In Cumberland's embrace, I journeyed forth today,
Through mountains wrapped in winter's quiet display.
Not cold as youth recalls, but chill seeps deep within,
At seventy-one, the frost feels like kin.
These mountains stand, in winter's grasp, serene,
Stark sentinels of beauty, bare and keen.
Awaiting spring's warm blaze, they proudly rise,
Toward the thin light that adorns the wintry skies.
We dread yet long for winter's fierce caress,
Snow, sleet, and biting cold, in harsh excess.
For summer's heat, we yearn, then seek retreat,
In cool, air-conditioned spaces, a respite sweet.
In days of old, the elements, a simpler foe,
With layers worn, through seasons, high and low.
My grandmother, in her feed sack garb, would stand,
Unfazed by cold or heat, in this land.
Winter recalls a time of need and grit,
Searching for coal, in cold, we'd never quit.
Dressed in borrowed warmth, memories unfurl,
Of hardship's face, in a bygone world.
Food grew scarce as winter waned, longing for spring's hand,
Pinto beans aplenty, yet the land seemed bland.
Cornbread and molasses, chicory coffee's brew,
Simple meals, a testament to the resilience we knew.
Reflecting on poverty's changing face,
In Cumberland's embrace, we found our grace.
Through seasons of want and plenty, our spirits soar,
For in each hardship, love was our core.
March 20, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the hush of mountain air, where time moves slow,
Where funerals once danced to a different song,
A tapestry of life, in shadows cast long,
Echoes of a past, where memories grow.
When I was young, the mountains held a tale,
Of neighbors' hands cleaning, hearts so grand,
Food and warmth shared, a close-knit band,
A vigil through the night, a community's veil.
Around a barrel fire, men would stand and share,
Moonshine whispers, and tales of days gone by,
While inside, women's laughter would fly,
On wings of recipes, gossip, and care.
This gathering of souls, in honor of the dead,
A time of communion, of love spread wide,
From births to weddings, life's every stride,
A collective breath, where communal ties are fed.
But there was a time, in fifty-one or two,
A funeral like none other, a silence profound,
A young man lost, a mystery bound,
In the heart of the mountains, where secrets brew.
No recipes shared, no laughter in the air,
Just a quiet mourning, a family alone,
A wife bruised, a baby's soft moan,
A community's effort to show they care.
In the years that passed, the truth unfurled,
A tale of violence, a life taken too soon,
In the depths of the mountains, under the same moon,
A story of justice, in a close-knit world.
Yet, the spirit of the mountains, strong and kind,
Remains unbroken, a testament to those days,
When community was family, in all its ways,
A reminder of the ties that bind.
So here's to the mountains, and the tales they tell,
Of life and death, of love's enduring spell,
In the heart of the hills, where secrets dwell,
A legacy of community, forever to dwell.
March 19, 2023
Created by
Mark Waldrop
In the gentle thaw of spring's embrace, Where new beginnings softly trace, The outline of the world's serene face, Dear Lord, maybe it's time.
Wes Maybe it's time to slow, to find The simpler joys we've left behind. Cook a meal, let flavors unwind, In the warmth of a kitchen, secrets bind.
Let's play games with the kids, let laughter ring, In each echo, life's joy we bring. Sit for a spell, feel the calm a cat can sling, And sup on a cup of coffee, let your heart sing.
Maybe it's time to kneel, to pray, To wonder, to dream, to stray From paths worn deep, to a brighter day, For we're never too old to dream, come what may.
It's time to think, to truly see, The fleeting moments that used to be. The elders' wisdom, a towering tree, Maybe it's time we gentle, in humility.
Acknowledge we are a Nation under God, In His grace, we are flawed yet awed. It's time to ponder the path we trod, The things we love, the facade we applaud.
As spring unfurls its vibrant hue, Let's rethink the attention we accrue To things unimportant, untrue, Dear Lord, maybe it's time for a view anew.
For it's the first day of spring, a season to cherish, A time for love to grow, not perish. In this rebirth, let's vow to nourish The life, the love we dearly wish to flourish.
In the quiet hush of dawn's soft light,
Where memories linger from night to night,
I penned a tribute, heartfelt and right,
For a simple man, my guiding light.
He wore the colors of Alaskan skies,
In favorite shirt and pants, his humble guise.
A city boy, with twinkling eyes,
Adopted country's simplicity, wise.
His spirit, a testament to living plain,
A life so full, yet remarkably sane.
The essence of simplicity, his gain,
In every act, love was the main.
"He was a simple man," I proudly said,
A soul of depth, where kindness spread.
He sought not praise, his heart instead,
Was a beacon of love, where all were led.
He worshipped God with love so pure,
No need for merits, his faith secure.
A simple love, so deep, so sure,
A testament to a heart so pure.
As I reflect upon my own life's span,
I wish no more than to follow this plan.
To be remembered as simple, to stand
As one who loved, who took God's hand.
To live a life from the heart, to use
Talents for good, to kindly infuse
The world with simplicity, to choose
A path of humility, no grandeur to muse.
Let it be said, when my time is near,
"She was a simple person," let it ring clear.
A life of love, of God so dear,
A simple person, without frontier.
