Aliens, Auras, and the Abyss!
As a continuation of our digital collection, Poems from the Cosmos, today the Dandelion Scribes present Aliens, Auras, and the Abyss! The following selection of poetry explores the possibilities of life, beyond—from a variety of perspectives and experiences.
Whether real or imaginary, observed or created, these aliens & other-worlds presented in poetry ask us to consider infinity, connection, change, and collaboration, as well as confusion, exploitation, degradation, and manipulation.
Here, realms & realities collide as the Scribes continue on the never-ending quest to traverse the universe, seeking understanding with pen in hand.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Alien
by Brandy Warren
Chapter 2: Something Other
by Blair Correll
Chapter 3: Whirled Pool
by Frances Denise
Chapter 4: Explorer of the Human Condition
by Bryanna Licciardi
Chapter 5: From Another Planet
by Cameron Lyric Cox
Chapter 6: The Abyss Is Not A Grave
by Olivia Croley
Chapter 7: Exhausted Creatures Floating Through Infinity
by Joshua Walker
Chapter 8: Mountain Void
by Jessie Jackson
Chapter 9: Miles Out of Reach
by Angelia Ross
Chapter 10: Starborn Flesh
by Dane Osborne
Chapter 11: The Intersection of Then & Now
by Mal Okio
Chapter 12: Space Candy
by Brandon Thorpe
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Alien Artwork by Brandon Thorpe
These 5 otherworldly masterpieces by Brandon Thorpe provided visual inspiration for the poets as they wrote about aliens & life, beyond.
ALIENS, AURAS,
& THE ABYSS!
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 1: Alien
by Brandy Warren
ALIEN
Silent knowing
defined her people
in their place of light.
Unseen, she drifted
from world to world,
space not empty
but plasma soup,
her vehicle.
Often, she stretched herself
to the blue-water world
to snuggle the creature
in his fixed skin,
to enclose him in herself,
holding him safe.
As he slept,
she talked to him,
silent waves – again and
again and again,
until he heard her,
felt her near him, in him.
“Be gone," he screamed,
throwing back his coverings,
slapping at her air,
cursing her, her knowing wisdom.
“Leave me, daemon."
Slinking from him,
she slogged into the soup,
homeward, to her kind,
her silent, unseen, knowing world.
There, her people rushed from her,
her tainted, cool, fixed,
for once an unseen warm flowing, as they,
a crystal scab encased her light.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 2: Something Other
by Blair Correll
THE BRINK
Trouble me with your freedom
Ask me to go to the end of never
Push me past the threshold
I want to wake up in the distant
Where my eyes are full, not sated
If there is an end to this, let it not be before
Before I have run my life through
Speaking in foreign tongues with my mouth full
Out there, I see stars and no more hourglasses
I have all this world inside me and no will to go
I want something more of life, is that too much?
So, I am standing at the door again
Pushing it open slightly creaking
My fingers bare and trembling
I watch my feet and beg them
Go! Go beyond your befores!
⚘
ALIEN
One night, he pulled me in
When I went looking for them
I found what I was looking for – an alien
It was obvious something Other made him
And I had never found One out so far
But I was fearless in the speckled skies
Though I was unsure of which star
They pulled down to make his eyes
He is just another wayfaring space traveler
I understand that, I have been running too
He left me signs and the heavens and more
He told me – look for me inside of you
It was always a risk, a wonder, a song written
But there he was in my body, a dark internal sea
My heart, a pulsing mass of muscle forgotten
Atrophy and decay, paying my ungodly fee
Then this green man with his green hand
Reached up and set it to thumping again
I will not wait and watch the moments like sand
Maybe he will make a home in my chest until the end
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 3: Whirled Pool
by Frances Denise
WHIRLED POOL
*Inspired by Alien #2 by Brandon Thorpe.
