Clyde A. Beakley

Waldport, Oregon

Clyde Adair Beakley was born November 15, 1915 to Grace Faith Carleton and David Clyde Beakley in Friendship, Tenn. He is about one quart Cherokee, two quarts Scotch, and one quart Irish. The last quart probably accounts for the poetry. He completed Fresno State College in time to serve in the Air Force during World War II. He believes there is one race on this planet, known as the human race. He loves life in all of its manifestations. He loved Dorothy Aline Fisher Beakley for sixty years here and loves her still. He does not believe "death" is the final answer, but rather a passage to new beginnings. He loves his fellowman even while disagreeing with some of his actions. He lives, loves and struggles, as do all. He has a sense of humor, which helps him survive "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," as brother Will said.

Word Wonder

How like swallows in the morning
Feeding swiftly in the sunlight
Comes word music to my
yearning;
May I catch it in its coming
In the dawning's early burning
When all nature's humming.

In my striving to secure them.
Words of magic slip away;
Melodies I hear dissolve in air
Could I somehow immune them,
I would give them without care
To all who would endure them.

Could I somehow catch
the singing
Of these words of Heaven's
giving.
Melodies that fade in airing,
Could I take these bright
songs winging,
I would sing them to world, caring
Only for the joy of bringing.

Winter Song

The crystal stars lean earthward
on their beams,
Timeless in beauty, silent as a
thought,
Caressing each heart who walks
the night and dreams
Beyond the trying trifles day has
brought.

Music like a woman charms the
sense,
And humour soothes the ruffled
vanity;
And hearthside company grants
strong defense
Against the cold of inhumanity.

Faith is a faery flower winterborn,
Blooming through evil like an
edelweiss,
Bursting in glory in the
snowy morn,
Radiant emblem on her shield
of ice.

Love is a warming wine,
winning our wills,
A perfect rose, a song, a feast,
a wraith
Whose magic raises cities on
the hills,
Who still remains intangible
as faith.