The picture above is of my great grandfather and great grandmother Thompson. They are the parents of my father, Amos Lockhart's, mother, Eliza. You can see my Cherokee ancestory through my great grandmother.

Appalachian Mountains ~ The Spring of My Soul

I'm longing for Appalachia, the roots of family

Way back where springs welled up clear and fresh

And the earth was good and trees grew strongly true

Where I can find the source of my strength in goodness

The beginning of life, the mountainous truth of who I am.


All I long to be is there inside those mountains

Each level of rock formed, make up the source of me

Over time, be it thousands or millions of years, I am inside

Forming, becoming a part of life in each sediment, crystal, or cave

Darkness looms over, below, and around, consuming all and then...


The faint sounds of the dripping of water from within

Brings forth the life of pools gathering, then flowing out into forest

Teeming with tall trees reaching, mightily, to drink the sun's power

I am the drop traveling on my journey into becoming alive

In all things which I am, and which hold me together, as one.


I am hungry for my home; the sweetness of the berries bursting

Fragrances of pines, mountain laurel, and honeysuckle blend to arouse

A remembering of long lost desires of tender romance once known

Between a girl of fifteen and a young man of twenty-two, who once

Met when she was a babe in cradle and he, but a boy of seven years.***


These were those times, when I was, way back in that drop, forming

Just becoming a bit of life, not even a thought, but a wee glimmer

Captured, perhaps, only as if, light kissed that drop, at its conception

Awakening the spiritual life, within all things, as the Creator speaks

O' there is history there, where Father and Mother's destinies converged.


Amongst life of Appalachia-- Scottish, French, Native people loved

Bonds united families, ties were made, as trumpet vines grew entwined

Gloriously revealing the abundance of fruitfulness in sharing of hearts

As the blending of cultures brought uniqueness of musical sounds rising

So did the harmony, of the mountains, echo the vastness of their beauty!


In all these things, I find an awareness of the spring of my soul

There is a time, in a life's trail way travels, when a searching begins

A place at the end, where beginnings ache in the belly, as a starving

Visions become more clear and sight is of the mind, not of eyes, seeing

Where seeking is finding what was left behind and treasure is memory.


Simplicity of majesty is in beholding all things given freely at birth;

The belonging to wholeness of the universe in its perfection and plan

The infinite nourishment by the Creator for all life with love and mercy

Abiding and abounding delights of the heart because of each breath

And the enduring assurance of eternal goodness relating to being spirit.


These days are the evenings of life; as the sun sets, the moon rises

Shadows float across Appalachia, ebb and flow, seascapes upon Blue Ridge

Those hollers* call me back from whence I came in hopes and dreams

I hear the drums of ancient Celtics, the flute of Native wanderers calling

The yearning is pulling me homeward to the land of Appalachian peace.




 My heritage as I know it: Scottish, French, Native American

(Cherokee) Ancestory united in Virginia in the Appalachian Mountains. Blue Ridge Mts are a section of the App.Mts ranging from southern most part of Georgia to Northern Pennsylvania.

*Holler-a small valley between mountains (cultural language used in area)

i.e. I was born in Hogue Holler, Junction City, Kentucky


 ***my father first met my mother at age 7 and she a baby when accompanying his father, a mountain preacher, traveling on horse back. 




Poetry by Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 463 times
Written on 2016-07-26 at 23:21

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text

David W. Glavin
Absolutely beautiful :-)

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
I don't want to say too much, as this speaks for itself, but your sense of place, and pride in place, comes through in every word, and as one who has spend a life in the country, within spittin' distance of Butter Holler, I understand this. The feelings of home are so difficult to express, and you've done it splendidly

Phyllis J. Rhodes
This is as beautiful as those mountains and the creations that came from them.