Plain seeing Flash, and the flatlander eye swoons with star glint and eardrum roaring crack, a copper spark in sight sounding It was everest over town’s end the thunderhead on high rising to ordovician climes Nearly alleghenies, still half atlas with shoulders lowered since the dislocating swell in pangaea’s heartContinue Reading

Poor Boy’s Gospel My dad died before I could kill him. I always imagined reading back his sins like Saint Peter. I’d reprimand his absence, scorn the idle time he’d wasted, and end with the two kids he’d failed the most. But by then, the man dead to me hadContinue Reading

grandmother she lived in that dirt and baking- soda soil, her drywood fingers cradling book pages gentle as if she were holding a bird, turning those well-worn wings, their songs rustle the living room curtains. her feet shuffled through breakfast with black coffee, and she napped late in the afternoon.Continue Reading

The George Scarbrough Poetry Contest is now closed. Thank you to everyone who submitted such outstanding poetry! We certainly have challenging decisions ahead. Winners will be announced on the evening of Thursday, December 9. Good Luck and Best Wishes!   ** Featured image by Voltamax on PixabayContinue Reading

Appalachian writers breathe words. Like meditation. They might gaze out the window, past that liminal space, and describe simple raindrops, circular, solid, and sparkling atop thick green leaves after a summer shower, each one a separate little universe, a micro-microcosm disturbed, perhaps, by a lone redbird landing abruptly on aContinue Reading

“Only one thing in my life has been constant: my interest in words. I should say “devotion” to words – for it has been a devotion, rarely known, I suspect, except among the more megalomaniacally linguistic lovers who have always come to people by way of words rather than theContinue Reading

While sifting through his library the other day, our own Edward Francisco found this gifted poem (below) written by George Scarbrough entitled “The Kitchen.”   The Kitchen Broad planks laid on the raw clay Composed the floor. Some had cupped At edges, others at ends, so one made A higgledy-piggledyContinue Reading

Their similarities were keen enough to define an archetype of the Appalachian writer at mid-20th century. Their differences were such as to make each a singular talent. Jesse Stuart, James Still, and George Scarbrough knew one another and admired each other’s work. All possessed shared experiences of growing up onContinue Reading