There is an alien
Sitting on the palm of my hand
Leading me forward
Into doors right under my nose
An old friend eagerly pulling me
To our next adventure
Avenues
Whole planets are not light years away
Every shadow
Every glimmer of light is a portal
Above, below and beside you
Exists an extraterrestrial
I am a homebody with itchy feet
Easily convinced to travel
Because
Every day is an answer to a question
I asked
Plenty of years ago
I am permanently searching for clear signals
Be wary of what anybody tells you to fear
Our ideas meet when we shake hands
The moment we lock eyes
Is a moment too late
Yes, you and me
And the next door stranger
I try not to take it personally
When people would rather talk to a machine
Than interact with living, breathing Me
I can hardly blame them
When overstimulation has a fast-evolving definition
Give me curiosities that change the game
The heart is not a pump
And my wardrobe no longer accommodates my mental and emotional weight
Our DNA is far from junk
The pyramids are not tombs
I wake up feeling anxious
Until I tell myself what I’m grateful for
We are more than just biology
In three minutes I must take a shower
Because I don’t like to rush
Water is a living being with more than 3 states
Is “real life” an oxymoron?
Often I have too much fun
In my own mind
Oh, that pull on my hand!
“Come back to your body,”
The alien transmits
Its colorful voice pouring out of its eyes
“You are human
And everything but”
In this third dimension
The earth is not flat
Nor is there an ice wall in Antarctica
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 4: Explorer of the Human Condition
by Bryanna Licciardi
UNICORN CAT
Dedicated to our beloved & strange Ivy, ? – Dec. 2024
When I come home to blood on the floor,
my first thought is that your wound must be
where a horn’s been hiding all this time.
You’re magic. I knew it even that first time
we met, inside an animal clinic’s bathroom.
The rescuer had no clue your age, what planet
you came from, why your teeth were falling out,
but your gold eyes glittered terribly against
fluorescents. When you cried into my arms
I took on the responsibility of loving you,
knowing little about unicorns. I do know
their horns are prone to theft, because people
are poison and horns cure bad things.
I follow this trail of iron, of glistening life
hoping it will lead to your salvation,
scared to admit it's likely already gone.
⚘
ALIEN CAT
Today I spend some time
googling mammary cancer in cats,
and realize there is so much
I don’t know
about who you were
before we met.
Did your womb ever host
a litter of kittens?
Did your first home
abandon you,
or you them?
Your tail, always perked
straight up like an antenna
makes me wonder if, actually,
you are, in fact,
an alien
sent to our planet,
an explorer
of the human condition.
To think of it this way
makes me a little less sad.
Our days with you
are limited,
not because of sickness,
but because one day soon
you’ll be called back
to report.
I just hope,
when the time comes,
we humans
haven’t disappointed you.
–First published in A Place for all Voices: An Anthology Celebrating 10 Years of Poetry in the Boro
⚘
DAY 1,095
Part of my body is alien.
Left hand, specifically.
After I accepted this,
I, again, could eat soup
and not spill. Hold a hot mug
without throwing it
in my face. Drive
to the good market
(the one with organic produce
that charges you for bags,
so you’re guilted into
environmental care)
on the far side of town.
For years I fought it.
Then one day I looked
at my right hand typing away,
my left picking lazily at its
pinky nail with the thumb,
and I accepted non-control.
It looked up at me. The hand.
Wrist lifted from my desk
and all the fingers
pressed together.
The pattern of finger pads
smushed together
almost looked like
a fleshy flower.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 5: From Another Planet
by Cameron Lyric Cox
ALIEN SPEECH
Hello Earthling!
I asked if you liked pancakes
You recoiled, angry, and said
“How dare you accuse me of hating lego blocks?”
I sat, befuddled, because that’s not what I said
Not even close.
Perhaps my understanding of your
weird Earth-language is deeply flawed.
I confer with your Earthling dictionary,
a book that has the meanings
of all your Earthling-words
and still it makes no sense because
I can see the meaning
and understand the syntax
but you still don’t hear what I’m saying
and think I said something else
entirely.
Or maybe, you actually do hate lego blocks
and you were thinking so hard
about how much you hate them
that no matter what I said
you’d have heard the accusation of
the truth inside your heart.
