Bob Davies
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[ MISCELLANY Assorted poems, undated. G. Imrie]

[This paragraph was typed as a narrow column. From notebook entries it appears the three elements on this page were combined as a Christmas greeting.]

Several years ago when my grandmother died, we went through her house as one normally does at such an occasion. My grandfather, a Methodist minister, had been a collector of old books, especially Bibles. All of his books of possible value went to my uncle, while I was awarded an old 1837 Bible, cover detached. Searching through it, I came across a part of the Bible's dedication to its owner whose sincerity and lastingless [lastingness? timelessness?] have always impressed me. I have quoted it before, and I shall again. [I believe this was an oft-used epitaph before "modern" times.]

"When this you see remember me, or I shall be forgotten."

[To the right of the narrow paragraph above was this poem; both, plus the epitaph, on a torn half-sheet of paper.]

A Poem With Emphasis On Content,

Not Some Title

How does a knuckled poet,

Seemingly alone,

Thank you for the life

And beauty

And caring

He sees in you,

But with all the love and respect

He Can hold in his heart.

Stephen Guy Carpenter

[This reprises on the next page, probably typed at a different but later time. The capital "C" of the last line is changed, as is the title, which becomes simply, "For You."]

My Little Brothers

My little brothers are twins

Twins look alike,

You probably know,

They look alike from head to toe.

Twins aren't helpful all the time.

Sometimes I think, they're not worth a dime.

All they do is get out my things

They don't pick them up or anything,

Just leave them outside to rust

In summer they are covered with dust,

So now you know about my little brothers,

They aren't quite like any others.

Stephen Guy Carpenter

(Republished from

Our Poems, Mrs. Weber Grade 3.)

For You

How does a knuckled poet,

Seemingly alone,

Thank you for the life

And beauty

And caring

He sees in you,

But with all the love and respect

He can hold in his heart.

Stephen Guy Carpenter

Ode to My Third Grade Teacher

[Presumably Mrs. Weber, cited previously by Steve.]

Old immaculate third grade teacher,

I saw you again in town today

I would have said hello,

but I thought the shock

of seeing some long past student

you taught eight years ago

might have been too much

for your old system.

I want to thank you anyway,

for through those recitals of dead poetry,

those recesses, and report cards,

you taught me and showed others

that in my small, skinny body,

that shy little pupil I was,

there was something thoroughly wonderful

and good, ready to blossom.

Well, if you had recognized me

when I happened to see you again,

you would have certainly noticed that I' ve grown

and am not quite so skinny.

But I doubt you could have felt

the hope and fear in my heart,

for I have waited eight years, half my lifetime,

for your predictions to come true.

And yet I still wait

A different sunset

As the visions of my dreams flow by,

I rest,


They widen,

they expand into the horizon.

I sit


on the shore.

Spreading into the sky, I watch them set with the sun.

The pictures on another bulletin board

They're just

paper and ink



torn or carefully cut out

that's all


a scene from some movie

the pose of some model

a glimpse of natural unhappiness

so what can I say

Facing A Tomorrow

Being young,

The child asked of his mother

(as one does at such an age),

"What is it like being dead?"

His mother answered,

to his regret,

that once those who die

pass away,

they no longer communicate with us,

so we will never know.

Disappointed with her answer,

he thought how much easier it would be

for all of us,

if only we had some assurance

in facing a tomorrow

we cannot perceive.

The Meaningless Passage of Time

There is a feeling deep within me

Whose effects

I have never before experienced

I can feel the uncertainty in my life's purpose

When my Tomorrow

Turns meaningless once it becomes a