Hobble Creek Review
| Vicky Harris |
Paused Morning: April 2011
Reading about my state
poet paused
my morning. Generous
in time and words, his pages
plump and inscribe
like his famed weenie roasts.
A man of his words,
tales quilled liked white plumed wings
born in the Nebraska sun; his readings
race past, and sing out strong,
rooted in between
the cottonwoods,
schooled in the tall grasses.
Over the heat, he breathes
harder yet lives as wide
as the prairie,
to which he gives his voice
and pen. I take
heed, and listen.
His books grace
my reading time, my words
lifted because of his. Repose
and calm name his days,
reading his words, mine.
Reading about my state
poet paused
my morning. Generous
in time and words, his pages
plump and inscribe
like his famed weenie roasts.
A man of his words,
tales quilled liked white plumed wings
born in the Nebraska sun; his readings
race past, and sing out strong,
rooted in between
the cottonwoods,
schooled in the tall grasses.
Over the heat, he breathes
harder yet lives as wide
as the prairie,
to which he gives his voice
and pen. I take
heed, and listen.
His books grace
my reading time, my words
lifted because of his. Repose
and calm name his days,
reading his words, mine.
Vicky MacDonald Harris lives in Lincoln, NE. She is
married, has had 3 children, and returned to writing several
years ago. Previous work has appeared in the University of
Windsor English Department's poetry publication,
Generation. In 2006, one of her poems was included in the
NaPoChapBook collection published by Big Game Books.
married, has had 3 children, and returned to writing several
years ago. Previous work has appeared in the University of
Windsor English Department's poetry publication,
Generation. In 2006, one of her poems was included in the
NaPoChapBook collection published by Big Game Books.
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