SCREAMING CICADAS
The red-eyed cicadas of Brood XIV have emerged once again in our mountain home, after spending the past 17 years underground as nymphs, feeding on sap from tree roots. Now, they have evolved into their final form to live among us for a few weeks, and they are screaming loud! We asked our poets to make like a cicada and scream a poem into existence alongside our insect friends. The result is a passionate collection of poetry that explores the connections between love & longing, life & nature, bravery, beauty, and community.
Before you read all the poem-screams, we have two calls to action, encouraging our readers to support members of our poetry community as they navigate local crises. You can stand with the residents of Scott County, TN as we work together to stop a 700-acre landfill expansion plan that was set into motion before being disclosed to or approved by local citizens. You can also help poet Brandon Thorpe’s family, as his mother recovers from losing her home and her leg in the tornadoes that struck London, KY just a few days ago.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for your support of our poetry community here in our Appalachian hills!
Featuring the following poets:
Amethyst Drake
Heather Matney
Samantha Moore
Mellisa Pascale
Ariana Afrin Emu
Nikki Stanley
Cameron Cox
Frances Denise
Chris Boyatt
Dane Osborne
Cheyanne Leonardo
Nina
Brandon Thorpe
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Help the residents of Scott County, TN stop a 700-acre landfill expansion plan that was set into motion before being disclosed to or approved by the public!
The proposed plan will allow tons of trash to be imported from elsewhere via our railways and roadways – while an outside developer and his investors make millions exploiting our community and degrading our mountain lands. Scott County, TN is home to the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area, and we stand firmly against a landfill expansion that will harm the collective health of our citizens and forests.
If you are local to Scott County / Big South Fork and would like to express your concerns at the public meeting on this matter, a town hall is set to take place on Thursday, June 5th at 6pm in the Oneida Performing Arts Center (Oneida High School). You must call ahead to add your name to the list of speakers. Call City Hall at 423-569-4295 and let them know your voice will be heard!
Help poet Brandon Thorpe’s mom Tammy through her healing journey — after she lost her home and her leg in the tornadoes that struck London, KY on May 16.
I THINK I’M AFRAID OF STORMS
If you look only
at the corner of
the sidewalk
It's like
the houses
are still there.
–Brandon Thorpe
SCREAMING CICADAS
CABLE NEWS
I am the cold cry
In the darkness;
The winter wind
trapped in your throat.
Nothing is amazing
for the words you cast
have lost all meaning,
like a screeching brood of cicadas.
They play this game
of obsequious horror
each more conceited than the last,
designed and created
for your own self-serving interests.
But I am not impressed
because it all sounds the same;
garbled tones of multisyllabic
NONSENSE!
Turn out your pockets
and show your insidious purpose.
–Amethyst Drake
⚘
THE WAY. THE TRUTH. THE LIGHT.
All we are
Is the universe
Observing itself
What has passed
Will come again
Such as that which is given life
Shall die
Not to be erased
But to be transformed
Ascended
Into something new again
–Heather Matney
⚘
HE SAYS MY EYES ARE HIS FAVORITE
(for the ones who made it out)
He says my eyes are his favorite—
calls them creekglass, rain-washed, holy blue.
But they ain’t never stilled,
still scan rooms like ridgelines for shadows
and fists that move like sudden storms.
His voice is soft as moth wings
against the porch light,
never raised, never rushed—
and I flinch anyway,
muscle memory of thunder in a man’s mouth.
He runs fingers through my hair
like he’s threading a loom,
slow and sure,
but I brace for the snap,
the yank, the curse wrapped in bourbon breath.
He brings me coffee in a chipped mug,
same way Mamaw did—
black as coal dust, warm as sun on a dog’s back.
And I take it with both hands,
like it’s a gift that might vanish.
He tells me I’m safe now,
like that word don’t sound like a lie
where I’m from—
where safe meant silence,
meant bite your tongue till it bleeds
and don’t ask questions with your eyes.
But he waits.
Not like the others—
not like waiting to pounce,
but waiting like spring
waits for thaw.
He plants marigolds in a rusted tub
beside the porch swing,
says they keep the bad things away.
