William B. Watterson
William B. Watterson Poems
It rained the day she died.
Somber, stygian clouds crept across Beech Mountain
In the night, suffusing the swales between somnolent hills,
Drenching the ancient peaks, and we awoke to sodden skies.
...
Lightly skipping
up the steps
of a rustic beach cottage,
she could still hear
...
“My son, you’re only twelve years old, ” she said,
“And if I let you journey into town,
Someone might cut your throat or strike you down.”
But still the boy continually pled,
...
(Galileo Galilei, from Arcetri,1638)
My telescope astounded and amazed.
The moons of Jupiter I viewed and knew
...
Being married is a lot like
Eating handfuls of jelly beans
One after another.
In about every dozen sugary lumps
...
Do not let throbbing love subside tonight,
Strong passions crave release before the day,
Make haste against the breaking of the light.
...
We sat in a weathered shack
Secure in our adolescent dreams,
Playing at cards and life.
Paper-winged cicadas sang
...
A gnarled, leathery hand
tousles salt-and-pepper hair,
then scrapes a three-day stubble.
Uncle O'dell wipes
...
Hunkering animatedly,
a sleek, black '47 Olds
patiently purrs
atop a newly-paved
...
ten
long years march
vapid across the soiled pages
in the dog-eared books
...
Standing together
on a paint-chipped platform
by a weather-scarred station,
they kissed
...
A consummate Southern gentleman, he had
A pleasant easy drawl, so smooth and slow
It tickled your ears and made you smile to hear
Him say, "Hello." My next-door neighbor for
...
I
A round glass bowl holds
Ten little golden sunbursts,
Orange straw flowers.
...
William B. Watterson Biography
Retired English professor. A.A. Gardner-Webb University; B.S., M.A. Appalachian State University; Graduate study at Harvard University, Purdue University, Wake Forest University, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and the University of New England. Forty-four years teaching in several colleges and secondary schools. Named Outstanding English Teacher of the Year in 2001 by the North Carolina English Teachers Association. Hobbies include reading; writing poetry; travel; working out at the YMCA; watching major league baseball, especially the Atlanta Braves.)
The Best Poem Of William B. Watterson
Seasons
I Winter
Days, nights, more days
stretch in a listless stream,
molasses oozing
from a bottle
on a bleak morning.
We, souls aching,
languish in the days,
cloyed by the ennui
of endless pallid days
slowly marching
to nowhere.
Outside,
the unfeeling white death
covers everything.
II Spring
Fire, the green fire,
smolders under the white pall
draped across
a never-ending line of days.
We, souls stirring,
ever so slowly move
to the humming tune
that vibrates in the blood.
Outside,
the green fire burns
through the unfeeling white death
that covers everything.
III Summer
Sun, the relentless sun,
glowers godlike
at a plethora
of steamy, sultry, sweltering days.
We, souls panting,
devour the days
like frenzied maenads
drunk with the necromancy
of the days.
Outside,
no trace remains
of the unfeeling white death
that covered everything.
IV Autumn
Leaves-billowing, blowing-
cascade like confetti
on a parade
of mellow days.
We, souls waning,
relish the grandeur
of the glorious, golden days,
blinded by the beauty
of the days.
Outside,
under the variegated carpet,
the moribund earth
slips ever nearer
to the unfeeling white death
that soon will cover-everything.
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