SONG OF HEALING LIGHT
Was that your voice, dear one, last night I heard or…
Margaret Roxby was an award-winning poet published internationally in poetry magazines and anthologies, in addition to her two chapbooks, Glass Rain, Golden Rain and Medley. She was a fellow with the World Poetry Society International, local chapter board member of the National League of American Pen Women, and active in the California Federation of Chapparal Poets. She was included in the World Who’s Who of Women, Yearbook of Modern Poetry (1971), and International Who’s Who in Poetry (1971-1973). Margaret was often requested to speak on poetry and to present book reviews to local organizations. Her favorite quote was, “God, you have been good to me. You gave me a love of poetry.”
Margaret also dabbled in prose publishing articles in the Sunday supplement for the Long Beach Independent-Press Telegram newspaper, Los Fierros, a publication of the Los Cerritos Docents. She had a long running column for LBCC General Adult Division newsletter. She authored several more articles, short stories and a science fiction novel.
Margaret was a native of West Virginia where she worked through the 1930’s depression as a typist/clerk typing 200+ wpm. After marriage and the start of WW2, she moved with her husband to Long Beach, California where she worked several years as a secretary. Margaret served several years as a Camp Fire Girls leader and was elected the area’s PTA representative to the state-wide convention. When her son was ready for pre-school, she enrolled in LB City College studying psychology and later creative writing with Alice Wright, founder of a popular, long-running writers’ conference hosted in Long Beach.
Was that your voice, dear one, last night I heard or…
Beyond tomorrow make safari, O, my soul into the new country…
…This dream grows overlong and I am sick of fears and these unheeded tears…
The brown-eyed children are at play, a light-as-air dream symphony. Before, unnoticed, it slips away pause and listen to melody…
Roses, waxen-pale…Smug among painted leaves…
A poet plays with form, poems in the shape of a sail.
Terraced realm on high, ancient mystery, whose people left no good-bye…
Riding the tiger terror of his mind’s eye, he plunges through dense, dark forests…
Out of the millions and millions and millions, this one, this potential exists: mystery of the universe…
Goddess, come down from the spacious halls on a charger, come down…