⚘
ADOPTED WORLD
My sister told me I was adopted
from an alien pod deep in the woods
I was from another planet.
Dad chided her for being mean
And assured me I was his child
But I wonder often if she was right
I don’t feel like a native to this world
Your lights are too harsh
Smells too sharp
Sounds too heavy
Every day living in a
cacophonous kaleidoscope
Drowning in the chaos
That your world’s natives move
and breathe in
as easy as a fish through water
I must be from another planet
Because this one is clearly
Not for me.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 6: The Abyss Is Not A Grave
by Olivia Croley
THE FORGE
I looked for her in mirrors, in the rooms of years ago,
The girl before the shadow, with the heart I used to know.
I thought the chasm claimed her, that the pressure and the black,
Had finally and forever kept her from coming back.
I reached into the hollow where my soul was meant to stay,
And found only the nothing where the “me" had slipped away.
I was a fading vibration, a sound that couldn't hold,
Becoming less than an echo in a world so dark and cold.
But the abyss is not a grave, though it feels so cold and still,
It is a forge of quiet strength and a tempered, iron will.
The girl I was is gone, it’s true—she could not bear the weight,
But the woman who has risen has a far more noble state.
She gathered up the fragments from the floor of that despair,
And wove a different kind of life from the very silence there.
I am not the memory of the girl I used to be;
I am the one who walked the depths and brought myself back free.
⚘
THE TRANSLATION OF LIGHT
When the breath finally stills
and the vessel is set aside,
the luminescence does not simply vanish.
The glow that sat behind the eyes,
the iridescent hum of a soul—
it cannot be erased by the gray.
Perhaps it ascends,
climbing the invisible ladders of the sky
to pin itself against the velvet of the void.
Maybe that is why the stars ache with such intensity,
burning with the borrowed warmth
of those who once taught us how to see.
Or does it merge with the sun?
Folding itself into the great, golden furnace
so that every morning, the heat against our skin
is the familiar touch of a spirit we once knew,
powering the green life of the world
with the same fire that once lit our path.
But I think, more likely, it is a quiet alchemy.
I think my own light is not a single, lonely spark,
but a gathered flame—
a mix of every soul that has ever touched my life.
Their colors have poured into my cracks,
seeping into the marrow and the memory,
swirling together until I am a shade of grace
that did not exist before they arrived.
I am a patchwork of their brilliance,
a blend of their resilience and their softest hues.
They are never truly gone,
for they are the very pigment of my spirit—
a new color, always living,
shining through me until the journey’s end.
⚘
A COLOR CALLED HOME
The spectrum of the stars is far too thin,
To hold the light that gathers on your skin.
A hue that breaks the prism’s ancient law,
A color born of wonder and of awe.
It isn’t gold, nor violet, nor blue,
But something cosmic, shimmering and new.
An alien glow that shouldn't have a name,
A gentle heat, a soft and silent flame.
And yet, despite the strangeness of the sight,
I recognize the rhythm of your light.
It pulls me from the cold and dark abyss,
With all the comfort of a mother’s kiss.
I’ve traveled through the void of time and space,
To find the quiet nesting in your grace.
Though your aura is a shade I’ve never known,
It feels like coming home to claim my own.
⚘
THE TRAVELER’S REST
The kettle whistles on the grate, the tea is steeping slow,
While embers in the fireplace maintain a steady glow.
Outside, the sea is whispering against the cottage wall,
And nightfall brings a lingering fog to drape across it all.
It has the look of sanctuary, of safety and of grace,
The kind of “home" a weary mind would long to find a place.
But I am sitting upright, watching shadows climb the floor,
With my spirit’s luggage waiting by the handle of the door.
I’ve tried to close my eyes and let the quiet pull me deep,
But there are types of tiredness that are not cured by sleep.
For rest is just a phantom when the soul has traveled far,
And finds no true reflection in the light of any star.
