the old men in this part of the world used to pass on tradition in rocking chairs father and son, mother and daughter believing they were immovable come hell or high water. but now there’s fire on the mountain and dirt on the grave the creeks a’risin and perhaps whatContinue Reading
When you hook about a dozen fish the day seems bright and good until you hook that certain one that reels in like dead wood alarmed, anticipating, struggling to be free then after strength had worn quite thin simply trusting me, placing total trust in me to set him freeContinue Reading
James Agee’s “Knoxville: Summer 1915” may arguably be the most beautiful prose poem in English. A prose poem is a hybrid sharing characteristics of both prose and poetry. A striking example would be the Old Testament book of Psalms found in the King James translation of the Bible. “Knoxville: SummerContinue Reading
I just want to burn shit down, she says and her voice sounds like a child’s, even though she is forty-five She flicks a Bic at the grass, at each little blade that stands so stoically, at each little soldier cemented to the ground And I understood just how hardContinue Reading
spring sun on red clay the team plows winter’s cold ground a hiss in the barn blackbird on the fence dirty boots sit by the door canned beans and warm bread still days grow longer in a flash of innocence nineteen eighty-one Brandon Michael Ward is a writer,Continue Reading
**On a mobile format this book review is best viewed using landscape orientation. Danita Dodson is a contemplative, a mystic, and an alchemist whose feet are planted solidly in the turf of the natural world – particularly that of East Tennessee. As the poems in her debut collection, TrailingContinue Reading
During this Women’s History Month, please join Appalachia Bare in congratulating Danita Dodson on her outstanding debut book of poetry, Trailing the Azimuth. The following is a poem selected from the book. Join us Thursday for a review of Dodson’s book by our own Associate Editor, poet and litterateur, EdwardContinue Reading
The cold creek water runs over my skin, baptismal in nature, it bends aroun’ the mountainside, banks muddy, water reflecting the darters’ scales and hogmollies, creek chubs and softshells.Continue Reading
Losing him at the instant of diagnosis, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind but hers, his grandmother watched You wink from view until no more than a grainy dot on the horizon’s last glorious performance of the Great Withdrawal. The picture of a small girl insisting on her way thisContinue Reading
A note from the poet: This poem was inspired by “Appalachian Elegy #6,” a poem from a larger collection by the late Bell Hooks who passed away on December 16th. I wrote “Giles county rapture” before Ms. Hooks’ untimely passing, and, in my most naïve moments, I had hoped thatContinue Reading