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About Literature / Professional Rob S. RiceMale/United States Recent Activity
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Please Don't Call Me Robert
My parents "Rob-ed" me at my birth,
And, in its cardboard frame,
My birth certificate makes clear
That "Rob" is my first name.
And only that is why I scream
Until it starts to hurt,
That, nickname though just "Rob" might seem,
I've no aversion to that name,
In fact, I think it fine.
It's nothing to dislike or blame,
It's just that it's not mine.
I've known 'Roberts' throughout my life,
In fact there's one I Love,*
But still it cuts me like a knife
And hits me like a shove.
That name, from Latin noun robur
Means "heart of oak," and "strong."
Robustus, "fit," comes from the same,
And "mighty"'d not be wrong.
The name I bear, because my folks
Saw fit that name to give,
Means merely "Rob" because, no jokes,
It's the diminuitive.
The U.S. Navy (which I love)*
Gives me the higher title.
It should not hit me like a glove,
I really shouldn't bridle.
It's just, although I asked and balked,
"Robert" Rice, just last year,
Received all credit when I talked,
And will again,
:iconrobsrice:RobSRice 1 2
By Rob S. Rice
A centauress once came to call
As I lay lost in distant dreams
I heard her hoofsteps in my hall,
I went to greet my lady guest
And left off all my thoughts and schemes.
We talked of little, and of much,
Of things that were, and things we could
Hope to make real, someday, and touch
We drank, and took a minute's rest,
And thought each other's ideas good.
One's mind may roam, with guests at home
One really should be more polite.
I saw her hand move toward a comb
I bowed, and wished her all the best,
And let her go into the night.
And so some beauty came my way
And lingered for a pleasant hour
And when I find my colors gray,
I can cheer up, although depressed
And think of her-such dreams have power.
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Standing Alone
Standing Alone
By Rob S. Rice
I stand and think at night, alone...
Of what seems right when on my own...
Old thoughts that seem forever new,
My own, my centaur's point of view.
Thoughts and sights, what do they mean?
Not of one world, but in between
What some would call, to say the least...
The world of man, the shape of beast.
In retrospective, though, I find
No easy answers in my mind.
No simple way to put the whole,
To codify my two-part soul.
No simple way to put the whole,
To codify my two-part soul.
What was it, now so long escaped...
That left my mind and heart reshaped
Into a thing that cannot be,
That has made half a horse of me.
The legends flow and run on by,
I can know 'that,' I can't know 'why.'
I stand still as the world moves.
My weight upon four phantom hooves.
What is this dream that has me caught?
What is this prison, made of thought?
And is this  all that's left of me--
Divided through eternity?
Or am I a whole combination.
Mixed for some unknown duration.
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Night Thoughts of a Poet
Night Thoughts of a Poet
By Rob S. Rice
I lie in bed musing and think, ceaselessly,
In hope of the visions such times bring to me.
Such intricate splendors, and rotoscoped scenes
Of times elsewhere, elsewhen, with splendid machines!
The ‘whoosh’ of the pistons!
The clatter of gears!
The whirling disk that
Can turn back the years!
The rumbling treads,
The turbines that scream
All loom into view through a veil of steam.
With eyes clasped tight shut I see loom into sight
The tripods the Thunderchild fared forth to fight.
Robur’s groaning aerostat flows through the sky,
And Abraham Lincoln next sails out to die.
The groaning of timbers!
The surge of the sea!
Glowing eyes, thrashing tentacles
Beckon to me.
And, lost in the whirlpool,
I still cannot cease
To wonder where Nautilus
Rusts yet in peace!
Shall Watson and Holmes dare the fog to go chide
A murderous rogue, and take up Edward Hyde?
Shall Union be saved, or will it be accursed?
Which? <em>
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Old Iron
Old Iron
By Rob S. Rice
They say it's time to say goodbye,
They say the end has come at last.
No time to really tell me why,
But you're abandoned to the past.
They say it's over, through and done.
They say that the good times have been.
  I'll give you up when Hell's ice through,
And maybe not quite even then.
Yes, you're old, and so am I.
There's better out there that costs more.
There's other vehicles to try.
But my old key still fits your door.
They've done things to your gas and oil,
They've tried to run you off the road.
But with my brain and sweat and toil
I think you're equal to the load.
Age or luck might let us down
Gas is getting pretty dear.
Gray hairs they call wisdom's crown.
We might not both be here next year.
But you and I still have our hearts,
You maintain your old place in mine.
If I've the time, and coin, and parts,
You and I will hold the line.
Let them snarl, curse, or mock,
Tailgate us, honk, then pass.
Both of us ignore the clock,
You have earned you