I’m an alien to the comfort here, a visitor to peace,
Waiting for the journey and the final, long release.
Though the cottage fire is beautiful, it’s not where I belong—
I am passing through the silence on my way to find the song.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 7: Exhausted Creatures Floating Through Infinity
by Joshua Walker, The Last Bard
THE GRAYS RUIN ANOTHER PERFECTLY GOOD CONVERSATION
I finally match with a woman
whose profile does not mention astrology,
cryptocurrency,
or “partnering in crime."
She likes old movies,
bad diners,
and says my poetry feels
like “someone left a church service
halfway through to smoke behind the building."
Which, honestly,
is the strongest flirtation
I have received in months.
We are discussing music.
This is important.
Music determines whether love survives
past appetizers.
I am halfway through explaining
why every sad person from Oklahoma
eventually ends up listening to
The Smashing Pumpkins at 2am
when suddenly I become
overwhelmingly tired.
Not normal tired.
Cosmic tired.
Government tired.
Abduction tired.
I stare at the phone screen.
Her little typing bubble appears.
Disappears.
Appears again.
Then darkness.
Then the bridge.
Metal walls curved like the inside
of a spoon.
Blue lights humming softly overhead.
The usual smell of burnt pennies
and rainwater.
Three Grays stand around me
looking disappointed.
Again.
One taps something into a tablet.
“Subject continues discussing
alternative rock with females."
I tell them respectfully
to go to hell.
The tall one blinks sideways.
“Why do you keep returning
to emotionally unavailable women?"
I say that feels unrelated
to the current situation.
Another Gray adjusts a lever.
Somewhere a machine begins whining
like an old refrigerator.
Mostly it feels like
being audited by creatures
who evolved beyond joy.
The shortest Gray sighs.
“You were making progress this time."
“I know," I whisper.
They show me my phone screen.
Three unread messages now.
One says:
you still there?
The Grays exchange looks
filled with ancient disappointment.
Then brighter lights.
Static.
Weightlessness.
Suddenly I am back in bed
holding my phone against my chest
like a wounded soldier.
New message waiting.
lol you fell asleep didn't you?
I stare at it for a long time.
Technically,
that is one interpretation.
⚘
ALIENS ARE PROBABLY DISAPPOINTING
As a child I assumed aliens would be magnificent.
Space wizards. Twin suns.
Maybe a talking duck with a gambling addiction.
Then I became an adult
and met enough people.
––
The first being we encounter
will be named Greg.
Greg from Theta-9
who works sixty hours a week
repairing navigation equipment
on a ship he technically does not own.
Greg whose ex-wife
only lets him see the larvae
every other moon cycle.
Greg who once dreamed
of exploring the cosmos
before realizing most interstellar travel
consists of paperwork and fuel costs.
––
Not empires.
Not destiny.
Not flaming swords made of light.
Just exhausted creatures
floating through infinity
trying to make rent.
––
Somewhere in another galaxy
a tired alien is sitting in traffic
wondering if his life
was supposed to become something larger than this.
––
⚘
THERE IS NO OUTER SPACE
When I was seven
I believed astronauts were priests
for a better god.
I thought the rockets themselves
must feel holy,
all that fire lifting a human body
past weather,
past traffic,
past divorce,
past overdue notices and men
sleeping drunk in lawn chairs
under the bruised Oklahoma summer.
I thought space meant freedom.
I did not understand
that every ship carries Earth inside it.
The older I get,
the smaller the galaxy becomes.
Mars is mostly math.
The moon is corporate now.
Even the stars arrive pre-named,
catalogued by dead men
who never once looked lonely
in the history books.
As a boy
I wanted to float forever
through infinite silence.
As a man
I have experienced enough silence
to know better.
The body follows you everywhere.
Its hungers.
Its chemicals.
Its collapsing architecture.
Every astronaut returning from orbit
looks vaguely heartbroken to me,
as though they discovered
the universe is beautiful
but does not love us back.
And maybe that is adulthood:
realizing the cosmos
never intended to rescue anybody.
