February Light

Kathryn Jones

March 2, 2025

This early February morning,

it’s sunny in Texas, warm

after starting out chilly, and

breezy, with windchimes clanging.

Cardinals twitter and chase each other

in the live oak trees. The thermometer

climbs near eighty degrees, tricking me

into thinking winter is almost over.

Last night I saw Venus cozying up

to a crescent moon as Jupiter, Mercury,

Mars, Neptune, Saturn, and Uranus 

whirl on course to align by month’s end. 

Texas Bluebonnets’ star-shaped leaves

and the tips of slender daffodils poke up

out of the brown ground as if to ask, 

“Is it safe to come out yet?”

February is a month of hope before

March’s icy ides remind me that

winter is not done with us.

Today, though, I bask in sunlight and

tonight, moonlight and starlight, 

and their reassurance that there’s already

less darkness in the world and 

more light on the way.  

Kathryn Jones is a poet, journalist, and essayist whose work has been published in The New York Times, Texas Monthly, Texas Highways, and the Texas Observer. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including TexasPoetryAssignment.com, Unknotting the Line: The Poetry in Prose (Dos Gatos Press, 2023), Lone Star Poetry (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2023), The Senior Class: 100 Poets on Aging  (Lamar University Literary Press, 2024); and in her chapbook, An Orchid’s Guide to Life (Finishing Line Press, 2024), and the forthcoming collection The Solace of Wild Places (Lamar University Literary Press, 2025). She was inducted into the Texas Institute of Letters in 2016 and lives on a ranch near Glen Rose, Texas.

Blossom and Bird

Chris Ellery

February 2, 2025

I give the boiling noodles a stir

then check the ping on my phone.

A text from my son-in-law

with a video of my grandson

reading to his little sister.

He sits cross-legged on the floor

beside her bed holding the leaves

in the light, though she looks more

at him through her sleepy eyes

than at the book. The book

is about hummingbirds, which,

I hear my grandson say, can fly

both backwards and forwards.

I stir the noodles again and lift

the lid on the sauce, which is

simmering with herbal fragrance.

My wife is making the salad

and catches my eyes with her smile.

Time is but a hummingbird, I think.

A thousand hopes and wishes

bloom inside and draw me

with ambrosial sweetness,

which I can’t even begin

to put into words.

Chris Ellery is a retired teacher living in San Angelo. His most recent collection of poems is One Like Silence, offering a vision of solidarity and union: "In silence, the lover perceives the oneness."

friendly state

d. ellis phelps

February 2, 2025

we hope the power 

will stay on—that 

there will be no snow

some of us hope

to see blue in power

but no 

no matter 

how red things get

no matter 

we power on:

drive by the dry riverbed

—pray for rain

dig up invasives

—opt for natives

pre-cycle plastics

—drink from glasses

~

in this state that’s said to be friendly

we’ve built a wall     called neighbors enemies

we’re rather stuck on our civil war heroes

one neighbor still calls some of us negros

~

when the sandhills and wax wings 

arrive every spring

when the dandelions bloom

when the cardinal sings

when the neighbor shares a plate of pasta 

when the kid next door does good    

when the wren returns to her nest by the window

—yellow beaks of a brood reaching

i am assured      

without doubt 

without reason

d. ellis phelps’ work has appeared widely online and in print. She is the author of four poetry collections and one novel and the editor of Moon Shadow Sanctuary Press (MSSP) and of the digital journal fws:  international journal of literature & art where she publishes the work of others.

The Breath of Hope

Betsy Joseph

February 2, 2025

Hope arises in the tiniest of spaces,

in little seen places where despair sets up home.

It shines through all the darkened shades,

sends dust motes swirling through open windows,

restores resilience within a sagging structure.

Once outdoors its gaze turns upward

at the heartening promise of unbroken sky.

Its courage quickens, its spirit lifts;

and though the weight of hope is light,

hope does not doubt its own strong might

and smoothly sails on the sweet breath of calm.

Betsy Joseph lives in Dallas and has poems which have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. She is the author of two poetry books published by Lamar University Literary Press: Only So Many Autumns (2019) and most recently, Relatively Speaking (2022), a collaborative collection with her brother, poet Chip Dameron. In addition, she and her husband, photographer Bruce Jordan, have produced two books, Benches and Lighthouses, which pair her haiku with his black and white photography.

