The Rivers That Run In Our Veins
Near the end of May, whispers of a new landfill & trash transfer project in Scott County, TN turned into screams. Front-page newspaper headlines. Contentious town halls. Ongoing public meetings. Local government & citizens’ coalitions. Developing legal battles. Reckoning with the scale & scope of a problem of enormous proportion.
If you read our previous collection, SCREAMING CICADAS published 5/22, you would have seen the call to action to sign a petition that has now collected over 1,100 signatures and counting.
In the nearly three months that have gone by since then, efforts have escalated to stop the proposed 700-acre landfill expansion & trash transfer station that threatens the health of our communities, waterways and ecosystems in the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area. The proposed plan was set into motion without being disclosed to or approved by the public, and it would 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.
A major win on the part of our local community has been the creation of a brand-new nonprofit, Cumberland Clear.
In support of Cumberland Clear, the Scribes have collected 37 poems by 23 poets on the topic of rivers, waterways, and healthy ecosystems. Our goals are: 1) to call attention to the continued community efforts to STOP the landfill project in its entirety, 2) to share information about how YOU can get involved in the movement, 3) to uplift creative voices & encourage folks of all interests and backgrounds to SPEAK OUT, and 4) to show just how important our beautiful forested lands & rivers are to us in the Big South Fork.
You can assist us in these endeavors by sharing this collection with friends & family, donating to Cumberland Clear, and visiting cumberlandclear.org to learn more, sign up, and take part in the fight!
Infographic from cumberlandclear.org
Infographic from cumberlandclear.org
We asked our poetry community to lend their creativity to the movement, and poets near & far responded to the call. Whether a local resident of the Big South Fork or a fellow human standing in solidarity, each poet offers a glimpse into the nature, truth & magic of The Rivers That Run In Our Veins. What do our rivers teach us? What do they reveal about the journey through life: past, present, and future? What gifts do they offer us? And what can we give back?
Featuring the following poets:
Ariana Afrin Emu
Olivia Gilreath
Stephanie Duncan
Kathy Obrusanszki
Cheyanne Leonardo
Joshua Walker
Angelia Ross
Guiliana Noto
Sheena Fry King
Ryan Trosper
Cameron Cox
Blair Correll
Laura A. Clift
KB Ballentine
R. Clift
Dane Osborne
Brian Seadorf
Helga Kidder
Charles Thomas
Cynthia Robinson Young
Brandy Warren
Matthew Anderson
Brandon Thorpe
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Q&A with Representatives of Cumberland Clear
The Rivers That Run In Our Veins: Poetry by the Dandelion Scribes
A Note from the Editor
Upcoming Meetings & Events with Cumberland Clear
Local News & Media Links
People to Contact
Q&A with Cumberland Clear’s
Jennifer Shockley & Kathy Obrusanszki
respectively, Secretary and President of the new nonprofit, and skilled community leaders who have stepped up to lend their research expertise toward winning this fight for the Big South Fork.
–How did Cumberland Clear come together? What inspired you to take part in the movement?
Jennifer: It started when a few of us realized how big this landfill expansion really is—700 acres, right next to the one we already have. We started asking questions and saw that a lot of things didn’t add up. People weren’t being told the full story, and decisions were already being made without the community. That didn’t sit right with me. So we got together, did our own research, and started organizing. We’re just regular people who live here and care about what happens to this place.
Kathy: Cumberland Clear came about organically and quickly as citizens responded to the proposed landfill's very real threat to Scott & McCreary County’s health, water, air, land, schools, and businesses. If this proposed landfill is not stopped, the effects will be felt for generations to come. Why did I join? Personally, I felt that it was my Christian duty and responsibility to my family and students to do everything I can. There comes a point when you have to stand up. This was clearly that moment.
–What are the short-term and long-term goals of Cumberland Clear?
Jennifer: Right now, we’re focused on stopping this landfill project. We want people to know it’s not a done deal. We’re working on legal options, getting the truth out there, and making sure our voices are heard. In the long run, we want to make sure something like this can’t happen again. That means stronger protections for our land and water, and making sure our community has a say in what gets built around us. We want to leave things better for the next generation.
Kathy: Cumberland Clear's short term goal is halting the plan to have trainloads of out-of-state trash transferred less than one football field away from Winfield Elementary. The trash would be hauled past homes and bring the total landfill space to 1,400 acres. Our current landfill has decades of life left. Scott County does not need another landfill. Cumberland Clear has hired a top-notch lawyer and is also hoping to purchase independent field samples. We have a decent shot at stopping this but we need everyone's support! The overarching mission driving the long-term goals of Cumberland Clear is to represent citizens in ensuring that future business projects of any kind are in the best interest of the entire community. Cumberland Clear supports responsible business and industrial growth that complements and supports our beautiful community.
