Celebrating Creativity: My New Poetry Page as the Lewisville Poet Laureate, Featuring Inspiring Literary Works Inspired by the World Around Us!
Inaugural Poem from new Poet Laureate, Jas Mardis
The Lewisville Lights
There is a place
amongst all the momentary places of this City
from the past 101 years since it was born
since the first shovels of earth were moved into the places of comfort
since there were mounds of excitement, wonder and imagination
that twilight blessed thru the necessary hours
before the farmers could hurry back to those clumps of earth
and make new sense of dreams and hopes and wants in the new light of day
For one hundred years
the various general places of men
pointed out and named in their turn as:
Church. School. Business. Government. Library. Neighborhood. Home
became somewhere we gathered our hope
became someplace changed that we wanted to show each other
became some or another moment marked by wonder
and one hundred years of reasons to have a friend a love a grand regard and gracefulness
Give us all a satchel of those round badges
like the ones on the plate glass places downtown
the ones that say how many years within the first one hundred
I have been here
those white badges of courage
that show trust in the direction of a place called home
I want one for the first time, 27 years ago, when I took the exit at Fox Avenue
and found my way back to 802 Bellaire and the Baptist Church
where the people were so plentiful and wholesome and prosperous
and amazingly just like the whole town
I want one for 35 years of weekends doing fish removal at Lake Park and that legendary Barge
where my daughter lived out the stories
that won her a full ride fisheries scholarship and later
two Teacher of the Year honors in STEM
I want one for 25 years in my first and only home on Auburn Lane and 16 years of marriage
I want one for 11 years ago
when a stranger saw me drop my keys into Lewisville Lake
and with humanity offered me his truck to run home and get my spare set
How marvelous to plant ourselves here
to land aground where bigger things occur on both stretches and sides of the freeway
to give our children over to the wit and wonder of curriculums and imaginations
to go from farm and field-to-computers and wonders abroad
to leave our hilltop and test their measure against the world that seems afar
to await their return and still hear them call this place home
to bring back new tales and trials already confirmed by our 100 years of planting
Surely, by now
there is a century of places in a century of hearts in a century of lives
that will be called by the name of this City
there is a century of dreams a century of stories and a century of ups and downs
that will claim to be the full measure of our place along the highway
and still it remains the place of its beginning
with new earth being moved by dreams and hopes and glaring regard
that for one hundred years and now another
we are still turning soil planting trees and imagining more for the coming rise and setting of our suns
we are still full of different peoples
still fond of surprising laughter and discovered places to show each other
still finding our selves and our children
rising early and refreshed with new thoughts and methods and clarity of purpose
ready with responses that ride on waves upon waves
like the glass river that climbs the Library wall and bursts into sun kissed streams of light
that beg young and old hearts toward wonder and wander with shared joy in conversation about it
and gives the regenerating light not of the birthday cake’s flickering candle
but the eternal light planted encouragingly within our hearts
and shines from within our souls
and is seen by those around us who come here
drawn now and forever more
by the Lewisville Light
that 100 years of knowing and having a true place
ignites in all our eyes
Jas Mardis
2026
The Freeze Fishermen of Copperas Branch Park
At the lake inlet they used to call Tower Bay the fishermen pretend
this is not three days of snow on the ground
that there was no ice causing the residents to park askew
with at least one tire on the gravel side of the curb
and another on corrugated box halves that won’t let their tires spin
but there is certainly snow on the ground
and bursts of frozen breaths on the air like refused clouds
floating at six feet and hanging on to their moments of wintry life
hoping for work as background in a selfie
or to be bounced against swerving and jerking cars on black ice
it will be hard to forget the beauty of Copperas Branch Park
dressed like a bride in the rolling, curved, blanched blankets of
snow and winter grass and a stilled-blue-curved and circled expanse
of lapping and bank-licked watery glass
surely
this is as near a Texan will come to a glacier
polar bear or hope for a river salmon about to breach
still
for a moment
before you turn your gaze
there is reason to admit that some of the tears in some of the eyes
are not merely from the hell doused single digit temperature of the day
there is beauty for miles well across the land and lake
and the fishermen gasp at the white tops of trees
and their companion trails in the distance
and wish for fast boats that will take them afar from shore
these are the barren few days of our surrender to Winter
days and nights of forbidden chill and dangers
days where work is done by those who know no comforts
and are called to surrender their fears and safety
so that others with more can pretend want
and the fishermen are here in search of braggadocio
their bravado and prowess against lesser warmth seeking foes
will pepper social media in bursts of annoyance
and their witnessing video reels of moving water and curses at loose lines
will be a testament to the decision of warm men
at sundown
or the unbearable creeping in of cold
the parting fishermen shake their collective heads in turn
as they skitter passed each other to their trucks
with a hope that splashes of bleach
over the grooves and deep treads in their tires
will grapple thru the layers of black ice
and claw their trucks up the hill
when it is their turn
to curse thru a frosted pane at the smoke and whipping rear end
of
escaping capture
like the ones on their lines
in the ignored Texas tundra of the lake
that they will soon talk about
in front of fireplaces
the ones that jumped with their hook set
mouth agape body fat with the strength ready for the spawn
and a whipping tail
beating and slapping and jerking
until it got away
1-25-2026
1-18-2026
To Watch A Bridge Beg From Water
I know this bridge
and a stretch of curve in its life
with a thousand thunderous footfalls
that left no dusty tracks
that landed and lifted and bounced
with precision and clarity and aplomb
Except for my clumsiness with rods and bait
my unsteady romping and wandering
my eyes taking in wisps, willows and wandering vines
that Tarzaned between native plants and trees
swollen up from the risen lapping lake water
this bridge between curving asphalt rivers
for all these years
would likely have succumbed to the insanity
of this now
dry, weed-woven and wanton river basin beneath it
None of these footfallers
twenty eight years hence
beg their imaginations for the truth of my wanting photos from this bridge
they slow themselves down
and imagine me a slippery slope in time
my cup of coffee and moving camera
clearly a ruse
a rugged setting Sunday sun
unworthy of adoration:
revealing shadows on a dim stoned tower
ricocheting a tremendous whipping dance of tree limbs, branches and vines chiaroscuro
against a dry season behind me in my white shirt
Like the bridge
the fleet footed erasures of mankind
have no need of this mile-marked spot before the next flash of stone and rusted steel marker
but
they stammer in protest of my wanderlust
a man who cannot be trusted with bother
pretends amazement and says,
“Why?”…”What makes that worthy?…”
Then, he risks a look, finally, for himself and says, “Must be the sun…maybe”
I give him my moment and say,
It has been a long time, but once
the bridge you’re on had lots of water beneath
and the fish were as thick as the brambles are right now!
He doubted me but tried his imagination
and turned and raised a foot
“I’ll bet the bridge is begging for that water now!”
his foot fell to the earth
he patted the rust and wood beam of the bridge
his foot rose anew
I saw the sun against his back
Jas Mardis is an award winning Writer and Artist. He is a 2014 Inductee to The Texas Literary Hall of Fame; a 2000 Pushcart Prize Recipient and 2026-2027 Poet Laureate of Lewisville, Texas
Jas Mardis 