March 19, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the gentle thaw of spring's embrace,
Where new beginnings softly trace,
The outline of the world's serene face,
Dear Lord, maybe it's time.
Maybe it's time to slow, to find
The simpler joys we've left behind.
Cook a meal, let flavors unwind,
In the warmth of a kitchen, secrets bind.
Let's play games with the kids, let laughter ring,
In each echo, life's joy we bring.
Sit for a spell, feel the calm a cat can sling,
And sup on a cup of coffee, let your heart sing.
Maybe it's time to kneel, to pray,
To wonder, to dream, to stray
From paths worn deep, to a brighter day,
For we're never too old to dream, come what may.
It's time to think, to truly see,
The fleeting moments that used to be.
The elders' wisdom, a towering tree,
Maybe it's time we gentle, in humility.
Acknowledge we are a Nation under God,
In His grace, we are flawed yet awed.
It's time to ponder the path we trod,
The things we love, the facade we applaud.
As spring unfurls its vibrant hue,
Let's rethink the attention we accrue
To things unimportant, untrue,
Dear Lord, maybe it's time for a view anew.
For it's the first day of spring, a season to cherish,
A time for love to grow, not perish.
In this rebirth, let's vow to nourish
The life, the love we dearly wish to flourish.
March 19, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
I have butterflies when I began to speak
I make them Holy from the spirit I seek
The butterflies slow their wings to a rhythm of love
Sent from My Heavenly Father from Heaven above
Calmness comes from within not from without in a world of sin
Thank you for sending Your Son Jesus to come live within
March 19, 2024
Mark Waldrop
In the heart of Philadelphia’s vibrant hum,
Lies a tale of simple faith, from which great lessons come.
A little girl, with hopes so high and pockets light,
Stood outside a church, a sorrowful sight.
"Too crowded," they said, "No room for you today."
Her heart broke in pieces; she couldn't pray.
But a pastor saw, beyond her shabby frame,
A soul yearning for love, not seeking fame.
With a gentle hand, he led her through the door,
Found a spot in Sunday School, on the polished floor.
That night, her heart light, she dreamed of spaces wide,
Where no child was turned away, no tears to hide.
Years passed, her light dimmed, to heaven, she did depart,
Leaving behind a purse, and an enormous heart.
Fifty-seven cents and a note, scrawled with love so pure,
"This is to help the church grow, of this, I am sure."
The pastor, moved by love, shared her story wide,
A call to hearts of many, letting her spirit guide.
A wealthy man, touched by grace, offered land to sow,
For fifty-seven cents, a new hope began to grow.
Donations poured like rain, from places far and near,
A testament to love, and to a girl so dear.
From her small gift, a legacy was born,
A church, a university, a hospital, dawned.
Temple Baptist Church, with seats for thousands more,
Temple University, with knowledge at its core.
The Good Samaritan Hospital, a beacon of healing light,
And a Sunday School, where no child is out of sight.
Her portrait hangs, a reminder of what faith can do,
Beside Dr. Russell H. Conwell, whose vision saw it through.
Fifty-seven cents, not just a meager sum,
But a seed of faith, from which miracles come.
In Philadelphia, remember this tale so bright,
Of a little girl’s love, shining ever so light.
What God can do with fifty-seven cents, you see,
Is a testament to faith, love, and humility.
March 18, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In a corner of the world, under a window so bright,
Amanda R. Waldrop shares a tale of delight.
Mark, with a thought so tender and able,
Gifted a squirrel picnic table.
Perched outside the window of her home office view,
A scene unfolds, fresh as morning dew.
Where nature's little jesters, in their playful spree,
Feast upon their table, in pure glee.
Molly, the kitty, with eyes wide and keen,
Watches the squirrels, in a world serene.
Together they sit, day by day,
In silent camaraderie, in their own special way.
Amanda, with Molly, finds joy so profound,
In the simple pleasures that abound.
A squirrel picnic table, a window, a sight,
Turns ordinary moments into pure delight.
So here's to the small things that make life sweet,
To moments of peace, our hearts' retreat.
For in the story of Amanda, Mark, and Molly's grace,
Lies a reminder of the beauty in our space.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop “Grandpa”
Little feet depend on you and me
To direct their path to being happy
Little feet are so tender and bare
Caress them to show we care
Little feet will follow behind our steps
Growing each day in love that helps
Little feet will be grown someday
Other little feet will follow and play
March 17, 2024
MarkWaldrop
In a realm where the skies stretch endless and blue,
Beyond the veil, where each dawn feels brand new,
There's a place, serene, where love's forever true,
A heavenly home where our pets wait, in view.
Gentle meadows under soft, eternal light,
Where the air hums with joy, day and night,
Here, every bond remains unbroken, tight,
In this paradise, every soul takes flight.
No farewell here, just a sweet, serene pause,
Where time's embrace gently softens its jaws,
Every creature basks in love's warm applause,
Bound by a promise, without any clause.
Through the fields, they come running to greet,
With wagging tails and purrs, oh so sweet,
In their eyes, the love we've always known,
They wait for us, in this heavenly home.
So fear not the journey, or the passage of time,
For in this divine haven, everything's sublime,
Our pets, our friends, in their prime,
Whisper, "It's easy to come home, where love's the rhyme."
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