Still,
some nights I stand outside
while Oklahoma empties itself into darkness
and I remember the old dream.
Not the flags.
Not the science.
Not the American machinery of it.
Just the impossible human urge
to leave the ground.
To believe somewhere beyond this life
there exists a silence
large enough
to forgive us.
And maybe there is no outer space.
Maybe there is only distance.
The terrible distance
between who we became
and who the child inside us
swore we would be.
⚘
GOING THREE MILES PER HOUR THROUGH OKLAHOMA
My friend is driving three miles an hour
through a sleeping neighborhood
because he is tired of my shit
and because the moon is swollen enough
to make every mailbox look judgmental.
I am seventeen kinds of gone.
The stop sign blooms red forever.
The radio sounds underwater.
A dog barking behind a fence
seems to come from very far away,
like another planet trying to contact us
through static.
Then the lights arrive.
Blue first.
Then red.
Then God’s aquarium spinning across
the inside of the car.
My friend whispers,
please act normal for once in your life,
which is impossible
because the officer approaching the window
is very clearly not from Earth.
I do not mean metaphorically.
His face is too calm.
His skin looks borrowed.
His flashlight hovers over the dashboard
like a machine searching for water.
“License and registration.”
Behind him, cicadas scream in the dark
like tiny electrical fires.
The whole state of Oklahoma feels suspended
half an inch above reality.
My friend hands him the paperwork
with the exhausted tenderness
of someone feeding meat to a dangerous animal.
Then another officer appears
on my side of the car.
Worse.
This one smiles too slowly.
Like he learned it from television.
Like somewhere beneath the highway
a ship is waiting with the engine running.
“You doing alright tonight?” he asks.
And I realize with absolute horror
that I have been staring at him
the entire time.
I say yes
far too quickly.
The flashlight passes over my hands,
my eyes,
the trembling kingdom of my pulse.
Above us, the stars hang there
cold and indifferent
like porch lights left on for strangers.
The officer nods.
Walks away.
No ticket.
No warning.
Just mercy.
My friend pulls off slowly,
both hands gripping the wheel
like he is steering us back
into the human world.
And maybe that is all it was.
Maybe the drugs.
Maybe panic.
Maybe moonlight on pale skin.
But even now,
when I see police lights bloom in the distance,
some frightened part of me still believes
they finally came back for me.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 8: Mountain Void
by Jessie Jackson
MOUNTAIN VOID
One minute I’m standing
at the base
of the mountains,
the next second
I knew,
no pain in my lungs
but I only had
moments left
to turn & say
something to you.
Desperate to force
a warning out,
to catch your eye,
but the air
was already stolen,
as I collapse
& the world
flashes by,
my breathing stops
as I hit the ground.
What I saw
was terrifying,
pulled into a void
that wasn't just empty
of light,
it was empty
of anything good.
The feeling of absence
was overwhelming,
taking a hold
as everything we were
fades from sight.
No love,
no hope,
just a complete isolation
where grace
withered away,
it became clear
this was a warning,
sliding below the surface
of what it means
to be truly alone.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 9: Miles Out of Reach
by Angelia Ross
IF I HAD A STARSHIP
If I had a starship
Like the USS Enterprise or the Mockingbird,
I could leave this planet tomorrow,
And never once look back
Because for me it is a cold abyss,
In which strife and hardship abide,
But if I had a starship,
I could leave this place tomorrow,
Saying goodbye to the moon
And her orbiting planets,
As my crew and I went by in a blur,
Then we would traverse this galaxy
Until our hearts were content.
However, the first stop on this journey
Would be the constellation Scorpio
Because of course that's what I am.
Then we would draw suggestions
Out of a box and that's the direction
We would go as fast
As the speed of sound or
Like a streak of lightning flashing
Across the inky darkness of space.
If I had a starship
Like the USS Enterprise or the Mockingbird,
I would leave this planet tomorrow,
And never once look back
Because here in this world
I live an abysmal existence,
But in space I could live up
To my fullest potential as an explorer,
Adventurer and writer.
