THE WORD IS OUT

In spite of 3-5 inches of snow last week, we’re heaing that Spring is on its way – soon. Every night we’re below freezing, glad for the morning wood fire, but then daytime is warm and sunny. Trust it kills off all the fleas and such outside. Our pup dog can’t go outside for couple more weeks as he hasn’t had enough shots — and we have so many wild animals around here. Including the deer that come by daybreak or dusk to nibble — and leave piles of little pellets.

McBailey is learning – it’s a slow process being trained – but we have hope. Meanwhile I sent off the national contest and now to finish Mississippi contest by March 15…only a few days left. Hoping and praying. One blessing of the national contest – I typed up many of the rough poems I’d had in files. Hope to do much more of that. There is some meat on their bones.

Little money comes my way but there are perks. Just received a copy of the flyer that was posted with art work on Pace buses in the Highland Park Illinois area. Really neat as I love this poem — “Save That Smile” – I hope it was an encouragement to someone who rode that bus.

Since spring is popping out the croci in our turnaround…and showing the spears of daffodils, think toward spring and summer poems…there will doubtless be calls for them. A spring-feeling poem of mine was used in the Wyoming newsletter last year (did I mention I belong to 15 difference state poetry societies — a big plus). The poem was called: Butterflies (not too original a title, but…)

BUTTERFLIES

Barefoot, we race across a meadow

chased by clouds of butterflies. Our arm

shadows skim across tall grasses. They

pump, windmills churning paths before

us, butterflies quickly fill voids

we leave in evening mist.

A large, lone monarch flits against

my glasses, sticks there, peers

into my brain wth surgical vision.

Does he see fear — panic that I’ll

wallow on bright wings, choke

on his feelers?

Abruptly I slide him off, but stop

to see if he can still fly. His brilliant

wings and body lie still, until, I swear,

a score of his friends carry him away.

 

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