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New Kingston, Pennsylvania: Troll vs. Giant
New Kingston, Pennsylvania: Troll vs. Giant
Javalonius Bierdan was like all four-year olds. He was alert, focused, intent, and carrying a beach ball. Daddy had wanted to go to the place where Grandpa had worked. It was going to open again. Grandpa said he would take Daddy. Javalonius expressed a desire to go, too. He expressed it sharply, he expressed it repeatedly, and he expressed it repeatedly with increasing sharpness.
Javalonius went, too.
Tall dark building. Icky spider webs. Grandpa walking around, pointing to this and that, Daddy nodding, looking, and Javalonius carrying his beach ball and looking for something to play with. It was a nice day for late Fall, but neither Daddy nor Grandpa would play with him. No one would until in one long low building--it was a cave, kind of, like the one in the picture books--Javalonius dropped his beach ball. It rolled down into the darkness. He looked around. Daddy and Grandpa had wandered off. It was time to cry. They shoul
:iconrobsrice:RobSRice 1 4
He kept looking--stubbornness was also a family trait, and
in the light of--what they'd done--he needed once more the past to help him
face the future.  There it was, an old envelope in the old manila folder.  The
letter had been too long for Father to frame it, as he so proudly had some of
the other letters, the tributes--all of them forgotten that horrible day, and
in the long, empty, lonely years since.  Ozzie sat down, feeling the yacht
rocking under him as he read:
The Secretary of the
July 2, 1942
Dear Mr. Kingston:
It is my pleasure as Secretary of the Navy to submit to you,
along with the Department’s fullest thanks for your hard work to sustain the
war effort, this transcript of those sections of the report of Lt. Comdr. 
Laertes Biddle, U.S.N. (F.D.) concerning the use of your product, the Kingston
Mk. IV, in his ultimately vain effort to save the U.S.S. Yorktown on the
night of 5 June, 1942. 
Captain Buckmas
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Russell Johnson, 1924-2014
Russell Johnson, 1924-2014
By Rob S. Rice
I groped for myself, and watched on the TV
A story about seven souls lost at sea.
A show long put by, yet that show lingered on
And the person who helped me find me is now gone.
Such a silly series, and so long ago.
But it brought me laughter through childhood woe.
Like so many others, it got through to me,
My long love of laughter, my love of the sea.
They called him 'Professor,' at first, just 'The Rest.'
But of all those people, I liked him the best.
Unflustered and gentle, and careful and kind.
He set an example of a well-stocked mind.
He had a calm nature, a strong, noble heart.
He made me believe that it's good to be smart,
That wisdom was useful and helped you to strive
And in peril book-smarts could keep you alive.
The laughter is memory, the example remains.
He made me find value in research and brains.
He also was silly, he could always smile,
Whatever was needed, he did it with style.
I got my degrees, and I learned how to swi
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Mature content
God D___n You, Cat :iconrobsrice:RobSRice 0 0
By Rob S. Rice
My friend, in the future, as far as it goes,
You'll find it my pride to stand here at your side.
Let all know I'm here as a ward to your woes,
And steel is tempered by blows.
My love, let me be here and ward off your cares,
You'll find that I'm strong, and not part of the throng.
My faithful trustworthiness each new day shows,
And steel is tempered by blows.
The truth is my charge, and I face all its foes
With unveiled scorn, and contempt, now reborn,
For each is a liar, and, in truth, each one knows,
And steel is tempered by blows.
There is ugliness, wind, and the cold, stinging snows,
And they strike at my heart, every one plays its part,
But I can still know beauty, the scent of a rose...
And steel is tempered by blows.
A wall, I'll protect you from all hostile throws,
I've faith in my cause, and I'm more than my flaws,
The more they despise me, the more my strength grows,
And steel is tempered by blows.
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By Rob S. Rice
Of late, I've been alone at length,
Long lonely nights negate my strength,
And sour, at times, my normal mood.
One withers in strict solitude.
I think too often of my past,
The dreams I've watched ill fortune blast,
Sweet swift soft songs that fled from me,
And, laughing, left me, silently.
The images I once held dear,
Draw off and fade, none linger near,
And yet I hear their phantom call,
And wonder if I dream, at all.
Some things remain, my smile, still,
My lust to laugh, at times, my will.
And if, at times, some friendship ends,
I am blessed yet with faithful friends.
And, still, the urge remains in me,
To craft some joke, or poetry,
To place in print scenes in my head,
Lest, with me gone, they too be dead.
And so I reckon up the day,
Left lonely, steeped in some dismay.
Some wisdom gained, as months may mount,
The whole all left in my account.