And I laugh,
‘cause where I come from,
flowers were for graves.
Still, they bloom.
Bright, stubborn things.
Just like me.
And him,
with hands like cedar bark
and a heart that don’t splinter.
Maybe love is a holler
where the echo don’t hurt.
Maybe it’s a place you crawl to
on scraped-up knees—
where the quiet ain’t a warning,
just peace settling in
like fog on the mountain.
–Samantha Moore
⚘
BLOSSOMS IN THE BREEZE
tethered to earth
by feet on dirt, eyes
over page, and fingers
around pencil
or petal. let go,
float away.
that happens,
mid-stride, mid-sentence, halt
and look back,
or ahead. my mind—
blossom in a breeze!
might earth be
heaven to the petal adrift? is space
hell? are the springtime gusts
reality? is floating
a form of attachment?
did you ever think about me?
–Mellisa Pascale
⚘
LET ME BE EVERYTHING BUT YOURS
If I cannot be yours in this lifetime,
let me be the bird that sings outside your window
when the world forgets to be kind.
Let me be the wind
that dries the sweat on your neck
when you walk home from grief.
Let me be the shirt you wear,
touched by your skin,
washed with the scent of your hours.
Let me be the dust on the road
you tread when you’re lost.
Let me be the streetlamp
flickering above your head
when you come back too late,
and no one is waiting.
I do not wish to be yours
not because I don’t want to
but because I’d ruin you.
Because love like mine is wildfire,
and you deserve rain.
You deserve a quiet life.
I only know how to bleed.
You deserve laughter in the kitchen,
not someone who trembles
when the silence gets too long.
So bury me close to your path.
Let the soil drink my bones
until a tree grows.
And when its branches bloom,
let your children
pick the flowers
and laugh.
Let them never know
they’re holding me.
And maybe someday
I’ll be the bird in your garden,
the flower on your table,
the shadow that moves with your feet.
If I cannot be yours,
let me be
everything
that stays.
–Ariana Afrin Emu
⚘
I BEGGED YOU
Come by sometime.
It’s not the same without you.
-
I miss your pretty eyes
That hide the truth about you
-
I’ve gotta say
You were pretty neat
Forgive me someday?
For being me?
-
I’m sorry that you got too close
I never meant to let you
Your burns will heal in time, I hope
I guess that’s how they get you
-
I begged you not to fall for me
I warned you when you met me
I realize that I’ve broken you
I begged you not to let me
-
I saw between your pretty lies
I dug and found your demons
I hope someday you’ll understand
I brought them out with reason
-
Face them, that was all I asked
I stood to fight beside you
You hate me now, you told me last
But your demons are behind you
–Nikki Stanley
⚘
FIRE CONSUMES
Take a ball of tinder
Dry moss, fine shavings, dandelion fluff
A spark hits, smoke billows
And it flares to life
But fire consumes
That tinder heart will be cold ash in seconds if not fed kindling
Small twigs, then larger branches, then logs
Because fire consumes
Once lit, it's easier to maintain
You can relax and let it burn
Offer less attention, but never none
Because fire consumes
If you don't feed it, it will wither
And while you can reignite a flame from a single glowing ember,
Nothing can be salvaged from dead ash.
That fire is gone.
You must start over, light a new flame
Because fire consumes
And love is not a statement you make,
A box you check off,
Or a trinket you possess,
But an action you do.
Tinder only sparks the flame
And fire consumes
–Cameron Cox
⚘
WHITE
(I took my anger to the forest, and this is what she said)
If you catch a flash of white rage
In my eyes
Know that I am moving it through my bones
If I can't smile for a while
Know that I am turning lead into gold
This
Is as old
As the lightning that blesses your sky
Your children won't exist without it
The forests won't be green at all
Unforgotten are the judgements of men
Yearnings weighed, swallowed
Consumed, ignored
Inside every tear rolling down a mother's,
A daughter's cheek
Exists a quiet forgiveness
Invisible as the wind
Pulsing more life, more love, to go on
With every borrowed breath
–Frances Denise
⚘
life goes on
even though
i want to stay in bed
with the covers over my head
life goes on
seasons come and
seasons go
oh how i miss you so
you are not forgotten
for ever since you’ve gone away
memories of you are
in my heart to stay
as life goes on
nanny loves you
forever
TRAE
–Chris Boyatt
⚘
UNIVERSAL
Grief is universal –
I see it as floating tones
Not far from the heart
A humble sadness in the eyes
Of the Oh So Very Young.
