As Time Marches On
Here, in the early days of March, we find ourselves caught between winter and spring, cold and warmth. We may be looking to the past, seeking clarity, as time ticks ever-forward. We may be gazing far beyond the present, toward an unknown future, wondering how we might arrive there and what condition our hearts will be in when we finally do.
Daffodils begin to peek their eager yellow crowns above the last vestiges of frozen snow. You need a scarf & sweater in the morning but have ripped them away from your body by late afternoon. Seasonal depression is tempered by moments of sunshine, restoring quiet hope that days of happiness lie ahead.
For the poets, writing is a tool that helps us make sense of the nature of time and all that it touches. In this collection of 44 poems, the Dandelion Scribes explore age, emotions, earth, and mind – and how the world responds to the ongoing passage of time. As Time Marches On the poets are making note, creating a record of the human experience through authentic self-expression.
Featuring the following poets:
Dane Osborne
Joshua Walker
Brandon Thorpe
Cari Lynne King
Anna Chastain
Carson Elliot
Frances Denise
Kristian Obrusanszki
Morgan Long
Trent Sizemore
Nate Sherwood
Amethyst Drake
Chris Wood
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
As Time Marches On
BORN FROM WHITE FLOWERS
I now see my purpose.
I am the harbinger for the revolt of starborn children
Born from soft white flowers.
Violence is magnetic for those who crave peace
Among the population.
I am an animal who walks and talks
Who was born so I can lead damaged citizens astray
From the skewered gospel of snakes
So they can find God waiting in the trees.
Words are superfluous
And I have always known this well.
This is why my true message
Is written in the music of silence.
The only message that makes sense.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
ROOTS OF THE RED EARTH
Beneath the cottonwood, bent and worn, I press,
My hands in the red earth, where the past still hums.
This soil holds stories—drought, storms, and brokenness,
Each sin, each blessing, each life that never comes.
The thunder cracks the sky, shakes the bones in me—
We share the weight of this land, our bodies bent.
Roots grow deep, but we’re standing lost and free,
Worn by time, reaching, but waiting for the end.
Peace finds me here, where the soil claims my soul,
Where the rhythm of earth swallows me whole.
–Joshua Walker (aka ‘The Last Bard’)
⚘
DEATH IS A DIRTY WORD
Death is a dirty word
we forgot to note
but replace with “gone”
when the person was loved.
–Brandon Thorpe
⚘
BURN AFTER EXPIRATION
If I die tonight
Tell my babies I love them
that their smiles
their happiness
sustained every second of my life
If I die tonight
I’m sorry if you’re sad
I simply cannot go on
with this heavy weight
crushing my soul
If I die tonight
Toss me in the fires
spread the ashes
in my mountains
So I may be forgotten
If I die tonight
Know I finally prayed
for the first time in ages
begging that sleep come quickly
to never wake again
–Cari Lynne King
⚘
RESTING PLACE
When my soul leaves this body behind,
do not turn the soil
and lay me down
as if to rest.
I have never been one to stay still for so long.
Instead, take my ashes to the mountaintop
that I love so dearly.
Set me free, to the wind
so I may fly.
It makes sense. A piece of me has always lived
there anyway.
–Anna Chastain
⚘
THIS POEM WILL SELF-DESTRUCT
Search for me in sunsets
Skies set on fire
by a light that burned too bright
for too long
and snuffed itself out
Listen for me in the music
A song that gives you chills,
brings tears to your eyes,
makes you feel
There I’ll be– begging to be heard
Notice me in the mundane
When your coffee’s extra sweet
or all the lights are green
Know it’s me
trying to make your day
–Cari Lynne King
⚘
DUPLEX (THIS IS THE BURDEN OF THE POET)
after Faustin Linyekula
There is such terrible weight in holding a story;
hands raised like spirit in this great darkness.
As I raise my hands up in the spirit of this great darkness,
I am begging to find roots in a land of barren soils.
These roots cannot grow deep in a land of barren soils,
so we weep ourselves into oceans of remembering.
Oceans of remembering, oceans of weeping,
my feet ache to be swept away by such wild waters.
Feet aching in the currents of such wild waters,
I recall that the blood of my blood is also my mother’s
The blood of my mother’s is also her mother’s,
our bodies hold their snapped-bone memory for generations.
The memory of snapped bones is held in bodies for generations—
There is such terrible weight in holding a story.
