Kit and Carol Pollock came to Alexander in the early 1970s and settled on the Weymouth Place off the Tommy Long Road. They marched to their own drummer while creating a safe, scenic environment for their home. Their two children, Alexander natives, grew-up a part of the community. Josh, the violinist is presently studying in London, England. Gwyneth died in a tragic accident on her way to school at Washington Academy on September 4, 2002.

Kit and Carol touch many lives here. Kit and Tim Sanford helped Marie and me build our house back in 1981. Kit has cared for his father-in-law for years. Carol has been an aide and a teacher at our school. Kit uses poetry as a way of describing his environment and to express his emotions. Enjoy!


Gwyneth, Age 6

One day

you were being ‘difficult’

in your gentle stubborn way,

& I said

"You’re being contrary!"

"No I’m not!" you shot back, arms akimbo

— & I saw, by your slowly dawning smile

you had learned that word




To My Daughter, Gwyneth, Age 7

Visiting My Cabin


roses touch

my window

their insistent



remind me

of when

I opened my door

to you —

& there you were

my love

all dressed

in red



One Month After

In your beloved room

— all your things arrayed

as if awaiting your return —

the spirit is gone.

The bears look sorrowful,

the bed impersonal and flat.

It has become a museum,

the red walls reminiscent

of frescoed Roman rooms —

& I sit in the middle of the floor

heartbroken, grieving —




On Wednesday afternoon,

I felt

the atmosphere of this dimension

inwardly assume a lovely color

— as of a pattern of textured red —

which joyfully I recognized

as you;

that you were OK,

that after our many sorrow-filled days

you had begun

where you left off,

filling our lives

with your love.


My Valentine

Seated at your desk

in your so silent room

I slide open the little gold box

I made for you

& see something I forgot:

the tiny red card

with the words:

You are the


of my





What parable

can answer

why you died?

What antidote

to grief?

or the loneliness

on us


Yet —

it is now

I find you

where you always are —

beside me —

responding to my queries,

presenting pointed resolution

to our crises

& simply being,

in my metier of poetry,

my Muse.

For this,

for all of this,



We’ll finish with a couple of Kit’s lighter poems. Picture a common weed, the signs of an olden day’s farm and the scarecrow in your garden. We all see through different eyes.



The chickweed stars’

unending galaxies unfold,

universal in garden path & mold;

indestructible of root, prodigal of seed,


in drought or flood,

in searing heat or cold

till winter its triumphant green

imprisons under ice

till spring…




hardwood crack

of acorns falling

the flare of maple

over by the orchard

its small tart apples

the marker of old homesteads


in some former


a farm

the raising of children


old road

moss grown & forgotten

with wagon ruts

jutting into a field of daisies.





Dusty semblance

in a field —



corn hills.