Joy is universal –
A reminder that the heavens don't come down to kiss us
That quite possibly
We are already in it.
Survival is universal –
The ache, the hunger, the will to continue
To shelter, to ripen and bloom
The comfort, the fullness
Of having our needs met by the soil, the rain
The sun.
Love is universal –
The source, part and parcel
The beat, the rhythm
The harmony
That plays the loudest
At the start and at the end
Of our story.
–Frances Denise
⚘
PERCEPTION>REALITY
There is no beginning
No ending
Only the in between
Such as there is nothing new
Under the sun
But the unknown
And undiscovered
When William wrote:
There are more things in heaven and in earth
Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophies
From divinity's mouth
To the ears of the
Mundane
So mote it be
–Heather Matney
⚘
MICROBES AND THE MEANING OF GUILT
It's the calm before the storm
And we each have the same germs.
I have that epiphany whilst stuck in the middle
Of a heated intellectual debate on the conscious intelligence
Of 400-year-old living Microbes.
People sacrifice animals in the name of magic.
It's went on ever since the beginning of time.
It is but strong visible proof of
How far a guilty man will go
In order to receive pardon from up above.
A burnt sacrifice will render you clean
Until you commit another sin and
Get yourself dirty all over again,
Why Of Course.
One living conscious intelligent thing
Which does not understand the entity
Of Guilt are 400-year-old Microbes
–Dane Osborne
⚘
THE TALE OF THE TOAD
an old horny toad
went a-hoppin’ through town
swindling suckers
and dragging them down
beneath the heaps
of his mountain of trash –
no light on the porch
but the deck was sure stacked!
when a shit salesman says
he’ll make you a deal
what ain’t on the table
he schemes how to steal!
he’s done it before
as he hops ‘cross the map
filling his coffer
and dropping his crap
to poison our rivers
and damage our health
all in the name
of his interests and wealth!
he offered a dollar
and watched who would dance;
the ones who sold out
put our world in his hands
but that old horny toad
was in for a trick –
we saw through his ruse
when he thought he was slick!
we all stood together
and told him to scram!
we stomped and we screamed
‘til he ran from our lands!
THIS IS SCOTT COUNTY
and if you didn’t know
we made our own country
ages ago –
and we’ll do it again
just to keep a toad out!
our people will show you
what life’s all about:
our forests and hills
lead us to link arms.
when you threaten our woods
we sound the alarms!
we get in the way
and make you regret
the day you came here
as a thief deep in debt
and you bet your ass
we’ll make sure you fail
‘cause this place is our soul
and our soul ain’t for sale!
–Cheyanne Leonardo
⚘
NOT A KISS
(and clarity's a bitch)
It was your voice
That pulled me out of that slumber
Half clueless, half knowing
What madness would ensue
For what was hidden in the shadows
Were brought out
By an invisible pair
Of big arms
Ugliness, honesty
Thrown indiscriminately
Into the spotlight
Alas, we stirred the pot
Pushed the first domino
In this apocalyptic revolution
When purely,
Innocently
We only wanted to hear each other
–Frances Denise
⚘
NINA'S OCEAN SONG
The ocean is salty
And salt is salty
Which means the ocean is very salty
The ocean is blue
And white and green
And sometimes the waves are bigger than me
The ocean is this
The ocean is that
The ocean's for dogs
But not for cats
–Nina
⚘
I remember a day, picking up my toys to play and the movie in my head never rolled.
I used to dream up worlds, resolve complex plots with G.I. Joes and lego blocks.
I could stay entertained for half the day with the help of these simple imagination aids, but as a result of becoming an adult we lost the ability to play in that way.
Left with an anxious adult imagination that wastes it creativity worrying up paranoid creations of dangerous and awkward situations.
