FOOTSTEPS
Footsteps walking forever at the beach toward some distant unknown goal….
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.
Footsteps walking forever at the beach toward some distant unknown goal….
Dreams are as the dust of stars…
Come one, come all, come to the show! Come hear the blaze of lightning
And feel the loving caress of moonbeams….
The cooling touch upon the fevered brow
A quiet word in the still of the night…
All of the guns became suddenly so quiet
A silence so engulfed the battlefront that even the winds seemed stilled…
All the earth sheds tears today But all of heaven is rejoicing….
The author contemplates the metaphor of Autumn.
He crosses the schoolyard, climbs the fence into a meadow and is near the road when he hears that loud voice calling out behind….
High spirited, free thinkers all, they thought they were indestructible. No soft hands in this hard-driven crew…
Swiftly the Autumn winds have seared our trees with scorchless fires of scarlet, gold and rust….