–How can others in our local communities get involved?
Jennifer: There’s something everyone can do. You can come to a meeting, help with signs or flyers, make calls, or just talk to your neighbors. If you’re busy, you can donate. Every little bit helps. You don’t have to do everything, but doing something really makes a difference. We need more people standing together so they know we won’t be ignored.
Kathy: Go to cumberlandclear.org and donate to help pay for independent water and soil tests as well as for the lawyer. Any amount helps. Come to our meetings and take part in our committees to fight this. Donate time. Show up to government meetings! This happened because some officials over the years were able to keep it secret. Hold local solid waste permit holders and landowners accountable. Recycle! The more our landfill fills up, the greater the pressure to expand.
–What kind of future do you envision for the health of our communities and ecosystems in the Big South Fork?
Jennifer: I want to see clean water, healthy land, and a safe place for our families. I want to see small businesses grow, tourism bring in jobs, and people able to enjoy what we have here. We shouldn’t have to give all that up so someone else can haul in more garbage. This area has a lot of potential, and I believe we can protect it without having to sacrifice our health or our future.
Kathy: God has blessed us with a uniquely beautiful landscape. In my personal opinion, it is simply sinful to squander and disrespect what God has made. I hope that our community can protect the Big South Fork and the ecosystems that it sustains. There is a Waste-to-Jobs initiative in TN Congress. Numerous businesses around TN are purchasing recycled glass and aluminum from out-of-state because they cannot get it in-state. Glass and aluminum recycling plants bring well-paying jobs and guaranteed buyers. TN must focus on these types of projects, rather than the quick, cheap, and dirty business of landfills.
The Rivers That Run In Our Veins
THE RIVER THAT REMEMBERS ME
I was born where the river bent like a mother’s wrist,
holding the weight of all we did not say.
My grandmother washed grief in its waters,
left it to dry on the rocks,
and told me silence was cleaner than tears.
I dip my hands into its memory now—
mud and minnows, reeds whispering stories
of children who played without fences.
The cattails still remember their names,
even if the town forgot.
There are ghosts in this stream,
not the kind that haunt,
but the kind that heal.
Soft-bellied fish carry secrets between the stones,
telling the earth what we never could.
I do not know where the river ends,
only that it keeps going,
like the veins in my arms
pulling me forward
toward something green,
something sacred.
Let this be a love letter
to every waterway still breathing,
to the places that held us
before we learned to hold ourselves.
–Ariana Afrin Emu
⚘
THE RIVER’S WHISPER
Water speaks in silver streams,
In misty dawns and moonlit dreams.
It trickles down from mountaintops,
Through forest roots and canyon drops.
The river hums a timeless song,
A winding path, both deep and long.
It cradles life in every bend—
A healer, mother, guide, and friend.
Along its banks, the willows lean,
Their roots are immersed in worlds unseen.
The salmon leap, the herons glide,
While dragonflies in silence ride.
Beneath the surface, quiet thrives:
A hidden world of darting lives.
From algae's lace to otters’ play,
A symphony of night and day.
The wetlands breathe with pulse and grace,
A sponge, a sieve, a sacred place.
They filter silt, they soak the rain,
And ease the land of flood and strain.
But tread with care, for water feels
The wounds we make with poisoned deals.
When concrete chokes and toxins flow,
The river aches, its rhythms slow.
Yet hope runs wild where hearts align,
To clean, restore, and redesign.
With every stream and forest fed,
A brighter world moves just ahead.
So listen close and do your part—
The river speaks through earth and heart.
In every drop, a future gleams:
Of thriving lands and living dreams.
–Olivia Gilreath
⚘
CONTAMINATION
In Old Yeller, I remember
the clinking of the
dipper into a shared
water pitcher hanging
from porch eaves.
Gross.
The goodness of water
running down a sweaty
cheek, then dipped
back in for someone else.
***
“I'd spend all day at the
creek fishing or swimming,"
my dad says. My kids
wonder WHY NOT US?
Now brain-eating bacteria
threatens those little noses
and stops the kindness of
water and makes it mean.
Dirty diapers on the banks,
sweltering in heat, filled
with flies. Needles under
rocks glistening in the
sun like fish hooks. We're
hooked on disposing and
not preserving so our
children are left wondering
WHY NOT US?
–Stephanie Duncan
⚘
MY CONSOLATION
Ding, slam, up, walk, cook, wash, rush, dress, grab, drive, work, ding, eat, ding, leave,
light is red, store is closed, i’m late again, can’t wait to get to the woods
and breath
The rhythm of the crunching leaves.