–Carson Elliot
⚘
BONES
Look — the trees
have accepted their fiery,
crimson fate.
Behind the curtain of
climax,
they are but bones,
skeletons of life,
reaching and reaching
through the balding canopy.
They will change.
And their roots, they grow deeper.
And their bones, they will remain.
The fire will fade, but. . .
Look — the trees
have embraced their bones.
–Anna Chastain
⚘
DUST TO DUST
My screams for help
rip through my throat
like wildfire through brush
They pour out my eyes
down cherry cheeks
yet cannot calm the flames
as they trickle down my neck
Begging just one soul
to hear the cries of mine
But as my voice fades
so vanish
the final grains of sand
–Cari Lynne King
⚘
THE TRAGEDY OF CHANGE
Grief is delayed pain you didn’t feel
until the threat was gone.
It is the respect we show the ones who’ve
died.
It’s the price we pay for love.
Everything exacts a toll.
The greater it is,
the more that you’ll owe.
There’s only one time that life lets it
slide, and it’s when you make another life.
You’ll be dead in the ground before life
takes them back.
Life is stingy, it guards its gifts
and will lull you in with a common
trick.
You want your kid to be healthy and safe,
so you worry about them every day.
Even with death out of play,
there is no way to escape
the tragedy of change.
Mourning a person who is still alive
and their baby pictures make you cry.
–Brandon Thorpe
⚘
I BLEED AND CALL IT THE COLOR OF LOVE
Every month
another bloody mess
marking yet another
month of failure
another month
with one pink line
another month
closer to the end of my rope
Swallowed pills
Anointed in oils
Creams spread with care
The sacred things we do
to make a wish come true
When I could walk away
end it all
keep more blood from spilling
All this
for the sake of love
for someone who
will never exist
and for the only
person aside from me
who wishes you did
–Cari Lynne King
⚘
DEPRESSION IS LIKE A TOOTHACHE
In passive mind you think you can
comprehend those feelings. Like
you’re experienced in pain.
When you’re actively experiencing, however,
you’re fully consumed by what you’d forgotten.
The pain is all encompassing. Everything
that mattered to you, any hobby or activity
that brings you joy is greyed out
while this is happening to you.
You feel only the pain. You can
sit your body anywhere you like. Put a TV
in front of it, act out all the behaviours
of a typical day, but it’s all a performance,
a failed attempt to ignore the radiant pain.
It’s hard for others to sympathise. They’ve
all had a toothache before, but it’s been a while
since they were up at 4am gargling salt water
with a pair of pliers,
thinking HARD about it.
There’s that one solution, it’s always there.
You can end the pain anytime you want,
but there’s no going back.
Eventually it ends, and you get so much
distance between you and that pain.
So much that it becomes
an abstract recollection with barely
the strength of a poorly remembered dream…
Now you’re brushing your teeth twice a day
with a fancy electric toothbrush,
avoiding excessively sugary food
You just can’t believe it.
Deeply unsettled that the same person
in the bathroom mirror, you…
you were about to rip your goddamn tooth out.
Pain can’t get that bad, can it?
I don’t remember
–Brandon Thorpe
⚘
POEMS IN THE WENDY’S DRIVE-THRU
I have worn this mask so long
I cannot remove it
without peeling the skin
from my face
to the point I cannot even
recognize myself
No one would know me
if they saw behind the veil
I wear as a shield
to keep me safe
to keep them safe
Truth stretched tight like tendons
held together by lamentations
instead of ligament
previously broken bones
carelessly reconstructed
tears trickling like blood
It takes a lot of muscle
to hold up your head
when you’re so damn tired
–Cari Lynne King
⚘
WORDS REVEALED TO A POET
Magick-hearted victims crushed up alive by a colorblind world
whose hearts belong to the invisible eye beyond white clouds.
They'll one day learn about the meaning of rain
and hear the language of the sun and stars.
We'll discover who can see our soul's creation
and find out we know not what we do as I come to
realize that breathing nightmares be only a lie conjured
by our mind within the calamity of yesterday's madness.
Oh we'll wake up from this passing dream and hurt no more,
hurt no more after the moon woman comes to us and
sings her requiem for our days of midnight and morning.
Finally, we'll know and we'll see: our rebirth as nameless youth
who'll never cry again throughout the flow of spotless daylight.
Words revealed to a poet by voices that do not lie.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
PRISTINE
On darker days
I feel the pit of my stomach
Humming like a bass drum
Dom, dom, dom at my center
It aches to remember
The messes that were written
So very long ago.
