William B. Watterson
Biography of William B. Watterson
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.
William B. Watterson's Works:
Carolina Voices,1983 [Edited anthology of North and South Carolina poets]
Hemlocks and Balsams,1980's/1990's [Associate Editor]
Numerous poems published in various journals, including Hemlocks and Balsams, Firelands Review, Cambric Poetry Project Two, Cold Mountain Review, North Carolina English Teacher, North Carolina Education Magazine, and Poetry Magazine.
William B. Watterson Poems
Lightly skipping up the steps of a rustic beach cottage, she could still hear
Cogito Ergo Sum
(Galileo Galilei, from Arcetri,1638) My telescope astounded and amazed. The moons of Jupiter I viewed and knew
On Being Married 50 Years
Being married is a lot like Eating handfuls of jelly beans One after another. In about every dozen sugary lumps
I Winter Days, nights, more days stretch in a listless stream,
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.
“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,
Venus De Milo
What a resounding thud When her small head, Flecking with spots and splotches of red The crisp, yellow, unfeeling straw
Dim vignettes like pale images in a sepia photograph float across
A Villanelle For Wives
Do not let throbbing love subside tonight, Strong passions crave release before the day, Make haste against the breaking of the light.
In Memory Of John Mcneely
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
A bright, blue blur flashed in the April sun As I jogged past a shakly barn along A line of rotting fence near Wildcat Lake. A lone bluebird homed in on a locust post,
Four Haiku For Spring
I A round glass bowl holds Ten little golden sunbursts, Orange straw flowers.
We sat in a weathered shack Secure in our adolescent dreams, Playing at cards and life. Paper-winged cicadas sang
To A Sad Lady
I peered into the garden of her mind,
And growing there I found a flower so rare
That to describe a beauty of its kind
Seemed task too great. Yet as I saw it there,
At once I knew it was an image born
Of youthful hope. But bitter, poisoning cold
Had pierced the root, and former dewy charms
Were icy droplets in the petals’ folds.
I sensed frustration in her cruel jokes