Robert L. Bixler III
I was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1985. Lived in the small semi-country town of Broken Arrow till 4th grade, when my family moved to Clearwater, FL. Now living in a middle to upper class suburban city proved an emotionally challenging environment for myself. Being in a lower middle class family, I delved myself into sports, academic studies, and music to distract myself from the social differences that money, or the lack thereof causes. My middle school days proved the developing ground for my poetry and views of life. Being a more sensitive male, I was ridiculed for both my looks and kindness. Seems the east coast lifestyle isn't as kind as the bible belt was. In High school, I was the guy ... more »
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Robert L. Bixler III Poems
Flaming petal of lust, Sweet smell of romance, This passionate flower of trust Radiates more with each glance.
A thousand grains of sand In time I’ll understand The way I also sacrifice Myself to be so nice
You played him with pleasure multiples times over; Turn the key and have him play the symbols for you, But this monkey has reached his final smile And is breaking his symbols to run out on you.
(This is dedicated to LCpl Casper, USMC.... Keep your head down! !) Devil Pup o' Devil Pup Show me the military way.
When Death Becomes Your Only Muse
When death becomes your only muse How does one continue to write? Year by year, you begin to lose The love of life and quest for right.
As Thee Will'eth
For the love of thy night creature, Call’eth, with thy heart, dark romance’s very teacher. As thee will’eth on thy heavenly plain, So shall it be in thy hellish refrain.
In plain gaze, sight to see, The social circle has been drawn. Aperture, where everyone wants to be, Is the place for a simple pawn.
True Love's Light
Solitarily hung, single beat, This heart glows lonely in the dark. Longing for sound of repeat, This lively recluse does lark.
What power has a word Rather spoken or written? In any other cause forward Of Honor, it is merely intermittent.
Such a boundary is spoken language, Seemingly unbreakable and burdensome. I watch you as you speak, Such a foreign language to me.
In dark, solitary remembrance a friendship fades As time dissolves the few remaining strands. How hindsight bias, and emotional reminisce, jades The memory that such a connection brands.
Live, Love, Die
Morbid sleep of a thousand years. Wake grotesque and lustful intent. I am under the control of all my fears. Blood calling for the escape of life's indecent.
For I Am
Such fair-weather friends have I, that even the mid-summer day’s Storms that roll in with fury and disappear with haste Would grace my presence in the length of their stay; It would be longer than any that I have known.
Fortress of Solitude
There is dissention in my ranks Someone’s robbed my emotional banks Left me all for broke Such a great joke.
Comments about Robert L. Bixler III
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Flaming petal of lust,
Sweet smell of romance,
This passionate flower of trust
Radiates more with each glance.
The seed was in your eye.
Nurturing fed inferno,
Lively this flower blooms by
The strength your soul does show.
Blazoned in eternity,
This burn shall be
Forever a heartfelt part of me,
Sparked by the beauty I see.