Weary of the up and down
I hang on to hope Like the inevitability of spring
And I think about how the popping of buds
And the first flowers
Of the dogwood and redbud trees
Are the most pristine things I have ever seen
White, pink, green.
My voice is still lost in the fires
As though I was nowhere
In all the places I’ve been
I await the chirps
Of the first hatchlings
Their high, whole tones
Their pure and honest pitch
Teaching me once again
How to sing,
How to sing along to all this
–Frances Denise
⚘
ARE WE SURE THERE’S NOTHING IN THE DARK?
You can’t ask those who vanished in the night
what took them.
The cold moon doesn't move when you look at it,
it seems like you'd be able to stare at it all night,
and as long as you don't remove your gaze, it will stay dark
forever.
Maybe they never looked away.
We slept until day while they stood frozen and
entranced
by the great and terrifying moon.
Can't help but wonder if they’d ever notice.
Change their minds and look back into an empty and infinite world of darkness.
There’d be no way to get them back without offering yourself up to the same fate.
I can see why some chose to keep looking by that point.
Better to have those beautifully empty promises
than nothing at all.
–Brandon Thorpe
⚘
BEFORE THE BLITZKRIEG
The White-God People who live
behind my house say that honor
is only won through dying with
guns in the heat of battle.
After conversations with a longtime imaginary friend,
I think I'll agree with the White-God People.
Wise promises have been written in water
and this is why
a trail of tears is survived by
make believe before the gamma ray tide.
The collision of cracked bone passes
with sleep amid tricks of light and shade.
My aim must be true before the blitzkrieg.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
FREE FALL
A life
Of being nudged
Into free fall
Situations gifted
As education, in
Trusting a bit further
By degrees
Wounds and fears
Systematically
Ripped away
From me
And I say, “No, wait!”
Tensed up to brace
For another scratch
Or scrape
“Not yet!”,
Clutching sorry stories
And battle scars
Like precious armor
For an unnecessary
War
“Let it go, you are held”
Free fall, it calls
As I refine, redefine
Clarify
Returning to myself,
My life,
The only thing
That’s truly mine
Free fall,
Net or otherwise
Miracles reside
On the other side
–Frances Denise
⚘
EGO DEATH
When I died
There was pain at first
The feeling of being in hell
With trials and tribulations upon my conscience
I actually went insane for a period
I don’t know what happened
But eventually I realized
The only thing I could do was
To sit and simply be
I heard a voice trying to console me
But I knew the only way out was through presence
And so I sat
Existing
Not reacting to the world
Just simply watching
When the pain receded
That’s when the real questions came
Even just being the day after, I don’t remember them
The questions were meant for the subconscious me
I had no idea who I was
I felt my loved ones calling to me
I had died
But only for the moment
Question after question I tackled
Fighting the haunting question of existence
Until my mind showed me a path
Which was a familiar narrative
Even though it had been oddly skewed
I had died
But through the ashes I was reborn
With no identity to control me
So began the narrative
I became God
Or at least the feeling of being him
But in the sense of him being born
The same way as we are born
Confused and curious
And in the way that God created the world
I created the constructs of my mind
Ever so slowly
Feeling at peace the whole time
Yes, the universe must be good
Of course, there must be play
There isn’t even a slight possibility of negativity
There are only actions
I must create
We will make all of creation, and it will be good
Just because
There is no reason to
But if we exist
Then why not exist in the most marvelous way possible?
These tenets I created
And when I came back to
It was time to observe the beauty of the world
Finally, I could rest at peace within the garden
–Kristian Obrusanszki
⚘
FROM INSIDE OF MY HEAD.....
“Gimme that old time religion!!" The Red Haired Hoodoo Man screams.
The Red Haired Hoodoo Man who grinds the gears of
this Hurly Gurly Machine
we all know as his prison of many colors.
It's a maze and all the walls are kaleidoscope swirls
and monstrous designs.
Profanity and Nativity are common images to be always seen.
The Red Haired Hoodoo Man is here and there, visible
and invisible, in every room where you see a
white skeleton speak to a living human (AND A WHITE
SKELETON ALWAYS SPEAKS TO A LIVING HUMAN!)
The Red Haired Hoodoo Man has Rattlesnake Eyes and
will fuck you up with his hard fists made of danger.
