DANDY DOUBLE: Featuring Angelia Ross & Chris Boyatt
Angelia Ross and Chris Boyatt of Scott County, Tennessee, have been friends for over 20 years. They met when Angelia volunteered at her local Huntsville Library and befriended Chris and her young son, Eli, who were regular library patrons. Before long, a lifelong friendship had bloomed between Angelia and Chris, as they bonded over a shared love of reading, crafting, playing cards, observing nature, and examining matters of Faith. They’ve been each other’s confidant and fellow night owl– always up to listen and offer encouragement during a late-night chat. And, more recently, they’ve inspired each other’s creative endeavors, writing poetry to publish together in local publications – such as our Hometown Poems community poetry anthology – and performing open-mic poetry readings that represent the beauty and wisdom of present-day Appalachian women authors.
Dandelion Scribes is proud to present a selection of poems from each of these remarkable poets. Their words offer a window into our shared world of poetry and birdsong, nature and faith, love amid great loss, and grief alongside gratitude. Angelia and Chris are two artists whose creations offer light & warmth to all who happen to cross their path… ⚘
Meet Angelia Ross –
named 2023 POET OF THE YEAR out of over 100 contributors to the Hometown Poems anthology – in celebration of her dedication, not only to her personal craft, but to enhancing our contemporary understanding of poetry:
what it is, who it's for, and what it allows us to achieve.
Q&A with Angelia
1. How did you start writing poetry? Journaling, writing short stories, and working on my sci-fi book were what mattered most to me. Until one day these words nagged at me until I wrote them down. After reading them, I realized I had just written a poem.
2. Who are your favorite writers and poetry inspirations? Frost, Dickinson, and Poe. Frost's “The Road Not Taken” & “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” and Dickinson’s “I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died” are some of my favorites. But “The Road Not Taken” has inspired me the most.
3. What topics do you gravitate toward in your writing? Nature, loss of loved ones, and places. Nearly anything can be inspirational. You just need to be quiet, take in your surroundings and listen.
4. What are your favorite past-times and activities that inform/inspire your writing? Besides reading and writing, some of my other favorite pastimes are hiking, traveling back roads, photography, and hanging out with friends.
Poems by Angelia Ross
THE OWL AND THE MOCKINGBIRD
I never was good
At being a night owl,
But in my old age
That is what I am.
Pen and paper in hand,
Working on this or that.
Oh, how the night is so quiet,
Except for the Mockingbird,
Who serenades me
With his long repertoire,
From his perch in the big pine tree,
Beneath the streetlight.
On and on he goes until the sun rises
Above the Eastern rim,
Then he takes a wee nap
And starts all over again.
⚘
EMILY DICKINSON, I AM NOT
I am not like Emily Dickinson,
Who could take up paper and quill
And write at will.
No, I must wait for the words
To come to my mind
Before I pick up my pen.
If the verses are not meant to be,
They quickly go by without formality,
But words from my heart and soul
Torment me day and night,
Until I am forced to pick
Up my utensils and write.
But only to my satisfaction.
Will someone please save me
From this blame contraption?
⚘
POETRY, WHAT IS IT
It is words scribbled on a page,
The song of a bird trapped in a cage.
It is a leaf dancing in the wind,
The sound of raindrops hitting tin.
It is that which holds together
Time and space,
The untold story of the human race.
It is the link between war and peace,
A nightmare that will never cease.
It is the echo of a waterfall’s sigh,
Mist rising to kiss the sky.
It is the gentle touch of a mother’s hand,
Guiding us away from uncharted land.
It is the picture of poverty and despair,
A heart shattered beyond repair.
It is all the emotions that can be,
Life an open book for the world to see.
It is a dancer perfect in grace and form,
A ship tossing in a storm.
It is the sun rising above the mountain,
Youth flowing from a fountain.
It is an innermost thought,
That can neither be sold nor bought.
It is a reflection of the person within,
And all those things which
Might have been.
⚘
OH, HOW I HATE BARBWIRE
Oh, how I hate barbwire.