A multi-colored carpet cleaves
my soul
to God’s creation.
The path on which I slowly wind.
In solitude and peace I find
the source
of revelation.
At water’s edge I feel His power.
The rushing, whirling, moving towers
of hope
and desolation.
Beneath green canopy above
I cry and scream, then sense His love
for me,
my consolation.
–Kathy Obrusanszki
⚘
PRAY GOD I REMEMBER THIS
after Mary Oliver
and it seems the world over
women are dipping vessels into rivers,
filling them up with something holy.
whether the elixir is drawn from the ganges
or the southern fork of the cumberland;
is carried back to the shrine
or the daisies left at the dogwood’s roots: religion
is crafted by the women who wield water,
who siphon it out of mother’s veins and
alchemize adhesion.
we whisper words into the air (something between
a spell and a prayer),
commanding creation
to keep you safe. tucked away,
we hold you in the power we conjure. seek out,
stumble upon some kind of magic –
oh, relentlessly real!
written not in runes, rather
sacred similitude.
–Cheyanne Leonardo, from angel falls
⚘
WHAT REMAINS BENEATH
The river winds through rock and root,
its voice a hymn of time and loss.
It wears the past like tattered soot,
each ripple stitched with veins of moss.
A sunken name, a whispered sin,
the echoes caught in silt and stone.
Yet still the water pulls them in,
it swallows all, but not alone.
A hand once traced its silver skin,
a love once bloomed along its shore.
The river drinks what might have been
yet sings of it forevermore.
–Joshua Walker, The Last Bard
⚘
A RIVER’S STORY
As the river ripples and flows
Over rocks eons old,
It speaks to my soul,
And I listen intently
To the story I'm told.
Clear Fork and New River
Are two of my sisters,
And when we come together as one,
We are called the Big South Fork–
A National River and Recreation
Area that we be
For all the world to see.
We wind and twist
Through a beautiful landscape
Of sandrock cliffs, deep gorges,
And trees as far as the eye
Can see in any direction.
Trees from which Warblers,
Tufted Titmice, Chickadees, Thrushes,
And Cardinals serenade me.
Oh, how beautiful their songs are.
Just as beautiful as the Bloodroot,
Yellow Lady's Slippers, Phlox, Violets,
Mountain Laurel, and Maidenhair Ferns
That grow along my banks.
Flowers that are just a tiny fraction
Of what can be found there.
Also there are several different
Kinds of fish that keep me company
On my journey North,
Unless a Bald Eagle, Red Tail Hawk,
Bear or human plucks
Them from my grasp.
And speaking of humans,
There are some who
Have enough courage to ride my rapids
From my confluence all the way
To Blue Heron Mine,
But they must be wary
Of Angel Falls and Devil's Jump
Because they are particularly difficult
And dangerous to navigate.
As for the River Otters,
They are friends, who entertain me
With their neverending antics,
While I supply them with fish,
Snake, and frog snacks.
It would also be nice to be
Friends with the beavers,
But they block my path with their homes
Until humans come to my aid
By trapping, relocating, and destroying
All of their hard work.
Once freed, I'm in a hurry
To meet up with my Creek sisters,
Pine, Station Camp, Williams,
Bear and Roaring Paunch,
Just to name a few.
Then on and on we go,
Rippling and flowing
Over rocks eons old,
Until we reach Burnside, Kentucky
And Lake Cumberland,
Where my meandering journey ends.
Now, you have heard my story.
Now, you know my legacy.
A legacy, which must be protected
No matter the cost
–Angelia Ross
⚘
EAGLE EYE
at the confluence
there is an eye that rests
beneath the current
right at the center point
marking the meeting
of two merging streams –
always open
forever flowing
carving a record of power, growing
through deepening layers of stone.
the eagle flies by; perceived
by the eye
we see what once was shown.
–Cheyanne Leonardo, from sun songs
⚘
THE RIVERS EMBRACE
In liquid embrace, a world takes its form,
Where rivers and streams weather every storm.
From glacial peaks to the ocean's deep call,
Water sustains, encompassing all.
Each drop is a jewel, a treasure untold,
Reflecting the health of the earth, brave and bold.
In crystalline currents, life finds its way,
Nourishing roots, where the wild things play.
The earth breathes deeply, a vibrant display,
As ecosystems thrive in a delicate ballet.
Through wetlands they meander, where life takes its hold,
A tapestry woven, in stories untold.
The herons take flight, with wings spread so wide,
In harmony balanced, where creatures reside.
The forests stand guard, with branches so tall,
Protecting the waters, embracing them all.
