B. B. Watkins

Maplewood, NJ

I started writing poetry later in my life -- after Vassar College, a few jobs, marriage, and two children to enjoy and help on their way. At that point I had more time for reflection on our relationship with Nature, with all its power and beauty; and also, human nature with its joys, troubles and wonder. I have over 60 poems published so far by The National Library of Poetry and others. When writing them I have felt that rhythm is as important as the rhyme and subject matter for engendering emotional response and enjoyment.

There He Is...
Just look at the baby lying there,
Eyes tight shut in first repose;
A harvest of so much time and care,
Reaped, at last, in birthing throes.

How strange this sense of initial meeting
With someone as yet so very unknown;
Untouched by previous glance or greeting
Yet bearing the seed of inheritance sown.

We hesitantly seek a familiar trait,
Some tenuous link to bind us fast,
Trying to absorb this spawn of our wait,
This mint-fresh being of an ageless past.

No layer of prior perception here;
We truly are seeing him just as he is;
An innocent babe with future dear,
Just starting forth in this world of his...

The Folly Of Judging
Just who am I to be judging
When I don't have all the facts
Or know just how to qualify
The reasons behind the acts.

Is destiny, really responsive
To any man's guiding shove?
Who knows what `might' have been..
What forces are at work, above?

To come right out and judge
Is nothing short of vain,
For who am I to say
I've seen it all so plain.

Much better to agree that I
Will never encompass the whole
But see only `bits and pieces'
Of what goes on in a soul.

Please, Not Yet...
Fall lies ahead, but feeling bereft,
Backward I peer round Summer's bend--
One last glimpse of the joys being left
Till another long year shall finally end...
For orange now will intrude on green
And colder air will nip at bare arms
As Nature paints her rustic scene,
Trying to coax with her pastel charms.
Reluctantly, grudgingly, will I observe
As memories of Summer gradually fade--
Only setting forth on Fall's cool curve
At the browning of my precious jade...