milford spotlight until his term expires in 2020, and is free to shape the position for future creatives following in his footsteps. A Milford native, and graduate of Jonathan Law High School and Northeastern College, Theebs has been writing for a large part of his life and considers himself overall a very creative person. His online gallery, entitled “Also That,” displays his passion for short films, stories, and painting, as well as prose and poems. Through time and a good response from his audiences, he says he has refined his poetry and now it comes naturally. Theebs’ responsibilities as Milford Poet Laureate are open-ended. The most obvious are to compose poems for city events and to read aloud at gatherings. One of his primary focuses so far has been in maintaining a writer’s group that meets on Thursdays twice a month at the Milford Arts Council. The members of the group receive prompts upon
T
he role of the City of Milford Poet Laureate is to elevate poetry in the consciousness of Milford residents and to help celebrate the literary arts. The Poet Laureate will act as an advocate for poetry, literature, and the arts, and contribute to the City of
Milford’s poetry and literary legacy through public readings and participation in civic events. A lifelong lover of all things creative, Mick
mentioned reading about it. After sending
Theebs was not always a poet. Even though
in his application, he was interviewed by a
his poetry is seasoned and effortless, Theebs
board of literary professionals, civic leaders,
originally began as a prose writer. He only
and educators, and in 2016 was named as the
became aware of the call for a resident
first Poet Laureate of Milford.
Poet Laureate in Milford when his father
52 Milford Living • Winter
At 25 years old, Theebs serves in his role
COURTESY OF MICK THEEBS
Milford’s Poet Laureate
WINTER
The chill is here crystal clear we brace against the cold. The turkey’s gone. The pies are eaten. Jack Frost is growing bold. The trees, once alive like fireworks, have long since lost their leaves. And the sun, that dear old friend, has somewhere else to be, leaving us alone in the jagged frostiness of night. Don’t fret, don’t cry, we’ll be all right. It’s not a permanent thing. Trust in me, I promise you, Soon enough it will be spring.