At long last, Spring is almost here.
Ice no longer covers the Allegheny.
Though only tiny buds appear on trees,
And a few green blades begin to show.
Summer is still six weeks away.
Saturday morning and a bright hot sun
And the rivers edge is now crowded
With a crew of young boys, large and small
Prepared to enjoy the first Summer swim.
For this crowd of boys, Summer is now
As the Allegheny is cleared of its wintry ice.
Knowing fully well of that water’s nip,
The boys dared each other to be the first in.
Finally came that call, “Last one in is a scared
Kitty cat!” Then came one gigantic splash
And all were in, except for one
Lone skinny tad who is still in fear
Of his ability to swim. The shame heaped
Upon his skinny frame caused his older brothers
To carry him to a low spot away from shore.
Then swam away to force him to attempt to swim.
The bitter cold chattered his teeth
Till in sheer desperation, he lunged
Towards the shore swimming so furiously
That he was crawling on the shore
Still thrashing arms and legs.
So exhilarated was he at this feat
He remembered that Summer as his best.
Wisteria
Across the mists of morning
A brief and delicate scent
Drifts near, from trailing vines
Lush with shades of lavender==
The sweet and faint perfume
Rides the air of day,
Slides softly into night
Wafting toward the stars,
Slipping gently into my dreams.
CITY DREAM
The stories, sordid and old, building-engulfed,
Stumbling tuneless all day along the weary concrete,
Now pendulum-culled have stuttered into quiescence.
Grey-hymned evening, virgin-shadowed,
Prayer-mantles tired turrets and beaten streets.
The stroking stone floats a breathing spell
On lyric twilight; then with darkening plunge
Swims into night’s nebulous song:
The city sleeps,
And dreams
Of sequestered hills
And the green-leaf music
Of wind-filled trees.
Spring Swim
At long last, Spring is almost here.
Ice no longer covers the Allegheny.
Though only tiny buds appear on trees,
And a few green blades begin to show.
Summer is still six weeks away.
Saturday morning and a bright hot sun
And the rivers edge is now crowded
With a crew of young boys, large and small
Prepared to enjoy the first Summer swim.
For this crowd of boys, Summer is now
As the Allegheny is cleared of its wintry ice.
Knowing fully well of that water’s nip,
The boys dared each other to be the first in.
Finally came that call, “Last one in is a scared
Kitty cat!” Then came one gigantic splash
And all were in, except for one
Lone skinny tad who is still in fear
Of his ability to swim. The shame heaped
Upon his skinny frame caused his older brothers
To carry him to a low spot away from shore.
Then swam away to force him to attempt to swim.
The bitter cold chattered his teeth
Till in sheer desperation, he lunged
Towards the shore swimming so furiously
That he was crawling on the shore
Still thrashing arms and legs.
So exhilarated was he at this feat
He remembered that Summer as his best.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“CITY DREAM” first appeared in Sing Loud for Loveliness, an Avalon-member Poetry Day anthology.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“SPRING SWIM” describes the author’s experience in 1923 Springdale, Pennsylvania when the poet was eleven. It first appeared in his collection, Reflections on a Lifetime.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“WISTERIA” was written in the Spring of 2021 for the author’s neighbor whose wisteria vine was its inspiration.
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
Readers who write in response to one of the prompts listed each month in Splintered Glass, may see their work presented here on the last week of that month. Though poems are preferred, short prose work will also be considered for publication.
Guidelines for submission:
SPLINTERS FOR MAY 2022
In Margaret’s Heaven
There will be watermelon,
Pineapple will be prickle free
Field-ripe and juicy
Even to the core
Chestnuts ready for roasting
Anytime, every time.
Cool honeydew & Persian melons
Subtly fragrant, cool & lush
Always ready to be eaten
And there will be Watermelon.
Oh, such watermelon–
Red ripe delicious
Without seeds of any kind
Not of ugly black not albino.
Oh yes, there will be watermelon
Lots of watermelon
There will be strawberries every day
Concord grapes & apples:
Jonathans, pippins, & winesaps
And coconut freshly cut and ready to eat
Smooth-skinned peaches
Miracle cherries and dates,
All without pits
Sweet, firm and rich
And these, all these fruits
Will be there,
Ready to eat any day at all,
Enough at last
That she might have her fill
With no regrets
And, of course, watermelon
Utterly delicious
Heavily perfect
Oh, such watermelon!
WONDER CHILD
Soft footsteps running
Giggles of pure happiness
Welcome lights in the eyes
Can melt the hardest heart.
How can I explain my heart
When my child runs across
To throw herself headlong
Into my open waiting arms.
No purer love exists than
The love of a child for her mother.
Where did I lose the wonder,
That wonder in my child’s eyes?
MOTHERS
Woven into the tapestry of life
By the gentle hand and loving heart,
There is a special invisible thread
That connects our lives from beginning to end
And connects the clan, present and future.
Without mothers,
every clan or tribe that every existed
would never have known that thread
that weaves through from beginning to end
only because of a mother’s tough-fibered loving—
wiping away tears with a gentle hand,
calming our inner fears with a soft voice
shutting out the world in a loving embrace.
Each mother as she passes bequeaths
To the next the thread, passing it
From one hand to the next
To all of us, the finest blessing
That any of us can receive
Is a mother who always is there
In sorrow, sickness or trouble
Giving love that seems to have no end.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“WONDER CHILD” is included this week in honor of Mother’s Day. The poem was found among the author’s papers.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“MOTHERS” first appeared in his collection, Reflections on a Lifetime.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“IN MARGARET’S HEAVEN” is included for Mother’s Day. It was written after the death of this poet’s mother and references all her favorite fruits, with special emphasis on watermelon, her most favorite.