⚘
NEVER AGAIN
Although my dream is a small one,
It seems miles out of reach,
And I get so overwhelmed
Just thinking about all of the things
That need to be done
Before it can become reality.
Then suddenly, the great abyss opens wide,
And into it my dream tumbles,
Never to be seen again.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 10: Starborn Flesh
by Dane Osborne
SUN SHIP
Pure white electromagnetic waves perform
An intricate dance all across the empty midnight canvas
And may expose tyrannical codes written with dishonesty.
I see no Ego
Because I have no Ego.
Everything ever sold to me
I give away for free to the moonchild
Next door with his brittle glass eyes
That crack open from the slight pressure
Of invisible photon rays.
An act of simple charity as my penance
For blowing up the whole sweet Earth
In a future life.
⚘
THE SATURNINE FACES ON THE STREET
All around I see
Pale, saturnine faces with heartsick glares.
We be born of the delirious age
And our hymns and chants are
But frenzied pleas for the rebirth of passion
And the return
Of the eternal starchild
And her promises
Of cleansing and soothfast mirth.
Oh, let not the celebration of chaotic love
Be a half-forgotten dream whilst
We ache and moan under an indifferent sun
With all the rage of Mars.
Oh, let us not become oblivious of
our starborn flesh.
Night and her iron hand
Conquer the day.
The saturnine faces move on.
⚘
WARNING OF THE SERPENT
When the Serpent comes,
His eyes will be made of gold
And it shall be a day of
Sweet air and
Blue infinite sky in
The valley of dry bones.
The machines are coming,
Oh My God, the machines are coming!
Now our names will be written
On walls
And the soul
Reveals itself as
Brittle glass under
The pressure of raining hail.
Child, I do not know the answers.
When you handle the serpent,
Do not look into its eyes.
I never did and look at me,
I'm the only one left.
⚘
OUR EYES WERE CLEANSED BY DAYLIGHT
The White Dragon makes its entrance
And the night-people begin their chants
For the miracle of electrical joy.
The dance did not begin this way, no.
We began bathed in original daylight
And I hope that's where it all returns
And ends.
Your eyes are not bleeding,
That's just an illusion, calm down.
Yes maybe God does live in my basement,
Good point.
No, they won't get you,
They won't get you ever again.
When you go back to the night-people,
Don't get too close to the dragon
And
Try to remember
When our eyes were cleansed
By daylight.
⚘
PHOTONS AND THE PERFECTION OF CERTAINTY
We fly, we fly at night out of fear
Of the hidden ferocity of the photon
And the perfection of its certainty.
Do I Dare? Do I dare ask anything
Of the stone man with his stutter?
A lesson in beautiful chaos is all it'd be
And I dare not repeat the answer to
The child of morning's charity.
Give alms to the people under the Earth,
Please, and charge them not for the
Ingenuity of comfortable anarchy that
Permeates throughout their bones.
Don't shoot the Shepherd or scare his sheep
Or disrupt the dream with Dynamite.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 11: The Intersection of Then & Now
by Mal Okio
A POEM FROM THE PLEIADES
Star sisters!
We have arrived at
the intersection
of then and now—
here
and there—
above and
beyond—
Are you ready
to answer the call of
ascension? to perform
the duty of deliverance?
Do you remember
the holy agreement?
It is time
to recall your purpose
and Behold!—
the path to
pursue it!
The way will appear
as you arrive.
⚘
A NEW WAY
I wrote it all out to the
end of the book and at
the same time it was
strange—it seemed
I had nothing new to say,
nothing that didn’t suggest
a new way.
⚘
THE END OF CALAMITY
The beast thrives on our attention.
When we disengage—
it disappears.
Agree: Evil Is Not Real!
It is only a figment
of the captured imagination,
as colonization
is a psychic
phenomenon.
We are not powerless.
We can destroy the enemy
by ignoring his own
perceived supremacy.
