, WHERE YOU WILL FIND UPDATES ON WHAT'S HAPPENING IN MY KITCHEN, IN THE ENVIRONMENT, IN MY IMAGINATION, IN MY GARDEN, AND AMONG MY MOUNTAIN WOMEN FRIENDS.




Monday, April 19, 2010

POET OF THE DAY: NANCY SIMPSON

Nancy Simpson has been a good friend for many, many years. She lives in Hayesville, North Carolina, a far western location bordering Georgia, and has worked hard to build a literary community there. She received her MFA from the Warren Wilson program, studying with Heather McHugh. Her poetry has appeared widely across the country in some of the best literary magazines. Carolina Wren Press will be publishing her New and Selected Poems, titled Living Above the Frost Line.



Here are two poems from her forthcoming collection from Carolina Wren Press.


LIVING ON THE MOUNTAIN

Old trees like old money
smell of richness.
It's not their crowns
that make them regal.
Whether they bow or stand tall,
they do so with a dignity
that can't be bought.
These woods belong to me,
every maple and oak.
How many women do you know
who own a forest?
From my deck, I smell trees
and I am filled with wealth.
Old trees bend. Like women
and like men, they die and fall,
or else they fall and die.
Young ones rise. I love watching
them grow and make their stand.


APRIL RAIN

In memory of my father
who loved to sit on a covered porch
and watch rain, I sit sheltered
and sip coffee on my covered deck
high on Cherry Mountain. Near treetops
in memory of my father, I sing louder
than the downpour that falls inches from me.
"You like my new house?" I trill
above the spill of raindrops.

Mr. Whiskers asleep on my feet
under the wicker seat, wakes.
He thinks my song is for him.
I look deep into gray mist, eye to eye
with thin green leaves of a thousand trees
and sing welcome to white blossoms
on dogwood trees no one planted.
I am singing. I am singing to my father
who loved to sit close to rain.




10 comments:

My Carolina Kitchen said...

An excellent choice. Congratulations Nancy.
Sam

Julia Nunnally Duncan said...

Wonderful, Nancy. My father, too, loved to sit close to rain, especially on the front porch during summer thunderstorms, which scared me to death as I grew older. But what great imagery. Trees dying and falling; trees falling and dying. How sadly true this is like women and men.

Vicki Lane said...

I especially love the rain poem as we too like to sit on the front porch, listening to the rain beat on the tin roof.

Jessie Carty said...

congrats Nancy :)

Nancy Simpson said...

Thank you to Sam, Julia, Vickie and Jessie. This has been a special day for me.

Anonymous said...

loved the first poem, but you are "sipping" coffee in the second one, aren't you?...aaaah,typos!

Glenda Beall said...

Congratulations, Nancy.
It is so good to see these poems that I already love. I can't wait to see your finished book.
Thanks, Kay, for putting the spot light on Nancy today. She deserves it.

Kathryn Stripling Byer said...

Yes, typos are the bane of a writer's existence. I wish we could "ship" them out to the farthest reaches of the universe! Thanks for pointing that one out.

Jeannette Cabanis-Brewin said...

what lovely poems ... and what a lovely pic of Nancy, as well.

Joan Ellen Gage said...

I could just smell the old tree smell. Lovely!