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Mad Frogs and Garbage Men by Rob S. Rice
Mad Frogs and Garbagemen
By Rob S. Rice
Only mad frogs and garbagemen go in the noonday sun.
Joined only by the rest of us who need to get things done.
Those empty-eyeballed sorts in shorts who wander in a daze,
Half-walking and half-swimming through the moisture laden haze.
To wake up in the mornings when you're swimming in your sheets
Is not so quite as wretched as the kind of day that greets
The early riser with the news "You ain't seen nothing yet!
Today we'll all discover just how rotten it can get!"
When the drinking fountain water starts to come out nearly boiled,
A seat close to a window leaves one half of you near-broiled,
When fish outside the window are sharing the trees with birds,
You know the weather for today will leave you whey and curds.
The waterfall of perspiration trickling down your sides,
That leaves a dark enormous stain no pattern can disguise
Upon your shirt, is joined by grease oozing down from your hair
And sweat in other places (though I don'
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Panes of Leaded Glass by Rob S. Rice
Panes of Leaded Glass
By Rob S. Rice
In dreams or wistful thoughts I see
A world where Bismarck's Germany
Endured in peace and harmony
And spared the world the agony...
I climb a tower or distant hill
And think to see it, lasting, still
A world where airships voyage by
Great gentle giants of the sky.
Extension cords with gas, or air
No mindless clamor everywhere.
And drawing rooms where all repair
To hear harmoniums play there.
A world less steeped in speed and rage,
A world of the narrow gauge.
Caloric engines, anthracite,
Automata to awe, delight...
A world of brandy and cigars,
Aetheric journeys to the stars.
Where city states loom over Mars.
And on the streets one finds centaurs.
A world where traces yet remain
Of the eldritch, urbane, arcane.
And when some ask me to explain
They pause--and think that I'm insane?
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U.S. Navy, 1898By Rob S. Rice
U.S. Navy, 1898
By Rob S. Rice
There was an era, long ago...
Steam and the rifled gun.
Of coaling ship, torpedo nets...
An Empire, in the sun...
The Oregon, in pride and might
Came roaring up the coast...
The Brooklyn, painted blinding white,
Not even, now, a ghost.
Is Sampson now at peace with Schley?
Are Dewey's laurels green?
Will Hobson soon get underweigh?
Did Gridley still die keen?
The monitors, torpedo boats,
The ships for 'Coast Defense'
And months outside a Cuban port,
First boredom, then suspense.
Where lurks now the Vesuvius?
Which Texas is at Sea?
I wonder and try to recall
What things once used to be.
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If I Could Talk To My Motorcar
If I Could Talk To My Motorcars
Parody by Rob S. Rice
If I could talk to my motorcars,
Oh, what happiness,
Finding out what's ailing my GT!
I could go chivvying my Chevies,
Take my Dart to levees,
Take a Toyota or two to tea!
If I could chat with my Cadillac,
Oh, the joy of it,
All the lovely things she'd say to me...
She'd tell me all the fuels she favored,
Oil brands she savored.
And what shade of coolant caused her glee...
I could fix squeaks
With just a bit of speaking,
And any leaks
I'd know of instantly.
Should there be shorts
Somewhere in my wiring,
I'd not be tiring-
If I could share in a dialogue
With a Pontiac
Engage my Chrysler in swift repartee...
If I could talk to my motorcars,
Not balk with motorcars,
Chat around the clock with my motorcars...
And they could spill...
Yes spill...
Their guts...
To me!
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The Fish-Goat Reflects
The Fish-Goat Reflects
I think Astrology absurd
Superstition-what's the word?
Quantified! Yet traits appear
In those born at this time of year.
We plot and scheme and scheme and plot
To get what we have not yet got.
Each of us subtle winter-born,
Each scheming little Capricorn.
We eat and drink, but mind our health,
We cache our slowly-gotten wealth.
Delay our pleasures, wait, instead.
And bide our time to get ahead.
While others bluster, rage, or mope.
We keep our counsel, pay out rope,
We choose our words and aim to please,
And exploit vulnerabilities!
As children, prematurely old,
We sup revenge as best-served-cold!
Our turtle shells we proudly wear,
But put lead boots upon the hare.
We winter-children, born of frost,
We make our gains at smallest cost.
We're firm in friendship, seldom late.
We live, but first!  We calculate!
Patient and sneaky, calm, and wise,
We win quite often by surprise.
We thrive on ignorance and scorn-
Each scheming, crafty, Capricorn!
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Windmill Windmill, For the Land by PaxAeternum Windmill Windmill, For the Land :iconpaxaeternum:PaxAeternum 19 25 Steampunk Sally - New by ChazKemp Steampunk Sally - New :iconchazkemp:ChazKemp 165 59 Morgan le Fay by MichaelHoweArts Morgan le Fay :iconmichaelhowearts:MichaelHoweArts 9 4 Chronicles of Loquacious Cover by MichaelHoweArts Chronicles of Loquacious Cover :iconmichaelhowearts:MichaelHoweArts 7 4