Hope for the Milkman

Vincent Hostak

February 2, 2025

“I am the milkman of human kindness
I will leave an extra pint” - Billy Bragg

My mind yearns to taste the morning 

But my body will have none of that 

It eats the night that ate the day 

Sleeping forward into the next 

I cannot hear the chimes

But know they must be there

The milkman’s bottles clinking

As he walks them up the stairs

I once saw trees at this hour 

Their black bark nearly invisible 

Before they turned a chocolate brown 

When a starling’s whistle scraped the air

Even then the milkman’s rounds were done

Back to the farm and the lowing cows

The sharper sound of empties swaying

Stinging the ears of a tired herd

I hope to sometime wake and greet him

In the quiet nexus of the days

And like him into a compass lean

And see the stars that are hidden there

Vincent Hostak is a writer and media producer from Texas now living near the Front Range of Colorado south of Denver. His recently published poems are found in the journals Sonder Midwest and the Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas and as a contributor to the TPA. He writes & produces the podcast: Crossings-the Refugee Experience in America.

Bad Poem For A Bad Idea

Chuck Taylor

February 2, 2025

I grope to find some hope.

Am I a fool, or a dope?

Is Texas at the end of its rope?

Soon it's food we will lack

If we stay on this political track

And ship all the migrants back.

The situation looks bad.

I don't to wish to sound rad.

What they're planning is sad.

Ranchers will lose a lot of money. 

We will be eating a lot of hominy. 

I hope you don't find this funny.

Chuck Taylor's latest novel is "Hamlet Versus Shakespeare." He taught Shakespeare at Angelo State University. The novel turns the tragedy of Hamlet into an adventure and comedy. Taylor is retired from wandering and teaching and spends his time with books, friends, family, manuscripts, a dog, and household repairs

Beckoning Tomorrow

Milton Jordan

February 2, 2025

Spread along a low run of hills

long arms turn slowly atop longer 

white towers visible well before 

84 climbs the Brazos breaks

urging us forward beyond rusting

pump jacks, a few still moving through 

their mechanical lift and drive motion,

and noticing the increasing number 

standing silently immobile you wonder

if we’re driving toward tomorrow.

Milton Jordan lives with Anne in Georgetown, Texas. He co-edited the first Texas Poetry Assignment anthology, Lone Star Poetry, Kallisto Gaia Press, 2022.

a question for a fellow texan

Sister Lou Ella Hickman

February 2, 2025

                        to cecily

how does one discover

that hope can be a sacred space—

a forest

of

maples

elms

ash

oaks

or stand-alone pines

as the wind sings its night song

inviting you in

Sister Lou Ella Hickman, OVISS is a former teacher and librarian whose writings have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. Press 53 published her first book of poetry in 2015 entitled she: robed and wordless as well as her second, Writing the Stars on October 4, 2024. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2017 and in 2020.   

Listen to Hootie

Chip Dameron

February 2, 2025

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

         Emily Dickinson

Late night: a great horned owl hoots 

from the field behind the house

once again, after days of silence.

Soon another hooting starts:

a second owl, calling out

to the first. The two hoot back

and forth, then finally go silent.

Early morning, their hooting begins

again, and with hoot hoot hoot

answered by hoot hoot hoot hoot

the night creeps on toward dawn.

Soon a new day illuminates

the great gift we, like the owls,

have been given: life in a world 

of innumerable living things.

If we listen closely we may hear

others calling out to us, looking

to make their lives, and ours, 

more meaningful. Let’s hoot back.

Chip Dameron’s latest book, Relatively Speaking, is a shared collection with Betsy Joseph. A member of the Texas Institute of Letters, he’s also been a Dobie Paisano fellow.

This Is What I Know

Irene Keller

February 2, 2025

Irene Keller, Ph.D. is a retired public educator who has always included poetry in her professional and personal life. She has been published in Texas Poetry Assignment and The Senior Class Anthology. She recently won the 2024 Austin Poetry Society Award. 

Hope

Thomas Hemminger

February 2, 2025

A teacher meets a student who 

doesn’t have a friend in the world, 

who defensively believes “might makes right,”

and who can’t communicate a word of 

what they feel, or what they need, but—

the teacher never gives up…why? 

Hope. 

A preacher watches as his church burns. 

150 years of history, generations of

marriages, funerals, dedications, sermons, 

gone; floating away with the smoke

on the breeze. But— as the people weep for the loss, 

they sing through the heartache…why? 

Hope. 

A nation is ripped apart by politics, 

disasters, storms, lies, and betrayal.

Money is swindled, livelihoods ruined,  

cities are shut down, and factories ghosted. 

But— when the sun comes up, neighbors still hold

each other, feed each other, and rebuild together…why?

Hope. 

Thomas Hemminger is an elementary music teacher living in Dallas, Texas. His work has been published locally in Dallas, as well as in The Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge, The Texas Poetry Assignment, and The Poetry Catalog. His personal hero is Mr. Fred Rogers, the creator of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. It was through America’s favorite “neighbor” that Thomas learned of the importance of loving others, and of giving them their own space and grace to grow.