The Woman of Green Eyes who has no easy answers
Does Not Know Any Difference
Between me and the Red Haired Hoodoo Man.
Me and him both tell lies through poetry so she can see
the truth already known by ageless cats who
live by the river.
He Does Not Know
That She Does Not Know Me BUT KNOWS ME!!!
Invincible Radiation is my only tool in order to eradicate
his logic AND turn a prison of many colors
into a giant organic heart
where people laugh free
and live by the pulse
–Dane Osborne
⚘
THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM
Good morning gardens of beautiful play
Instances in the mind repeating
Pausing to regenerate
Only to wake and become one again
Chaos reigned in by fear
What a thin line we walk
To understand through a structure of repetition
Gone, only the next day
Somehow the present feels infinite
And the future unreachable
Why must our ambitions torment us so
Only for when we reach them, to feel mundane
When the desires are gone
Will the world become whole?
Or will it cease to exist?
Maybe something in between
–Kristian Obrusanszki
⚘
THE NATURE OF CELEBRATION
I regret to inform you
Innocence is a bubble that pops
From the first prick of humanity.
Toxic rain and gnashing of teeth
Is the obvious result.
But the sky still talks for those who listen.
A celebration of the cosmic
Revealed in the dance of flesh.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
ONLY MOTION
There is no fix
No cure
Only motion,
Experience
Disease is but
A symptom
Of lies made true,
Made material
By the mind
Vibrations collected by skin
A slower spin
A deeper octave
A necessary,
Agreed-upon
Amnesia
Until the many versions of ground –
Soil, roots and all
Crumble away
Into the void
And the only evidence left of gravity
Is that we are standing upright
In the sky
–Frances Denise
⚘
SYMPHONY OF ME
Go clouds
Go away
The sun will shine on me today
Catch tiger
Catch your prey
Nothing will stand in your way
Ask thinker
Ask life
When will there be no more pain, no more strife?
Love lover
Love deeply
Lest tomorrow you become forever sleepy
Grow tree
Grow high
The present is yours, don’t be shy
No more questions
Time to act
For my being is blossoming
Forming an internal pact
Shout to the sky
You beautiful soul
Grab ahold of the stars
And become whole
–Kristian Obrusanszki
⚘
THE JOY OF FIREFLIES
The phenomena of love in the astral realm is different than what's shown here in the bestial realm.
There is a code that lies within the function of the symmetry and you'll crack it wide open when you overcome the lies you were taught about the existence of your mind.
You'll figure out someday the joy of fireflies under summer moon and you'll redefine a new ritual in the process.
But we be a fearsome breed of animal.
Bones covered with skin and eyes that never know what they can see.
We'll fight with sticks and dynamite to ensure we don't get ourselves hurt the same way as when scared children.
We'll procure the gift of tomorrow for the sake of alien dreams born from yesterday.
Love is the rays of sunlight that prevail against the smog and innocence becomes defined as the silence before eggs hatch.
An expression of gratitude for the very great and very alone.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
APPALACHIAN HYMN
Her song is a familiar sound,
a hum that sighs a lovely tune –
like a rustling canopy of leaves
spilling sunshine in early June.
Her melody is one that grieves
forgotten tales, no longer told,
and breathes new life into our stories,
each page filled before it folds.
She sings of a mountain’s glory
stretching into the endless blue
so that we might hear her wisdom,
and carry it our whole life through.
She bathes a kingdom of hills and hollers
in a veil of legend and lore –
mystique beholden by a stranger –
tales that dwellers have heard before.
Come, let us listen now –
to life and earth, to hopeful and grim,
and sing a song of glorious praise –
rejoice, resound – the Appalachian Hymn.
–Anna Chastain
⚘
There's a flock of birds swirling overhead,
And the rabbits in the abandoned lot next door are on high alert after hearing a hawk's call.
I got to feel the wind whip my hair as it shook the dead limbs above my yard – cracking branches and forcing the last of the fallen leaves to gather in the same corner they always do.
The lines on my face are deepening and sometimes it's hard to look at them and think about the stress, or the upset, or the anger that's made them more prominent.
But last night it was the laughter,
And the smiles that lasted so long they hurt my cheeks,
And the gratitude.
Even in a world that feels so heavy, and in the years that have felt so goddamn impossible,
The sun still rose and so did I and because of that, or maybe in spite of it,
Here is proof of life.
–Morgan Long
⚘
A REVOLUTION IN AUTUMN
Please, see for me that her hair's hanging down.
