Robert Lydick
A person enters into the proposition of writing about oneself with trepidation, oftentimes because of something not quite certain. Let me start with facts to see how these evolve. Firstly, I have a lovely daughter who lives happily and learns with an eagerness reminding me of my youth. I am a teacher, newly beginning into the realm of public school chemistry and physics. Being an industrial scientist, a term I coined to describe myself - it's apt - gave me opportunity to travel to many parts of the world. I have been writing poetry since junior high school, coming to over 30 years. While writing may be a profession, I am far from professional. While there my be perfection somewhere, it would not be a claim of my work.

With a group of poets and artists who read or display their works at various coffee houses in Knoxville, I collate an anthology of poetry called Knoxville Brew - Anthem to a Scruffy City - Coffee House Poetry. There have been many fine works in these collections and the 4th is in some stage of assemblage now. Besides hosting open mics at various locations, I've conducted several workshops for writing poetry and beginning the Fall of 2002, will continue this process of learning with a monthly workshop in collaboration with Laura Still. Most of my poems have been collected into a series of texts, and chap books appear for different occasions, such as Night of Three Muses a collaborative effort with musicians, dancers and other poets coordinated by James Molchan. I serve on the boards of the Knoxville Writers Guild and A1LabArts.

"I cannot hold all of the days
That I have existed."
Roger Hay 20Dec2000

Holding herself up on a borrowed metal walker,
She shuffled along on tennis balls and plastic wheels,
From the window (where bitter winds drift
snow high against the wall reaching the window),
To the doorway in the hall looking out for
Someone - her cup of juice with ice - a last good-bye
To her roommate who passed and
Her son and daughter took the bedspread
Protecting and warm on these harsh days,
She leaned her head against the door -
There were no tears - a sigh lingered
And I realize they all look the same,
There is no disguise for what they hold inside.

(RIPL201200N31)
--------------

A poet sobs
tears fill the world,
Lifting burdens
carried by all souls.

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