THE FOUNTAIN
January 11 is National Step In The Puddle And Splash Your Friends. How will you celebrate this day?
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.
January 11 is National Step In The Puddle And Splash Your Friends. How will you celebrate this day?
What is it we truly seek when we dream of venturing beyond the atmosphere of Earth?
Time like a windmill ever turning….
A brief greeting card from the author.
Candlelight and strange old tales wove long ago fantastic dreams of phantom ships with silver sails….
We sliced the skies with roaring rocket knives and came to dream beside these slumbrous seas of planets beyond, beyond the Pleiades…now in strangered exile do we weep….
It seeps through like a fog in sweeps of color and swirls the room….
There is a storehouse of delight….
Gardens, old, forgotten, sweet, and strolling ghostly feet….
So many letters have been sent to soldiers away from home. What would you choose to write?