But heed now the warning, a somber decree,
The waters are threatened, for all to see.
Pollution and waste, a venomous sting,
Disrupting the balance, the joy they all bring.
We must rise together, our voices in plea,
To heal the rivers, and set the ecosystems free.
For in every drop, a world we embrace,
The rivers that run through the land, interlace.
Let's cherish the waters, protect and restore,
For in their well-being, our spirits soar.
In mindful devotion, let's honor their grace,
And safeguard the future, for all of our race.
–Guiliana Noto
⚘
UNITED WE STAND
Our home is under threat once more,
As outsiders knock upon our door.
They promise growth, they speak of gain,
Yet only leave a trail of pain.
For years they’ve come, for years they’ve gone,
Building their riches while our land is withdrawn.
They claim prosperity, yet we see,
Only scars etched deep in history.
They seek to spread their waste,
Doubling the harm with reckless haste.
Upon our streams, forest of lush trees,
They will cast shadow of death and disease.
As the waters flow, the rivers speak,
Loud and strong, our currents aren’t weak.
The Big South Fork, so pure, so deep,
Being threatened now by the greed they seek.
But we won’t bow, we won’t break,
For our children’s futures are at stake.
We stand as one, raising our hands,
To guard our home and protect our land.
The people speak, the people fight,
For what is just, and what is right.
Let leaders hear, let justice shine,
This land, this life – forever yours and mine.
–Sheena Fry King
⚘
GREEN
The Green-eyed men
And the power off which they feed
The money in their pockets
And their ever-filled wallets
They only see the green of their dollar
Taking without consideration or care
The children are fed poison from their father
From the pollution everywhere
But green is not just money
Green is the beautiful trees
Green are the flowers for the honey
From our beautiful bumble bees
How can we sacrifice that gorgeous green
For that of trash and muck
Instead we must keep our county clean
And not kill it for a buck
Come together and take a stand
Save your children from the littered land
That is bought and sold
By the Green-eyed man
–Ryan Trosper
⚘
JUST BUSINESS
you want to know whether the ends
justify the means?
the answer is never,
not with that bullshit
it’s just business
mentality –
the kind that lies
through knifelike teeth
naming its evils necessary.
they steal the stream
then sell it back,
pick a price
to keep
your rights
intact
and widen the gap.
as if you could take it with you
after all. every empire’s fate
is to fall.
–Cheyanne Leonardo, from sun songs
⚘
LAMENT FOR THE IPAD KIDS
“Kids don’t go outside no more”
I hear the old folks say
and I scoff bitterly at what we’ve lost
since they were my age
Thirty years ago I spent the days
Running barefoot through the woods
climbing trees and building forts
Like every child should
Those summer days outside are gone
Like half-forgotten dreams
Kids of today will never know
the joy of swimming in a natural stream.
The woods are gone, chopped down to make
room for a parking lot
and rivers run not clear, but brown
filled with corporate Rot
Kids don’t go outside no more,
It’s a problem, so I’m told
By the very ones who made this mess;
and let politicians sell off Nature’s soul.
–Cameron Cox
⚘
HER GOD IS BIGGER
My body rests with Ophelia
My soul travels downstream
Swirling in eddies and tripping
Over the dark gleaming rocks
Beneath is the forest floor submerged
A silty sanctuary of watery weeds
Here is the tadpole, the catfish, the slime
The afterbirth of the garden of Eden
What they call a holy act is ensuing as
I am intruding on her best dress baptism
The cicada’s cries shiver in the wood
Hymns follow the current down from the
Open-mouthed sweat-drenched ladies fanning
Hand to forehead she’s pressed under
Rising she stands sluicing off my soul
Her body is still slick with me but within
She is clean and fresh and without stain
Stripped of her yesterdays and made new
She pulls her feet from the muck
Returns to the tearful fold already
Drying in the midsummer sun
–Blair Correll
⚘
SALT IN THE SILT
The river knows the weight of bones,
It drags them through the silt and stone,
But names dissolve like breath on glass—
A history it leaves unknown.
The bridge is rust, the pylons moan,
The fish slip silver through the dark,
The reeds lean close like kneeling priests,
All silent where the waters arc.
Yet I walk slow along the shore,
A shadow stitched from old regret,
And though the tide calls nevermore,
It leaves my footprints, soaking wet.
–Joshua Walker, The Last Bard
⚘
They tell me this is my first time in the world,
but I feel I know it so deeply. How can I only be
passing through? A passing thought?
I am more than that. I must be.
There is ocean water in my eyes and core
metals in my blood. I could stand here and grow
roots into the soil or lie still through winter and
hum songs as deep as groundwater. My mind is
high above the thunderstorms and on birds’
wings and no, I won’t come down.