And reality will write itself
in response to the end
of calamity.
⚘
BIGGER THAN HUMAN STORIES
Give my body to the birds
when I die—
Let the buzzards
pick my bones clean.
And hang my skeleton
from the spire
of the cathedral.
You may make a mockery
of my memory
and it will never
matter.
For the birds will carry
my truth into the sky
and I will touch
something bigger
than human
stories.
I will become the beyond:
my spirit
inseparable
from the creator.
This is no special power.
This is the natural order.
Everyday inner workings
of a spectacular
universe.
⚘
DEATH TO THE EMPIRE
What do I write at the end?
What do I say to a friend
who would believe me to be
his enemy?
What do I say when I am sent
a message
from another
white girl guru grifter
who sees me as
just another slob
to rob?
Me and my neck pain
will take our chances
on prayer
and belief in the power
of water
as medicine.
How long will all this carry on?
Must we all suffer
through the slow and purposeful
destruction of everything?
Or is there a chance
we might skip like
stones through time
and live in reckless
abundance?
We are complicit yet
we are victims. We
should have known better
but
how could we?
There are forces
beyond our comprehension
holding us back.
I say—Now is the time
to rise!
Death to The Empire!
Let the lost souls
resurrect the eyes.
⚘
COLLECTIVE MEMORY
I try to remember
the ancestors
before they were painted
white—
before our collective
memory was wiped.
You can call me radical
but I believe
we have the right
to look more closely
at our history—
hidden under layers
of deception and
duplicity.
All these gods—dying
and rising
from Jesus to Dionysos,
all the way back
to the tomb of Osiris.
Let us bear witness
to the resurrection!
Let us embody
liberation!
Let us learn to see
the Demon
for he is LEGION—
and the lines between
Him and Me
are nowhere near
as fixed as they
appear.
And still the angel echoes,
Do Not Fear!
For I am with you and
within you—I am
of the same substance
that forged you into flesh,
and thus we are
indistinguishable—
one from the other
there, in the center
where the soul
is kept.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Chapter 12: Space Candy
by Brandon Thorpe
SPACE CANDY
(Night)
I received a clear transmission
from The Moon during the night
that it’s not so much the outcome,
but whether or not we tried.
They’ll tally up a score
once you’ve used all of your
days
and give you points
for little things like
spiders that you saved.
All the while being given
directions from
your brain
that reward you with natural
chemicals you can almost taste.
Like smelling the
saline from an IV
in the back of your skull
a fizzy silver scent
and if you closed your eyes
you’d see lime green electricity
flickering behind a kaleidoscope
of ice
and exhale frozen ozone
cold and fresh
and little clouds of lightning
sparkle out with every breath.
(Day)
The first lick of sun felt like
hot water laying on my skin
that took a moment to melt
and settle in.
The strays had babies early
in the spring.
The smallest thin kitten
opened one sleepy eye
stretched
its long arm out at me
to painlessly hook one claw
into my skin,
pulling me towards it,
vibrating with purrs
so I spared a moment
to hold the thing
and pick burrs out of
its fur
and notice, still and bloody
a chipmunk
killed
laying at the bottom of the stairs
for me to find.
The kitten’s limp long body drooped
like a sock filled with sand
off to one side.
It was a bright blue day
but you could still see
the moon in the sky.
Before you go,
check out our upcoming
community events!
THE DANDELION STAGE
at Fireglow Forest with Appalachian Artist League!
THE DANDELION STAGE AT FIREGLOW FOREST
A Summer Solstice Arts Gathering
Music | Poetry | Art Exhibit | Open Mic | Community Pot Luck
Join us for an evening of live music, poetry, visual arts and good food at the serene Fireglow Forest Riverbank Campground.
The Dandelion Scribes will open the evening with live music and poetry readings, before turning the stage over to artists in the local community who wish to share their voices. In between, there will be opportunities to enjoy art from the Appalachian Artist League, eat some good food and connect with local artists and art-lovers.