Those hideous silver strands with barbs,
That pierces the skin
And tears the clothes;
Either way red usually unfolds.
Oh, how I hate barbwire.
Let me count the ways.
Then again let me not and say I did.
Because the scars are reminders
Of those painful battles always lost.
Oh, how I hate barbwire.
Especially when the horses,
Hank and Blossom, are frightened
By booming fireworks, thunder or gunfire,
They run against the wire until I fear
They will be torn to shreds.
Oh, how I hate barbwire.
Those hideous silver strands with barbs,
That many a cowboy has stretched and
Pulled and tugged and fastened to wood
Or metal fence post surrounding acre
Upon acre of green pasture and cattle.
⚘
THE VINEGAR AND THE FLY
One day a lady,
Fed up with flies,
Hung up a slender silver tube
With a small cup around the bottom.
And into the cup she poured
Apple cider vinegar.
Soon a fly perched
On the cup's rim and began
Preening herself like a tiny bird.
First, she rubbed her front legs together,
Then she rubbed them over her wings.
“Good evening Miss Fly,
Won't you join me for some Refreshments?"
Asked the cup.
“No, thank you," she answered.
“Come now Miss Fly, you must
Be thirsty from your day’s work," he said.
Miss Fly paused for a moment.
“Now, that you mention it, Mr. Cup,
I am a wee bit thirsty," she replied.
Landing on the vinegar's surface,
Miss Fly began to drink,
And as she drank she became unaware
Of the imminent danger around her.
For, silently, the vinegar rose up
Into a giant wave,
Then it suddenly crashed
Down on her tiny back.
Hurled into the vinegar's depth,
Miss Fly rolled and tumbled
Until she was slammed
Into the cup's bottom.
For a moment she laid there stunned,
Then her eyes focused
On the sepia light above,
And she began digging and clawing
Her way towards it with every
Fiber of her being,
But exhaustion soon won out,
And she embraced the closing darkness.
When morning came,
The lady found Miss Fly floating
In the Apple Cider vinegar
And she was very pleased to know
That she had rid the world
Of one more filthy, disgusting fly.
⚘
THE SHOE BOX
To someone else’s eyes,
It’s just an old shoe box.
A ratty tatty box that’s older than me,
But one I hold close to my heart,
Because it holds the faces of those
I never got to meet,
As well as those I never want to forget.
Sure it’s just an old shoe box to you,
A ratty tatty box.
One which transports me to the past.
To places that only exist in photographs
Because time has swept them away.
Yes, to someone else’s eyes
It’s just an old shoe box
That needs to go in the trash.
A ratty tatty box,
My Granny kept safe for so many years.
Now, it’s my turn to do the same
Because it not only holds
The faces of those I never got to meet,
But is also a window I open
Now and again to let
Their memories run free.
Yes, my face, too is in that old shoe box.
A ratty tatty box
That will be even older
Than the next keeper.
But who that keeper will be
I do not know.
Because I am not yet ready –
Ready to let it go.
Meet Chris Boyatt –
founder of the Color Me Creative arts program in partnership with the Appalachian Society of the Arts. Chris shares the joy of creativity on a weekly basis at the Scott Christian Care Center in Oneida, hosting kids & adults for free community art activities such as coloring, crafting, painting, writing, and more.
Q&A with Chris
1. How did you start writing poetry? I have loved poetry all my life. I had never written poetry until Cheyanne’s classes. Never even thought about writing. But I’ve always copied down any I came across and liked. I have always loved paper. Composition books are my favorite. I’ve always kept a journal.
2. Who are your favorite writers and poetry inspirations? I always loved English class in school, and Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” has been a favorite of mine since high school. One of my very favorite poems has always been “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer. I’ve always loved Helen Steiner Rice. Angelia and Cheyanne have inspired me to write. There used to be a lady, Elizabeth Dan Payne, who put her poems in the newspaper. I will always remember her.