Why do they tell me I’m too young to know?
From silver lake to wisp of cloud– it is all so
familiar. As if I have wandered these forests
before, I have seen these trees and crossed
these rivers… but this time, I’m a few steps
away, unable to remember the path.
I’m going somewhere different. Somewhere I
don’t know. No, I don’t want to follow them. I
want to fly.
–Laura A. Clift, from Hometown Poems
⚘
THE MOONDANCER
the moondancer felt
the earth underfoot
for the first time in years
on the ground where she stood
she moved with the wind
and leaned leg to leg
her arms were like arrows
that rose o’er her head
and lifted her body
back toward the beyond
she went flying skyward
from where she had come
remember the river
she heard a voice say
a whisper no louder
than lilacs in may
blooming with vigor
and hardly a sound
the flowers were lost
then in august were found
they arrived out of time
though beautiful still
they offered a warning
inspired a will
to forge a new way
direct from the dark
carried by starlight
awake with the lark
singing a memory
music like breath
the moondancer spun
into life out of death
–Cheyanne Leonardo
⚘
HUSH, LITTLE ONE, DON’T YOU CRY
Night shrugs her shoulders
and strings a glittering map
across the sky. River darkens
to shadow, fish slipping between
stones, tongues of grass flapping
with the current.
A barred owl swivels
his head, eyes bright, feathers lifting
in the wind. Raccoons shamble
across the field, and the moon like an opal
comforts the sky. Close your eyes.
–KB Ballentine
⚘
You may not know this—
but the River Styx runs
right through Arcadia—
Demeter made sure of it.
The souls come here
to feel the sun’s rays
through the surface
and hear the music
of the waterfalls.
And if you look around,
you will not see a desolate
body of water— you will see
the Naiads dancing along the surface—
so many of them— the ripples
look like rain.
Aurai fly higher and tease
their watery sisters as they
bounce off their shoulders.
The flower nymphs— Anthousai—
lounge by the banks in
more vivid colors than
you’ve ever known and
onyx-feathered birds with
alabaster beaks raise their
young between the willow trees.
When it comes to sharing stories
of where souls spend eternity—
classic mythology has lied.
I am here to tell you—
the River Styx is alive.
–R. Clift, from The Chronicles of a Mortal in Arcadia
⚘
FATHER OF RAVENS
I am the father of Ravens
And humanity is all but a conscious talking virus
Ever carefully designed by the consciousness Of Outer Space
as a plan to eradicate planet Earth
From within.
A children’s revolution of Dandelions and Dynamite
Shall be the only plan of salvation
As foreseen and prophesied by the last
Of the dying elderly and infirm
Who governed the planet for decades
While it danced in cautious circles
Around a hot burning yellow sun.
This was revealed to me by
A crazy man who lived the dream
And seen the wisdom hidden in leaves swaying in the wind.
That is who has the answer but does not know the words.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
THE BRIDGE BENEATH THE RIVER
I followed the road till it fell into black,
A river that ran without current or crest.
The bridge lay beneath it, a spine with a crack,
A path for the desperate, the lost, and the blessed.
I took the first step, and the water held fast,
A weightless expanse where the echoes had died.
No ripples, no wind, just a hush as I passed,
The bridge like a ribcage still waiting inside.
A voice from below whispered something obscene,
A name that had never belonged to my breath.
I walked without looking, awake in between,
Where bridges are built on the backbone of death.
And when I stepped off at the edge of the stream,
The river was gone—like the trace of a dream.
–Joshua Walker, The Last Bard
⚘
SILT AND MUD
My dad would drive us along a dirt path
as we bounced around in the truck bed
visions of the Little Sequatchie in our heads.
When we stopped,
we would stumble down the embankment
silt sliding down
till we splashed in the water,
our dogs diving in before us
and we would dig down
through the embankment
to find mussels and shells
through the muddy currents.
–Brian Seadorf
⚘
THE RIVER
Coils of wind kept rolling the pebbles
in the river like mother’s warning,
but my sister and I, growing toward teenage,
knew better. We needed thrills,
that light-headed feeling
and quiver in our bellies.
It was April and snow melted
off the mountain, tumbled in swells
over rocks. We entered the river in faith,
squealing, dipped our feet in the icy cold,
skipped from slick stone to stone
to the other shore and back.
We expected a strike of lightning
for ignoring mother’s words
and the wind’s swinging hand in iron air
asking, why?
We burned with hunger for the future,
but soon understood that the river
shivered us away from the warm stove
at home where mother set the table
with cocoa and crumpets, that our shoulders
were too small to carry life alone.
