Audrey C. Hague Shalimar, Florida

My early years on a prairie homestead in Colorado gave me a love of space and silence and a friendship with myself. I've been writing since I learned the alphabet, but all things written before 1932 were accidentally burned. In a long life with many turnings, I've been many things: wife, parent, grand- and great-grandmother, war plant worker, secretary, nurse, fiction writer, columnist, youth camp counselor, Sunday school teacher, program and discussion leader, long time Elder, and a puppeteer who designs and makes my own creatures as well as teaching others the art. A needle crafter, I also dabble in oils. Now semi-retired, I work part time as a Certified Care Giver. My first book of poetry, Blowing in the Wind, should be ready early in 1997.

The Marionette's Message Limp marionettes hanging on a dingy theater wall Waiting the master hand to give them birth, Calling from dangling limbs the dance of mirth That holds expectant youthful eyes in thrall, And for awhile makes children of us all. These big eyed dolls, fashioned of tree and earth Have without help no creature life, no self worth, They only wait. For others' aid they cannot call. I need no strings to move, My soul is free! The choice is mine for good or ill. Success or Failure mine. Without help I proudly stand, Shall I give or simply take? It's up to me. Money? Success? Fame? No! I want much more - To live complete I choose the master's hand.

The Turtle and the Hare I heard of a turtle who accepted a dare To run a mile race with a mad-cap hare, With never a glance at the world about He plodded along on his chosen route. While the hare watched cloud ships sail the blue, Admired a spider's web diamond with dew, Played with wee bunnies, teased a fat toad, Then kicked up his heels and danced in the road Played tag with the wind, smelled a wild rose And found at the goal post he'd lost by a nose. With his eye on the goal, at his own steady pace. Had plodded that turtle to win the race. But I wonder anew, as the race was done, Which of those two had really won?

Prairie Lullaby Sleep, my little son Snug in the soddy, The coyote is singing His song to the moon. No longer the wagon wheels Endlessly rolling, For we are at last in The land of our dreams. Out of the vast prairie Your Daddy is carving A safe home for his own. So sleep my little one, Dream of tomorrow, Sleep my little son, Safe in our soddy.

All poems Copyright © 1996 Audrey C. Hague. All rights reserved.