That's the way I remember her best.
Her Ego is gravity
And that's why her cracked mouth
Be the origin of Sunday charity.
I owe her a revolution that begins with autumn leaves
And will end with no rain.
I will give her the safety of my hands
So that her eyes may dry before
The passing of white clouds.
I shall tell no more sad tales
And she will teach me easy sleep
–Dane Osborne
⚘
GLOBALIZED
Congratulations, you’ve been awakened.
The foundations of the Earth have shaken.
You can see now. Open your eyes.
Dear child, you’ve now been globalized.
The red clay that once would dirty your feet
will bother no longer, now there’s concrete.
Breathe in the air. It’s sterilized.
My friend, you’ve now been globalized.
Remember the street that we once called “Main”?
It’s easier now. We filled it with chains.
Why, you would hardly recognize. . .
Yes, friend, you’ve now been globalized.
I hope that this brand-new world finds you well.
We’ve changed things here quite a bit, can’t you tell?
Even you’ve changed. Have you realized?
Poor, naive friend. You’re globalized.
–Anna Chastain
⚘
6TH TIME WATCHING FIGHT CLUB
From that little place within your mind
Calls a part of you that wants rebirth
To start over
To restructure all your basic presumptions
About life
About yourself
About others
Why must we think this way
And not some other
If an adventure is what we want
Then why do we baby-proof all of the world
Perhaps I’m projecting
Perhaps I rely on comfort too much
God, just let me suffer
Let me hit rock bottom
Let me rise up out of the ashes like a phoenix
To be in a state of self I can gaze at with awe
I don’t want these comforts anymore
Let me shed them
Yet, it is so hard to rid of this materialistic lifestyle
When all of society is centered around it
Let me go back to the garden
Where I want not these things
It seems
The only meaning to being is to simply be
–Kristian Obrusanszki
⚘
If I asked you what progress is,
What would you say to me?
Truthfully,
But that it's another subject definition,
That can apply to any means,
Forever stepping towards these nightmares,
That always seem are only dreams,
And for existence here all that I've seen,
Is the existential blanketed in this vacuum of unknown,
And all I know is that the constant of uncertainty is all that consciousness condones.
–Trent Sizemore
⚘
DOGMA
Souls upon souls upon souls
All reaching for a reason, something more
Some tell others what to do
Some repress you for being you
Some sit forever, waiting for an order from out of the blue
Some lay down principles as incontrovertibly true
Souls upon souls upon souls
Bless the creatives for adding the lore
Some create light and search from within
Some explore darkness and let the suffering in
Some stay stagnant and cry for mother then
Some embrace being and truly win
Souls upon souls upon souls
Please, don’t submit and become a bore
Life can be great deep at its core
Together we’ll overlook that beautiful eternal shore
What are you sitting around for?
Don’t you see there is something more?
–Kristian Obrusanszki
⚘
SPIKE
The DeKalb and Rutherford County Clerk’s offices will tell you that I own no land,
that all a person can claim is what is lent to them through property tax and what is reserved for the public by the Bureau of Land Management,
“But at daybreak I am the sole owner
of all the acres I can walk over”
Of maples pruned on the first warm day of spring
Of downed oaks bathing in the cool winter sun
Of iris and mint that leapt where they were not planted
Of shiitakes cut from mothering mycelium
Of the channel cat rolling under the pond ice
Of the refugee otter whose creek has frozen
Of the cottontail dozing in a brush pile
Of the coyote’s empty belly snuggling the frost
And of the deer who slinks in the garden,
taking one bite of each dangling okra.
My Grandpa's Tree Stand settles in the cradle of a cherry tree
The bark swelling around the ingrown platform.
Sixteen feet above the fallen leaves
I lean against the same trunk
as my brother
who, in this tree, achieved the perfect game of
Hasbro Electronic Hand-Held Yahtzee,
as my father
whose lake of stolen, morning naps now lull me
like bark around floorboards,
As I watch the stillness fatten before me
(All things –
Ready themselves for winter
Late turnips in the field)
Several hours later, a spike,
I guessed three years old,
sniffs the air on the eastern tree line.
He looks like the videos I’ve studied
On how to peel his skin off and split his joints.
Two of the videos I watched showed a beginner’s trick
where cracking and spreading the ribs makes it easier
to see and cut the esophagus.
I see the point behind the deer’s shoulder
where his sweet spots lurk.