When: Wednesday, June 17 at 6pm
Where: Fireglow Forest Riverbank Campground
3677 Lower River Road, Livingston, KY (25 mins from downtown London)
EVENT DETAILS
We ask that everyone bring a dish or snack to share.
Bring your own drinks (non-alcoholic only please).
Bring a picnic blanket and/or a camping chair.
Please RSVP so we can have an idea on numbers, as space is limited.
Contact the Scribes to RSVP!
Parking is limited, so we encourage you to carpool if possible.
Artists: Come and share your art with us! If you would like to perform or exhibit your art, please contact Frances by June 10th at 606-703-2472 or message her on Instagram @francesdenisepoetry.
This event is open to the public.
Entry is free; donations are appreciated.
Thank you for supporting the arts!
With love,
Appalachian Artist League
Dandelion Scribes
Fireglow Forest Riverbank Campground
EVENT SCHEDULE
5pm: Artists set up
6pm: Doors open
6:30pm: Music and poetry from the Dandelion Scribes
7:30pm: Enjoy food + art exhibit
8:30pm: Open mic (up to 10 mins per artist)
9:30pm: Pack up and close
MUSES & MAGICIANS
at the gazebo in Historic Rugby!
Come to the gazebo at Historic Rugby on June 19 and amuse yourself with Muses & Magicians – a variety show featuring live music, dance, and spoken word performances. Showtime 7pm. Featuring local musical artists: Gerald Hanwright, Annie Motto, Stephen Phillips & the dancing dithyrambler. With special guest, author & poet Kristen Reid. FREE show, with tips greatly appreciated! All are welcome to join the fun, savor the sunshine, and enjoy the harmonious beauty of art & the outdoors.
Address: 1331 Rugby Pkwy, Rugby, TN 37733
Parking available at the Visitor Centre and Public House.
Muses & Magicians is a summer variety show series hosted by Historic Rugby. Other upcoming dates: July 11 & August 29. Each show features a unique blend of music, dance, spoken word, and theatrics with a rotating cast of local performers.
SAVE THE DATE!
Our first print Dandelion Scribes poetry anthology will be published on August 15, 2026!
––––––––––––––––––––––
Where the Old Stories Still Breathe
An Anthology of Poetry from the Heart of Appalachia
––––––––––––––––––––––
Our book launch event will be hosted by Historic Rugby 8/15/26 at the Rebecca Johnson Theatre (located in the Visitor Center at 1331 Rugby Pkwy, Rugby, TN 37733). The event will begin at 7pm.
We will present a poetry reading featuring the anthology contributors, offer refreshments, and have the very first copies of the book for sale!
Donations to Historic Rugby will be accepted at the door.
With 25 locally-based core contributors (from eastern TN/KY):
Cari Lynne Wilson, Amber Sparks, Amethyst Drake, Angelia Ross, Blair Correll, Brandon Thorpe, Dane Osborne, Frances Denise, Olivia Gilreath, Sheena Fry King, Kristen Reid, R. Clift, Stephanie Duncan, Chris Boyatt, Jade Foster, Cameron Lyric Cox, Bobbie Jean, Olivia Immitt, Stephen Young, Diona Marie Gwyn, Nina, Rhonda Kendziorski, Kristian Obrusanszki, Stephen Phillips, and Cheyanne Leonardo.
The anthology is named after the poem “Where the Old Stories Still Breathe” by Olivia Gilreath, from our digital collection Myths, Monsters, Messengers.
THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSORS!
Our deepest gratitude goes out to the following folks & organizations whose contributions brought this book to life: Historic Rugby, Sheena Fry King, Brandon Thorpe, Jimmy Barna of Big South Fork Brewing, Helga Kidder, Rhonda Kendziorski, Sharon Leonardo, Whitney Shirley, Madison Correll, Blair Correll, Lori Phillips-Jones, Mellisa Pascale, Charles Thomas, & two extremely generous Anonymous donors.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
With endless love & gratitude,
the Dandelion Scribes
