WARM BREAD
“You smell just like warm bread,” I said. And she seemed hurt by my thought…
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.
“You smell just like warm bread,” I said. And she seemed hurt by my thought…
…once the mighty Moche clan raised pyramids and temples grand….
What I may know of poetry has seeped into my veins not from poets greatly renown…
Horn of Africa, trumpets of fear. Fears of starvation, maiming, murder. Bags of skin and bones buried near…
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When the Gods are saddened By dissolute actions of men, they shed copious tears to mask the air…
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The river of my youth flowed gently through, taking time to visit all the small coves while leaving behind sandbars and shallows….
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Small lights, blinking in the distance like diamonds set in the coal black hill…The ultra quiet dip of an oar…
If a friend asked you to write a note to attach to a gift intended for your friend’s hospitalized mother, what would you write?
Watching the ebb and flow of life as battle is waged…Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow
This day has dragged so slowly…All is not well on this Christmas Eve….