In truth they taste quite bitter.
I adjust myself in the stand,
my foot bumping my skinning knife:
the knife I’ve never been able to sharpen,
that gets duller the more I sharpen it.
My brother will walk these acres soon.
My sweat steams in the cold
Lift the rifle.
It turns broadside as it walks the tree line
Put your eye to the scope.
My breath washes over the metal
fogging my glasses,
My sleeping legs strain in the cold
The heavy rifle shifts, scraping the stand
It didn’t notice
Put your glasses in your pocket.
A cold breeze bites across the field
Look back down the scope.
Aim behind the shoulder.
Take the safety off.
Aim behind the shoulder.
Pull the trigger slowly.
My tightening grip pulls the rifle into me slow and hard
my shoulder bruises even before the kick
It turns into the woods
the scope shifts
I can’t see the deer
all I see is black
“Now kill it.”
I remember hearing as a child,
now in my own voice.
I lift my eyes above the scope
The deer has vanished from the field.
An unknown bird takes flight; a squirrel shakes a nearby branch,
I thought I would have more time.
From sixteen feet up, I see this land
starving, Naked, helpless beneath me.
I strain my legs in this thing I call a Cherry
In a stand that is too small for my full height
And think myself above it, as if I am a caretaker.
I eat the still bloody, rotting flesh of this field
I drag every shape and size of sharp metal I can imagine through this taxed land
I cut the limbs of the trees and mow the reaching eyes of wild flowers
I throw burrs in plastic trash bags and send them to the landfill
How many species of these acres have their last seeds planted in the filth of humanity?
I destroy bristles too painful to touch
my hands covered in a better animal’s skin.
I imagine what it would be like to live as a deer
Instinctually fearing the crowns of larger deer
And learning to fear the crown on my own head.
Roaming freely in the spring and summer when life is bountiful
And stalked when pheromones dull my wits
And the cold turns late turnips in the field into gold
In my woods, the meek deer is king.
My empty belly chafes the bark as I climb down.
–Nate Sherwood
⚘
WHISPERS OF THE PRAIRIE
The wind howls through the sagebrush, sharp and slow,
A song that speaks of time when the land was free.
Red dust splits beneath hooves that tread below,
A rhythm wild and worn, like the blood inside of me.
The prairie knows no hurry, but wears the fight,
Each blade and hoofprint carved deep in her skin.
The storm steals the sun, and burns the day’s last light,
Yet the earth swallows grief, and the dawn will always win.
Beneath that sky, the heart beats steady, still—
The dust, the wind, the fire—they root me, make me real.
–Joshua Walker (aka ‘The Last Bard’)
⚘
GREEN FUTURES
after Jordan Jace
I want a future that is green
meaning there is something
that we can return to each season;
meaning the air is not choked by wildfire
that the droughts do not remain and extend
and force us down into the kentucky blue roots
that suffocate and strangle all that once was.
I want a future that is green
meaning I can promise each child I hold
that there are still things that are meant to be wild
that the earth can still remind us of things that are soft
that we are the fruit and the vine and the nurturing
that comes with being tended to.
I mean what more can we offer when the ground
is no longer a home for what we can grow?
What sustenance can we provide if we never learn
how to truly be satisfied?
I want a future that is green
meaning I want CEOs to fear the future
that they have attempted to carve into our
bedrock veins, I want them to fear the true
length of memory, that is is sharper than
the arc of a curving bullet, and it will not waver.
I want a future that is green
because every sci-fi futuristic setting
is some awful shade of grey and every new
neighborhood is all edges and steel beam;
cold and cruel in its brutalistic design.
I want our new design to be verdant, want it
to be the same shape my lovers thighs make
after a long night of slumber. I want every building
that was made into a warehouse box brand
liminal nightmare to be transformed into a garden
or a chapel or a home for stray cats or something
that we can all call beautiful.
I want a future that is green
meaning there is still
the space between a toddler’s eyes
that can crinkle with joy—
and what a responsibility
to cultivate joy like a late summer wildflower
like a candle flickering in the wind
like the hope that I have for a tomorrow that is shaped
more like an exclamation of life.
I want the future
to be green
because I want
us all to live.
–Carson Elliot
⚘
THE PASSAGE OF TIME
A peaceful stillness abides
On this timeless mountain
Blanketed in the shade
Of the immortal, unchanging stone.
Knelt below, countless lives pass
Into the shadows unto the great beyond
Slowly at first and then
All of a sudden.
