Dog of the North

By Nan Potts

 The dog of the North, hale-hardy hound,

With large, loyal heart and ardor abound,

Hears, "call to duty" as the master's strings sound.

A spurring voice, bidding, jubilant hearts pound.

 The lure of the chase and swift-speeds doth longed,

Through fair-fickled weather, ne'er grudging nor wronged,

Tails wag and tongues loll 'mongst cheering crowds, thronged,

Persist on their quest, haunting-howls, their jargon'd.

 These curs of the North, slight, svelte and brawn'd

Cruise across sea-ice and frozen lake-pond,

O'er flow and deep powder to places beyond,

Through night until day and a new morning, dawned.

 Age-old narrations portray their travails

Of survival and courage, their blood-line prevails.

This dog of the North, with no trivial tales,

Delights in the risks, runs the Iditarod trails.


"Mad Smatter"

By Ann Lyons

Webster says:

Matter: Is something

That is being done,

Something talked about

Or something thought about.

One look on the internet

For the subject matter states

Health matters, Cooking matters

Media matters, Housing matters

Commercials, say even your car.

It seems it matters

Every race in the rainbow

They all matter

Hands up, Fist up, Flags up, Flags down

Peaceful protest should matter

History repeats itself

Surely that should matter

Protest, is a right that we have

Shouldn’t that matter?

Right to own guns

Constitution says it matters

My generation didn’t own slaves

Shouldn’t that matter?

Time should heal wounds

That should matter

First responders and veterans

They should matter

My generation honored the flag

Shouldn’t that matter?

We pledged to that flag

Shouldn’t that matter?

We had God in that pledge

Shouldn’t that matter?

Hands over our heart

Should not that matter?

Prayer in the school

That should’ve mattered.

The Golden rule,

That too should matter.

Do well unto others,

Surely should matter.

Our rights can be taken away

Shouldn’t that matter?

Hands up to God

That IS what matters.


Spirit of the Eagle

Contributed by Brenda L. Stinnett

My journey winds through twists and turns.

There are dark tunnels with no light in sight...

Then cloudless days, brilliant with sunshine.

Snow capped mountains crystal clear.

With a slight cool breeze and an eagle soaring near.

Some say life is the paths you decide to take.

Roads of decisions and choices to make.

The highest mountains and low dark valleys.

I take it in and breathe in and sigh.

When I'm low in the valley I have streams to sit by.

And breathe in peace.

I call it my journey.

As a field of daisies caught my eye that summer day.

I was so in awe by the splendor,

that I lay in the grass to rest and pray. As I gazed up to the sky 

the eagle flew by.

He glanced my way and soared as to say, it's all good for me too.

This glorious summer day.

As I stood to find my path

I stumble upon a rock.

And pain tore through my leg.

I fell down at last.

An angry woodsman came up to me.

He began to scold me for not wearing proper shoes.

My ankle, Like my heart in my chest, was broken.

As I look in his face.

It held coldness and vile contempt.

I no longer saw the daisies in the grass full of beauty.

Instead I felt a cloud cover my spirit

with sadness from his cruelty.

Then my path back to the road was not very far.

As I looked up to the trees I saw the eagle that once soared.

His wise old eyes caught mine in an understanding look.

Later on as I looked to the ground beneath the tree branches,

I saw the eagle. 

He was caught in a snare by the foot.

Oh how confusing life can be...

Just to be at peace..

And just to be free.