So we listened to the wind, the water,
the grey sky, as we pulled on socks and shoes.
This small defiance hardened us
to well-meant words, thickened our minds
for the coming years. In a string of many
secrets we kept from mother,
this was the first of our side-steps.
–Helga Kidder
⚘
BEYOND RIVERS
When i look west across the Sabine
toward Nacogdoches, what do i see,
what do i hear – the Caddo peoples planting seeds,
hunting for food, speaking peaceably with one another?
Or do i see dust rising? Do i hear cursing
and swearing of land-hungry enslavers
invading Mexico’s land?
When i stand beside the Chattahoochee
do i see green fields of growing cotton
with almost hidden, white and pinkish flowers
in bloom? Do i see white fields of open bolls
ready for harvest? Or do i see
backs bent, muscles aching
beneath a merciless sun?
Do i hear whips and shackles and chains
which should have been applied
to bodies of enslavers?
When i cross the talking Oconaluftee
do i hear and see, miles away, the trail
where they cried, the trail
where they died, at the hands and feet
of European settlers’ greed?
What future do i see?
What future do i hear?
What future will we make?
–Charles Thomas
⚘
MINE 18
Beauty and majesty
In deep, dark caves
Generations have passed
Nothing is the same.
But their memories live
In the hills and hollers,
In the faces and voices
Of those that live on.
–Sheena Fry King
⚘
THE WEIGHT OF WATER
They say water is the earth’s blood,
pulsing through veins of rock and soil,
from mist to river, to sea, then back again.
Beneath the surface, where roots lie,
the world feels its weight
stone, salt, debris
each sinking to a quiet grave,
where currents forget
what they once carried.
I think of us,
the ones who never learned to swim,
our lungs stitched with rotting thread,
adrift like a boat with no oar.
Still, the water calls,
no matter how far we wade.
It knows the weight we hold.
It knows how easily we sink.
–Joshua Walker, The Last Bard
⚘
ESCAPE ACROSS THE OCOEE
Have you ever seen the rocks in the Ocoee River?
Not stones, or tiny pebbles you can skip-toss ‘cross a stream
but the little boulders nesting in starlit water
so close they lie together,
touching like lovers,
a mix of rust brown camouflage,
smoke grey as morning mist,
giant stepping stones to hop across the river,
spacious enough to stand to get bearings,
and can plan a path to freedom
from one side to the other.
These Georgia stones in the Ocoee River are like that–
Some so dry, and cool, vast enough to run across
while whirling water rushes ‘round them.
I wonder if God placed them there for respite on the path
of those Indigenous and Enslaved,
running toward freedom,
though miles and days away,
aware they might not reach it…
but now– this gift,
these rocks in the Ocoee River
ready and waiting
to offer them
a path
illuminated by hope
and that magical
Northern star.
–Cynthia Robinson Young
⚘
Her heart sings to lily of the valley.
Pine trees bathed in amber light. Summer
gone. She crosses the river rock by rock,
carefully choosing which stone to trust.
Her sweater woven with threads of courage.
Her patience steady as the setting sun. Skin
like starlight. Candles on the water. Her
kindness dancing like fireflies, filling the
forests, lighting the way.
Shy as the hour before dawn she looks for
bravery in the night sky. As the stars wake,
she holds her head high. In that moment,
although, not fearless, she could fear less.
–R. Clift
⚘
RIVER BENEATH THE ROOTS
Herons skim the river’s surface,
hawks embracing the thermals above.
Beauty in July so hard to come by
when most blossoms are limp, our skin
licked with sweat. But this morning
dazzles the ridge, a morsel of autumn
in the wind. If I had a mood ring
it would be the color of calm.
Why do we fight the same fight? Worry
the same worries? A wasp has come to build
its nest, and the river will shrivel another inch.
How can clay and fiber form a home?
Where do bullfrogs go in the parching sun?
Presumptuous of me to think I know,
even when science satisfies. We grow smug –
we learn but keep hawking our hearts.
Before this view of Bald Knob was mine
it was Esther and Bill’s. And who before that?
Before the Europeans took it from the Cherokee
who took it from the Shawnee who took it
from the Yuchi – who before that?
Horizon stacked with ridges, hawks spiraling the blue.
Limestone suckled for thousands of years
by layers of bone and blood sifting, shifting this river.
The sun stretches to its apex, lights upon a dove’s wing
left among loose feathers near the pumpkin patch,
broken. Peace withers, blows away.
–KB Ballentine
⚘
WHAT THE RIVER TOOK
The river does not ask before it takes
a name, a voice, the shape of someone’s hands.
