Robert L. Bixler III
Biography of 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 that everyone knew and liked, but I still found myself alone at night. It was during this point in my life that I developed the Hopeless-Romanticism ideology to add to my dark, depressant poetry. After losing my athletic scholarship to the Air Force Academy, and any chance of playing baseball after high school, because of the new varsity coach, I decided to attend Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Daytona Beach, FL on a state scholarship. The idea of flying and the lack of females at the college appealed to me. I could finally focus on my studies. Little did I know that the lack of females would actually prove more distracting then I thought. I spent the first 1.5 years in the Navy's Reserve Officer Training Corps unit at ERAU. Learning some valuable life tools before I left due to the fact that I would not pick up a commissioning as an officer. So on 30 November 2005, I enlisted into the Navy Reserves and changed my major to Meteorology. Which brings you to the present portion of my life as I live it.
Robert L. Bixler III's Works:
Anthology of Young American Poets 1998
Color Me Human 2000
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.
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.
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.
(This is dedicated to LCpl Casper, USMC.... Keep your head down! !) Devil Pup o' Devil Pup Show me the military way.
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.
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.
Playing With Fire
“Be careful when you play with fire” they say, But if you never open yourself enough to burn; Then you will never feel that encompassing day. If you never get singed, you can never learn
As the cold seeps slowly in And the warmth once there fades, How does one continue on? To move members frozen solid,
Creature Of The Night
In darkness swirling sound Death is abound and all around. Find your solace in the final requiem When with salty taste life leaves, carpe diem.
Three women fight over my heart, Holding me bound to their desire. The quarrel stagnates without start As the sirens enlighten the liar.
Write Her Off
Another name to add to the list,
And yet one more time to get the gist.
Never mind this agonizing cough
That hides my tear as another girl is written off.
You see this book that’s in my hand
Is where my rejections finally land.
Each girl that I have held so very true,
Has her number here, her lasting hue.