Anyone who enjoys pictures of vintage automobiles might enjoy this link:

I'm not fussy about what good use you make of those...

If you like Volkswagens, as do all persons of discriminating taste, there's HERE:

and HERE:

and maybe even HERE:

 and as a bonus for lovers of VW's and other old cars... HERE!

Again, if you want to do anything but publish 'em under your own name, go for it.  I do love old, faithful iron.


RobSRice's Profile Picture
Rob S. Rice
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Rob S. Rice has long had a fascination with the histories of war, technology, and always the sea. He has delivered papers before the American Philological Association, lectured at Annapolis and has taught subjects from Mythology to Roman History. Before all THAT, he won the 1st Del Rey ‘Writers of Tomorrow’ contest in 1983, the bug bit hard and early, and has never quite let him go.

His articles on the U.S. Navy appear in the respected Reader’s Guide to Military History. He also wrote sections of Fighting Techniques of the Ancient World, Fighting Techniques of the Early Modern Era, and other non-fiction. He has three books of historical fantasy out from The Esterhazy Press: Archival: Most Secret; Darkness in the Mirror, and The Chronicles of Loquacious, Centaur, of Rhodes.

Dr. Rice is an accomplished marksman, a published poet and a street actor and historical consultant for the Colorado Renaissance Festival in Larkspur. He is the cherishing owner of Big Dodge, his 1970 Dodge Dart, and Winston, a 1984 Volkswagen Westfalia Camper.
He lives near Denver, Colorado.


Add a Comment:
MensjeDeZeemeermin Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2016
May your Muse laughingly cajole, convince, inspire, and take you on a beautiful and worthwhile drive to places and happy adventures you've never even imagined. May a justified belief that something wonderful is just around the corner brighten your life forever. May you not doubt your abilities, but labor successfully to expand them. May your dreams not prove nightmares, may you glimpse other strange worlds and let us share them with you--may those you love rejoice in you, and you in them, may joy and inspiration be faithful, friendly companions and helpers always. Happy Birthday, old friend. Everybody didn't forget--AND YOU KNOW IT!
914four Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for watching, and the llama!
RobSRice Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2015  Professional Writer
You and I have similar interests, I have enjoyed your work, and hope you will enjoy mine.
914four Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
I thoroughly enjoyed "The Chronicles of Loquacious,' and look forward to reading "Acts of Heroes." Alas, the only travel I'm doing lately is by car, so not getting much reading done, but it is on my reading list, just waiting for the Kindle edition. 
RobSRice Featured By Owner Dec 6, 2015  Professional Writer
I am doing my best to get ALL my works out as E-texts.  It is taking far more time after I did nearly all the work than I thought it would.  I would still enjoy a conversation on Google Plus or the like at any time we can arrange it.
(1 Reply)
Thank you for the favourite!
RobSRice Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2015  Professional Writer
Thank you very much for sharing beautiful works of creativity!
Your welcome!
914four Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday Robert :cake:
RobSRice Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2015  Professional Writer

Thank you very much.  Did you ever read my book?  I read your first one!
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