It carves through time with silver-throated ache,
unraveling the roots of what once stands.
A photograph dissolves in water’s sway,
a promise swallowed whole beneath the tide.
No altar holds the things that slip away,
no god returns what’s lost or cast aside.
Yet past the current’s pull, where silence hums,
where nothing lingers long enough to stay,
a whisper curls beneath the water’s thumb
a name it carries, though it won’t obey.
–Joshua Walker, The Last Bard
⚘
A PROPHECY FOR EOS
An ever-flowing river carries her,
from one year to the next—
as the days drip down
the outside of the window
she watches the rain
and dreams of far off worlds.
Floating through the sea
is a lot like flying, but with a
more determined direction—
be careful not to force
the hand of the river too much or
one may end up in uncharted waters.
Danger lies in the storms that
surround her mind but it is
what waits on the other side
that makes it all worth it.
Keep dancing to the sound
of the thunder, brave one,
for the crackling of the sky will
soon sound as sweet as a bell ringing.
In the meantime, release control
to the waves— and know that soon,
stillness will be yours once more.
–R. Clift, from The Chronicles of a Mortal in Arcadia
⚘
BUCKEYE CREEK
Across the boundary of our land
wallowed Buckeye Creek,
it gliding along among rocks and gravel,
hiding inside its washed-out banks
carp and bass and turtles,
snappers that cut through fingers
fiddlin' there for fish—grabblin' it was called.
An overflow bridge of concrete
connected front land to back,
and on that bridge, beneath leaf-dappled shade,
we sat, eating, drinking in the solitude,
all our own, as the cold, clear water rippled by.
Storm rains raised and tossed,
transformed our creek,
its hot, muddy brown bearing buckets,
carrying carcasses of goat, plastics and people,
them captured by raging water, carried away and up,
carrion now, across sandbar mountains.
Behind the tumult, darker caverns under banks,
mansions for fish, muskrat, snapper, snakes,
and sandbars cleanup for dining crow and hawk, mink and otter.
And calm again along its route, Buckeye Creek
riffled low and clear, cold again
between toes human, and non.
–Brandy Warren
⚘
KING OF THE ROCKCASTLE
I’m just a man, a father, a friend,
scraping by,
check to check,
days bleeding into days,
nothing to hang your hat on.
The grind’s a hungry bastard,
chewing up the hours,
leaving only anguish and sorrow in its wake.
But when I push off the river’s bank,
I am king.
Gear loaded,
poles rigged,
paddle in hand.
From Billows to Bee Rock,
I glide,
the current’s my pulse,
the shoals my throne.
This is my kingdom,
mine alone.
No man, no beast.
The river doesn’t care about my troubles,
doesn’t ask for my soul.
It just carries me,
king for a day,
ruler of rocks and rapids.
Let society carry on without me.
Out here, I’m untouchable, I’m king,
crowned by the current of the Rockcastle.
–Matthew Anderson
⚘
DIRECTIONS
The white noise video ended
in the night
so I woke up in silence
I was able to hear
summer sounds, tweets
buzzing and rattling.
I left my headphones
at home
and overheard
stranger’s conversation
over the loud roar of rain
on the supermarket roof
The next walk I went on
that would have been taken
to a soundtrack was taken
In silence
If you follow the sounds of trickling
water off the trail
you get to the
places people stopped going
Ignoring the barriers
of overgrowth
Taking knee high steps
through kudzu and throned
berry bushes.
until you can make out a gap
in the distance
where the water runs
and your arrival sends creatures
in a frenzy for cover.
Frogs throw themselves into
water, which sends the crawdads
backwards,
to the safety of their underwater
rock shelters.
Water striders aimlessly
flick themselves across the water
in no
particular direction other than
away.
Your eyes fix on some motion
before you have time to consciously
consider what you’re looking at
your legs stop themselves with no
mental input.
A large Northern Watersnake
unwinds itself and slips into the
brush
disappearing perfectly
along with the shadows
and the setting sun,
but the creek sound carries on
all night and all day
it wont close or turn off
until it's totally gone away.
–Brandon Thorpe
⚘
McCREARY’S SONG
Where sandstone crowns the Cumberland crest,
And waterfalls carve the forest’s chest,
McCreary stands in quiet grace,
A rugged gem, a sacred place.
Beneath the arch of Daniel Boone,
The hollers hum a timeless tune.
Big South Fork winds through the gorge and glade,
Where cliffs and echoes never fade.
Trails like Sheltowee trace the land,
Through coal-rich seams and timbered stands.
Natural arches frame the sky,
Rock shelters whisper days gone by.
The land is steep, the soil thin,
Yet beauty blooms from deep within.
