RobSRice

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, MY NAME IS NOT ROB-ERT!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 ...

CallerBy Rob S. RiceA 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...

Standing AloneBy Rob S. RiceI 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 reshapedInto a thing that cannot be, That has made half a horse of me. The le...

Night Thoughts of a PoetBy Rob S. RiceI 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 sur...

Old Iron By Rob S. RiceThey 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 pr...

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 ...

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 Navy Washington   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 t...

Russell Johnson, 1924-2014 By Rob S. RiceI 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...

Blows 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 ...