What tender lies we tell ourselves
In the face of the eternal;
Grasping at each moment
Like smoke in a thick fog.
Helpless, beholden to the limits
Of our own mortality
Fragile as it is.
Go! This day
And seize for yourself
The briefest morsel of an instant
To cling to in the harsh winter.
For this is the nature of life
And time waits for no one.
–Amethyst Drake
⚘
THE BIRD THAT COULDN’T TELL TIME
Wet noses wade into my slumber,
nuzzle my arm. My eyes unclose
and I roll in a huff.
Tucked between your dreams
and dawn, I linger through your next breath,
then trudge down the steps
and follow the pups out the front door.
The moon greets me, a sliver of light
thumbnailed above the neighbor's maple tree.
A lark sings a morning song
and the stars twinkle in surprise.
–Chris Wood
⚘
WITHIN A COOL MOMENT
I have memorized those indigo days of mellow exile,
I recall endless flocks of seagulls flying aimlessly all over the pier in front of the pacific ocean.
That day, I seen the wanton madness of a beautiful mystic within you
whilst we both inhaled big whiffs of popper amid the lukewarm breeze of
a kind and sinless California Autumn.
I seen that madness inside myself too.
All, within a cool moment.
Do you remember that homeless guy who had Turquoise eyes of God who we spoke to that day in Venice Beach?
He bummed us for weed and also informed us about his white secrets that were born of nocturnal melancholy but grew to light up all his blue days.
He taught us his tricks used to create healthy animals of Nature.
I took another whiff of popper and when my head was swallowed up in
that thirty seconds of joy on Earth that's when I realized (High or not high)....That I got it:
THE SECRET OF BIRDS....THEY ALL FLY FREE
BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO LANGUAGE.
THEY KNOW NOT THE LOVE THAT SPAWNS PITILESS HATRED.
Those Seagulls flew aimless but with grace above the clean ocean water.
I gave the homeless bum cigarettes and blessed him with mercy that came from inside.
And we all became pure because we cracked the code of an Electrical God.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
I’m not ashamed
of the diphthong twang
that swings in my speech
and in phrases hangs.
When spoken with pride
it carries conviction,
and more identity
than plain-spoken diction.
It sounds like a ridgeline
reaching the sky –
an insect symphony
in late July.
A song of home…
of culture…
of place.
Shared both by young’uns
and the wizened face.
It’s not a crime
and it ain’t wrong
if when you speak
your accent’s strong.
–Anna Chastain
⚘
DAWN RUSHING
Wet licks across the bridge of my nose
yanks me from a dream of snow fairies skating
on a frozen pond next to a cozy cabin. I try
to fake sleep, wishing my furry alarm clocks
would lay back down, but whimpers
and a yelp jerk me fully awake.
I pull on my lizard-print robe,
and slink down the stairs in my socks,
my hand gripping the handrail
as CJ and Tazi bristle through the kitchen,
chasing each other to the back door.
They pace back and forth, their noses
leaving semi-colons on the sliding glass door
until I flip the latch and they scurry out.
Cold air slaps me in the face and mingles
with the dark rich mocha wafting
from the coffee pot. I pour a mug
and open my Bible to Genesis chapter three.
–Chris Wood
⚘
ECHOES OF THE DUST BOWL DAWN (FINAL REFINEMENT)
The wind screams through cracks, dry and full of ache,
Turning the earth to dust, the sky to red.
Where rivers ran, now only wasteland breaks—
A trail of hunger, of dreams long dead.
We woke with the dawn, breathing dust as prayer,
Each step a battle through the brittle air.
But somewhere in that silence, a voice stirs,
A whisper in the dust that says life will return.
In the soil, a seed waits to call—
From these ashes, together we rise, we stand tall.
–Joshua Walker (aka ‘The Last Bard’)
⚘
SEEDLINGS
My body is tense
My mind
Even my heart
Suspended
Anxious, waiting
For things to feel… right again?
Easy?
Connected?
My spirit is in flight
She knows what she knows
Yet the aches and pains
And heartbreaks of the world
Feel so very much sometimes
Relentless, consistent
We are being pushed to breaking point
For what?
Remind me.
Prayers for mercy, relief
Only to be found
In the earth that holds our feet
You have to step outside
Take a good look around
To see that life, and love
Desires so much
To break ground
Let me tell you this:
If it weren’t for the big and little
Miracles that have taken root in my chest
In my womb
On the tips of my fingers
I wouldn’t still be here
I wouldn’t still be here.