No fields of gold, no endless grain,
Come walk the ridge, come feel the stone,
Where history speaks in undertones.
McCreary’s heart beats wild and free,
A song of land, of toil and of community.
–Sheena Fry King
⚘
The River Styx
is changing colors
from midnight black
to turquoise blue and
it must be an abundance
of life seeping in, an influx
of souls that have a
particularly high level of hope.
As the water feeds the shore—
more wildflowers bloom than
I’ve ever seen.
Maybe all they needed
was something to believe in.
–R. Clift, from The Chronicles of a Mortal in Arcadia
⚘
THE RIVERS THAT RUN IN OUR VEINS
i try to stay connected
to the body
in a world designed to sever me
from myself –
my flesh and
frequency,
disrupted by disease.
with every exhale i must
learn to pray for re-generation
and remember
no matter the destruction
our earth is still magic –
there are things beneath
the surface we can scarcely
imagine –
yet
they share our breath
seek to meet the soles of our feet,
rise up through this form
and whisper, awaken
to the spirits
of the mountains.
what else can i say?
let us speak life into the rivers
that run in our veins –
–Cheyanne Leonardo
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
Don’t forget – DONATE
what you can to help our rural communities
protect our waterways
and preserve our beloved forests!
A note from the editor:
“The Rivers That Run In Our Veins” is forever freely available for all to read & enjoy here on the Scribes! I am asking my poetry community, whether you have a poem published this time around or not, PLEASE HELP US & share this collection far and wide! These poems and the information included about Cumberland Clear are very important to us in the Big South Fork, home and heart of the Dandelion Scribes community. As we work together to protect our rural communities, our shared waterways and forested lands from exploitation & degradation by outside developers, getting the word out about citizen-led efforts to advocate for ourselves is essential! Post & share these poems with friends and family. Encourage folks to donate and volunteer their time & expertise toward the cause. When it comes to donations, any amount, even $1 helps and is greatly appreciated! Donation options via credit card, check, cash and more can be viewed here: cumberlandclear.org/donate — and you can poke around on the Cumberland Clear website for more information about what’s going on and how you can help! Thanks so much, and please let me know if you have any questions!
–Cheyanne Leonardo
dithyrambler@dandelionscribes.com
Upcoming Meetings & Events
with Cumberland Clear
–Cumberland Clear meets TOMORROW 8/15, 7pm at the Winfield Municipal Bldg. If you are able to attend, you will be working directly with your neighbors & community members and be assigned to a committee that best fits your skills & interests. Keep up with meeting announcements and more on the Cumberland Clear Facebook page.
–Sept. 6 TRIVIA NIGHT at Timber Rock Lodge. Doors at 6, game starts at 7. Take part in the first big Cumberland Clear fundraiser by buying yourself a good time! Timber Rock Lodge is a beautiful venue for events in the Big South Fork, and they happen to be located right next to the proposed landfill expansion. Help support the cause and enjoy a fun night with friends. Tickets available here: https://www.zeffy.com/ticketing/through-the-decades-trivia-night
–View more events and keep up with ongoing opportunities to show up & get involved: https://www.cumberlandclear.org/events
–Poets! Be on the lookout for information about a local open-mic night to benefit Cumberland Clear. We are still in the initial planning stages but will announce more soon. In the meantime, email dithyrambler@dandelionscribes.com if you’d be interested in taking part by reading poetry or sharing a song.
Local News & Media Links
–Read the excellent Op-Ed in the Independent Herald by lifelong Scott Countian, nature enthusiast and health professional, Tracey Stansberry – Enough is enough: Why authorities should reject proposed landfill: https://www.indherald.com/p/enough-is-enough-why-authorities
–Check out the Independent Herald’s archive, which contains numerous articles on the new landfill. Type ‘landfill’ in the search bar and all the recent reporting on the topic will appear: https://www.indherald.com/archive
–The Encyclopedia page on Independent Herald contains an overview of the landfill situation, dating back to the 80s and 90s in Scott County, and how it has unfolded into what we are battling today: https://ihoneida.com/knowledge-base/oneida-landfill-proposal/
–Reporter Shane Gilreath of Scott County News has been attending local government meetings and keeping the public up-to-date with ongoing developments. Pick up a copy of the latest issue from a local retailer or visit the Scott County News Facebook page for more info.
–Learn more about this ever-evolving and rapidly developing situation by keeping up with recent regional media coverage: https://www.cumberlandclear.org/links
People to Contact
View a list of officials to contact, from local to state government, TDEC & more. Get in touch and voice your opposition to the landfill project: https://www.cumberlandclear.org/links
With endless love & gratitude,
