I was born in Holland in 1950. My parents immigrated to the United States when I was two years old. I have a BA in History from the University of California at Santa Cruz, but chose a career as a Postal carrier when teaching jobs grew scarce. My wife Diane and I raised four children to adulthood and now are enjoying retirement and grandchildren on the Flathead Lake in Northwestern Montana. ... more »
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Roy Blokker Poems
I am often asked, Asked quietly by myself While the dark trembles Like the cold expectant thing
The Nothing hid her silent thoughts Behind a pair of cheap sunglasses. She wandered down the empty halls Looking for fresh flowers
The wait excruciates. The wait is life Between those brief seconds Of pain and joy,
I've already caught one, Though today's search just began: I feel like a recruiter At an ROTC camp:
Mister Chamberlain was wounded At the Battle of the Somme. He disappeared for seven months, Lost to everyone.
The One True God
The altars stand in ruins, some, The shrines where we keep watch, Old churches filled with dust and soot. Pews empty and unlatched.
Trapped within his chrysaline shell Buried deep under the ground Scattered around Ypres, Arras, His unmarked tomb he wrote
Meeting Ronald Reagan
My brother talks of Reagan as a God, A gleam of sweet nostalgia in his eye, Of how he brought back confidence and pride After the moral despair of Vietnam
Good-Bye Windows Xp
So good-bye, Windows XP, Look what they're doing to me. I can't even upgrade the system: I must buy a whole new PC.
Old And New At The Grammies 2014
You do not know the Sixties. The Civil War is ancient history, World War One the realm of dead poets No one ever reads,
Limits On God
We blame Him; He has broad shoulders. We seek His truths; He shrouds them In riddles we do not understand. Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Dead writer having writ, Add his name to the reading list, He says, climbing into Someone else's car.
Banned In Boston
Read me. Let Holden Caulfield erase graffiti From the walls Of the canyons
Still waters run deep red, Rainbows warn of the perfect flood; Promises made are broken instead Throughout the cosmic neighborhood,
Comments about Roy Blokker
I am often asked,
Asked quietly by myself
While the dark trembles
Like the cold expectant thing
It is - I am asked
If I feel guilty
While so many went.
I let the dark answer for me,
Swallowing my every fear,
Regurgitating each in turn
In my dreams:
I feel no guilt, only sorrow,
That they went they knew
And always go.