At least you can still lay in bed, pillow under your head, and make fun of the people on TV.
When you feel goofy and dumb, lean into that impulse, you're tapping back into that place. it isn't gone, it hasn't been lost, but surely it has been changed
So when you lay down at night go into your mind
and search for what's still there.
Sinking into your bed, your imagination isn't dead, the toys have moved into your head.
You can bring them into the world again with instruments and brushes and pens.
You can write them down, say them aloud gather your friends, or gather a crowd
You've wasted so much space worrying about things in desperation you go off daydreaming
Before your mind was a place you could create, but now you treat it like a panic room where you
go to escape
Those things from your past, just under the ash they're never coming back. The walls of your mind only distract for a time, and it all ends up the same it's not enough, so you pick something up a brush and some tubes of paint.
Or you call up a friend, start writing again, hike the hills, join a boxing gym. There are good things to feel, but your distractions have to be real.
Happy people are telling the truth, there are a lot of things to do. Things get low and you start to doubt this, so think of a thing you did that made you proud, and imagine your life without it
–Brandon Thorpe
⚘
QUIET
All of this talking
Is necessary
Life-giving
Dirt-pulling
Inadequate
Exhausting
I just don't have the right words anymore
For what I am feeling
It's too much, too complex
Too layered, convoluted
In truth, I don't feel the need
For explaining –
I am what I am
In this moment
And the next
I am tired
Of being anything but.
I surrender
To the storms
No whys or hows
And I choose to be kind
Despite, despite, despite
–Frances Denise
⚘
DON’T LOOK AT THE SNAKE
I am more human than you.
That is why I feel heartbreak
And the monstrous energy of melancholy
That will possess your spirit
At the moment you expect happiness
But are smacked hard across the face with
The feeling of disappointment.
Do not doubt,
The temple was destroyed but will be rebuilt
And the streets of Jerusalem will turn gold
After the horrific final battle between good and evil.
Minor prophets tried so hard to spread the truth
but got stoned to death with big rocks......this is what always happens when you help poor people and piss off rich people at the same time.
You must deny the world to find God.....and the world is nothing but a greenback dollar and godless politics.
When you see God then you will see yourself but yourself has flames coming out from his eyes and that is how you know he has always understood.
The joy of sin lasts only a season....the ways of the world are so fun at first but then the world turns against you.
Look into the eyes of a red snake
and it will look back at you.
You won't like what happens.
Don't look at the snake.
Don't Look At The Snake.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
ANCESTORS
in those strange and final days
the world ran in reverse –
everything was upside-down
and bad gave way to worse.
those who held the locks and keys
blamed the ones in chains
for the fire and the thunder
and the wicked winds and rains.
they sacrificed our brothers
while rare cicadas screamed,
red-eyed and abundant, they
opened doors to dreams
where snakes did swarm the ceiling
and circle ‘round the staff –
the hourglass in future place
matched perfectly the past:
this bridge is built by justice
by way of loving strength –
you see just what will happen
though you cannot know the length
that comes between what’s then and now
when mighty towers fall,
believed to be infallible
we err and share it all –
all the wounds and weakening
attached to consequence
for every action echoes out,
ignoring wall and fence.
such arbitrary borders
will never keep us safe
from monsters in the mirror
who wear composite face
of each and every being
who auctioned off their light
to the highest bidder, but
the sale can’t cut the price
that only climbs and rises
as we lie and cheat ourselves –
the ghost of greed is ruinous,
damning souls to hell!
the days of revolution
were called in by the heir
of forgotten ancestors
with fists in mountain air!
–Cheyanne Leonardo
⚘
HOPE
From the windswept sands of sorrow
to the shallow summer sea
we shall see what brings the morrow;
We shall be what we shall be.
Just beyond those jagged mountains
to the valley deep below
where joy springs forth in fountains;
We shall know what we shall know.
In the land of constant shadow
On a perfect beam of light
we shall lie down in the meadow;
We shall know what’s right is right.
When we let go of resentment
just to practice feeling free
that is when we find contentment;
What shall be is what shall be.
–Amethyst Drake
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
With endless love & gratitude,