3. What topics do you gravitate toward in your writing? Everyday, plain, MUNDANE things; nature.
4. What are your favorite past-times and activities that inform/inspire your writing? Studying the word of God, being with family and friends, reading, quilting, cross-stitch, being outside, living in the country. What got me started writing was at the end of Cheyanne’s class, she gives prompts and the quiet time to write. One of my inspirations is going and sitting and walking at Leatherwood. I miss the bridge.
Poems by Chris Boyatt
TIME SPENT IN HAPPINESS
Rising early
to make dinner
for the family
Everyone coming
to visit after
their week is over
After church
we gather together
The table is laden
with a feast
Men first to sit
in the circle
Women in the kitchen
at the stove cooking and
at the sink doing dishes
Kids keep coming and going
Laughter ringing
inside and out
Voices loud and soft
Eyes twinkling
Smiles, glad to see one another
Time spent in happiness
⚘
A PERFECT DAY
mornin with a friend
biscuits and gravy
happy mail
a new jacket for spring
library
and a late-night chat
⚘
THE TOMBSTONE
Like a sentinel standing tall
you can see them on the hillside
with a backdrop of the sky.
Surrounded by others that
have passed on.
A testament to souls that have
once walked on this land.
Some are only rocks put there
as a memorial to a life that
lived and died.
The sun rises, shines on them
and sets as another day wanes.
The winds blow and the snows
and rains fall.
They weather the storms.
Remember Me, they say.
Remember my face. Remember
my smile.
Say my name and let me live
on forever in your heart.
Don’t let me be forgotten.
Tell the tales of long ago
and talk of me for a while.
Once a year we gather
and sing beneath the tree.
Pretty flowers brighten the grays.
Words of God are spoken
of heaven beyond that
crystal sea.
Prayers are said for family
and friends to be blessed
until we meet again
with loved ones in the
sweet by and by.
As you drive up the hill
and see the tombstones
standing against the sky
and the rocks placed
one by one –
Remember Me
Don’t let me be forgotten.
(Grave Hill Cemetery, Grave Hill Road)
⚘
THESE FOUR WALLS
These four walls
comfort me.
They hold joy and pain,
much laughter.
Love.
Sorrow; many tears.
I rest and wallow
underneath a comforter
my mother gave to me.
The colors are soothing.
It’s as if her arms
are still around me.
In this bed many books
have been read.
Six little heads have rested.
Many prayers have been said.
Upon these walls
are many precious things
from family and friends.
Three crosses and words
from the Bible
are hung to remind me
of God’s love
and promises.
These four walls
have been my shelter.
And my soul can be
in peace –
away from the outside world
even when the storms are raging.
These four walls, they
comfort me.
I can be
sad, mad, glad.
I can BE
ME.
I am safe,
here in these four walls.
⚘
IT HAPPENED TO ME
I do believe in love at first sight.
It happened to me on a December night.
Across a crowded room our eyes met
and locked together in that instant.
Three months later we had our first date.
My mom put my roses in a vase.
I learned his real given name and
started writing it in my notebooks.
C♡J 4ever
Two years later we were married.
Me in my dress of white
and he in a blue tux with tails.
Out of that love – children and
grandchildren have blessed our home.
Our heritage.
The way has not been perfect.
There’s been happiness and
many trials along the way.
But even now
40 years later
it is still
for better or worse,
for richer or poorer,
in sickness and in health,
‘til death do us part.
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Angelia reads one of her pieces published in Hometown Poems before an audience of friends & neighbors.
Chris says of Angelia: She has and will always listen to me talk. She has talked me through many rough times. She loves the old time ways and has great faith in God. She is very independent. She likes to laugh and she looks on the bright side and makes the best of things.
Chris pictured with granddaughter Millie and Dandelion Scribes editor Cheyanne at a Color Me Creative gathering.
Angelia says of Chris: She doesn’t let people push her around. She tells it like it is. She’s a good listener and I feel that I can talk to her about anything. She isn’t a quitter. She has a good sense of humor. And she’s the queen of list-making.
Interested in being a DANDY DOUBLE alongside your best friend or creative partner? Introduce yourself and submit your work over on our submissions page. ⚘
With endless love & gratitude,