–Frances Denise
⚘
ULTRAVIOLET
Dear Thinking,
There is Nothing I can say that you have not heard.
Strangely, I remembered my dad stepping on my glasses.
If he wrote a poem about it, I imagine it would sound like this:
Dense water tastes like years
of my memories;
it turns to Mud again-
st the ankles of my boots.
My heart pounds in my ears as loud as the rain.
The rain runs along the inside of my hood
creating cold, dark stripes on the breast of my gray shirt.
My son hops from Grass Patch to Grass Patch a few paces ahead of me.
I see a brown bird. I remember reading an article about how birds see
Ultraviolet light, and all the brown birds that seem boring
are actually amazingly beautiful.
I think of my tanned skin
And my short brown hair
And the dark stripes across my breast.
I feel something crunch under my boot.
A few paces later, my son grabs his pocket.
He turns around and goes to the place I stepped on his glasses.
Grass Patch,
Would you do me a favor?
Would you grow over the mud my glasses got lost in?
I would rather you cover my memory
and be
Mud,
Could you find it in your heart to forgive the grass?
I want no one else to ever have what – happened to me –
happen to them.
You feast on broken glass.
A kraken sinking passing memories.
I know what you look like.
I dipped my eyes in once, when they broke.
How the fur on your canine head turned to scales and tentacles and arms
with thin hands of thin branches and leafy nails.
Ultraviolet,
Až přijde kocour
The Cat Who Wore Sunglasses
I imagine this
when I
think of you;
I imagine I am the Cat;
I love imagining that I am the Cat.
with super vision,
that I see things for what they are.
That my observation is more than
Nothing,
Sincerely,
Nate
–Nate Sherwood
⚘
BONDS
We are bonded
And what that means
Is that I carry what you carry
I feel what you feel
And right now we are tired
So very tired
And heartbroken
Yet we keep giving from an empty cup
Keep putting ourselves,
Our dreams, our needs
Aside
For other people
Now there are knots in my heart
Where there should be rivers
And I don’t like that one bit
My hurts and my fears
Tell me to build walls
When I mean to build bridges
And I don’t like that one bit
Not
One
Bit.
And so I sit here to listen to the
Temporary stream
So rich and so full
Of life-giving water,
Knowing that it will be dry and empty
In a few tomorrows
And the water, who is also my mother,
Says to me
“I am not running
Or slipping
Away.
I am flowing.
And I always come back around.”
–Frances Denise
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
With endless love & gratitude,
the Dandelion Scribes
P.S. – Don’t forget to join us for our upcoming events
on March 15 and April 1! More information below.
SHADOWS OF THE HEART
Make plans now to join us for the Shadows of the Heart book launch & signing party, in celebration of local author Angelia Ross and the publication of her debut poetry collection!
This book has been nearly 35 years in the making. Described as “an Appalachian life in poetry," this one-of-a-kind collection features autobiographical poetry about the author's experience growing up in Appalachia – between Oneida, TN & Pine Knot, KY – cataloguing the history, culture, and natural beauty of our beloved Big South Fork.
Join Angelia & the Dandelion Scribes on March 15 at the Scott County Office Building! We will be there from 2-5pm, with complimentary refreshments for all attendees to enjoy! There will also be a short presentation by the author at 3pm. Meet & greet the author, purchase a signed book, and be part of a remarkable local poet's special day!
Share with your friends & help spread the word! Let's celebrate our growing body of local literature produced right here in the Big South Fork & honor this beautiful poet!
PLAYING THE FOOL
Join the Scribes for a theatrical poetry performance
this April Fool’s Day at The Black Cat!
Tuesday, April 1, 2025
Location: The Black Cat, 250 S Main St., Oneida, TN 37841
Showtime 6pm
with local author book sale
and animal totem readings
starting before the show at 4pm.
Featuring poetry and foolery by the dithyrambler
(played by Cheyanne Leonardo)
and the Dandelion Scribes:
Cari Lynne King, Angelia Ross & Frances Denise.
With a one-act theatre performance featuring Stephen Phillips
& silly songs by local musical artists!
Special guests Josh Ayers & Olivia Immitt.
Tickets are $10 each. Light refreshments (drinks & snacks) for sale.
Enjoy a fun-filled evening at The Black Cat!!!
