THAT OLD TIRE
Down the hill it went. Faster and faster…Curled inside was one very small boy With his knuckles white, screaming….
Robert Roxby was a member of the local chapter of the California Federation of Chapparal Poets. The writing of his youth was lost, but he dived into poetry after his retirement at the encouragement of his wife, eventually earning honors for his poetry at the Lakewood Pan American Festival. With his daughter he produced an anthology of his poetry, Reflections on a Lifetime, distributed to the local library, to family and friends. His favorite poet was Walt Whitman.
Robert was the ninth of 16 children born to a coal mining family and lived at various times in Ohio and Pennsylvania until finally settling in West Virginia. He had several jobs, coal miner, as crew with Civil Conservation Corps and house painter. After WW2 began, he moved with his wife to Long Beach, California where he found employment as a painter with the LB Naval Shipyard. He was an avid bowler maintaining a 250 average and receiving many awards from the local leagues. He dabbled with oil painting, producing several landscapes and some abstract art. He enjoyed woodcarving (primarily whittling) and handicapping horse races. After retirement he was active in the senior center and in city politics as a member of Long Beach Area Citizens Involved (LBACI) working on affordable housing projects.
Down the hill it went. Faster and faster…Curled inside was one very small boy With his knuckles white, screaming….
The Boy Scout troop—so tried and true—Each one alone with his secret fear…
Looking down at your thin, tired face, so many memories flooded my mind….
…proud farmers…an indentured servant…a mountaineer marksman…On a windswept hill, a memorial stands
A quiet moment at the end of day.
…My love is like this wild flower fire…
Wonderful images of Spring
…The white god stepped out so all-aglow….
Green as the grass may grow, Irish hearts grow in rows—
…my whole body and soul respond as if I were a violin.