You are speaking
I hear the sound of your voice
But I feel the smooth hardness
of the mug in my hand
warm as a rock along a mountain trail
baked for hours of sun
radiating even though the air is cool
as though some fine particles
of sun have been caught and held within
I hear your voice
There are words in the sound
That should somehow coalesce
Into sense, into meaning, yet
I watch the light refracting
on the liquid within my cup
glittering as moonlight on the ocean
Night air clings to my skin like wet silk
I smell the rank seaweed and dying sealife
Listen to the ocean’s rhythm as the water
retreats and snatches
scratches the sand
You are speaking words
I do not want to hear
I raise the cup and swallow
Allowing the rich earth tang to circle my teeth
Lie along and beneath my tongue
Before it slips down my throat
Like long ago firefall at Yosemite
over the cliff edge to a cool lake below
You are waiting for my response
The liquid within me cools
I raise my eyes to yours
Between us there is no sound
Only a quiet
The stillness of a forest
in the moment before dawn wakes the day
I have no words you want to hear
None that I dare speak
Beyond a plea for release
I ask, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
My voice is like the twig snap
that startles animal awareness
Our silence shifts to the tense waiting
Of the hunter and the prey
Then slides away
“Yes, I think I would like a cup.
Thank you.”
I rise to perform the ritual
Knowing that for now
We will sip the fresh brewed coffee together
as the hunger and the fear
retrace to their source
on the seconds that pass
while an infinity of sky
gentles moment into moment
#CoffeeAndRitual #Poetry #TransitionalMoments #EmotionalTension
Not A Poem to Read Aloud
There are some poems
I cannot read aloud
though the poet
has been true
to the form
and
with a unique voice
has placed truth
stripped bare
upon a page
My eyes slide
over the patterns
of black letters
that shape the record
of the poet’s sight
The perfect—
so carefully chosen—
words strike
like a double-barreled
shotgun exploding,
tearing the surface
of my safe place
with a scattering of
birdshot—
wounding, but not killing
Yet, to read aloud
in this poet’s voice
would be choosing
to swallow flaming
incense,
to crack my teeth
on a mouthful
of diamonds
perfectly cut
and choke
on my own blood
No, let this poet’s voice
keep to a yet distant
ambush,
be held to the limited
range of words on a page
It is enough
that I am merely
peripherally violated—
Ohh…yes, yes…
There are some poems
I will never read aloud
#PowerOfPoems #Poetry #ReadingPoetry #Vulnerability
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
The poem “THE HUNGRY HILLS” was written in reaction to and then sent to the Africa-based poet listed in the subtitle, Phillippa Berlyn.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Kathleen Roxby
“THERE ARE SOME POEMS I CANNOT READ ALOUD” was written in reaction to a poem by Quincy Troop. It is included for The Great Poetry Reading Day, April 28.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“THE LIE” is another of the poet’s writings from her days of depression. It is included for Honesty Day, April 30.
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 APRIL 2022
Coffee at Sunset
You are speaking
I hear the sound of your voice
But I feel the smooth hardness
of the mug in my hand
warm as a rock along a mountain trail
baked for hours of sun
radiating even though the air is cool
as though some fine particles
of sun have been caught and held within
I hear your voice
There are words in the sound
That should somehow coalesce
Into sense, into meaning, yet
I watch the light refracting
on the liquid within my cup
glittering as moonlight on the ocean
Night air clings to my skin like wet silk
I smell the rank seaweed and dying sealife
Listen to the ocean’s rhythm as the water
retreats and snatches
scratches the sand
You are speaking words
I do not want to hear
I raise the cup and swallow
Allowing the rich earth tang to circle my teeth
Lie along and beneath my tongue
Before it slips down my throat
Like long ago firefall at Yosemite
over the cliff edge to a cool lake below
You are waiting for my response
The liquid within me cools
I raise my eyes to yours
Between us there is no sound
Only a quiet
The stillness of a forest
in the moment before dawn wakes the day
I have no words you want to hear
None that I dare speak
Beyond a plea for release
I ask, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
My voice is like the twig snap
that startles animal awareness
Our silence shifts to the tense waiting
Of the hunter and the prey
Then slides away
“Yes, I think I would like a cup.
Thank you.”
I rise to perform the ritual
Knowing that for now
We will sip the fresh brewed coffee together
as the hunger and the fear
retrace to their source
on the seconds that pass
while an infinity of sky
gentles moment into moment
#CoffeeAndRitual #Poetry #TransitionalMoments #EmotionalTension
REPORT FROM SURVIVOR SPACESHIP X69-3R
On the great ruined ball
hurtling in futile orbit
through timeless lightless space
rivers of death writhed to turbulent seas
pounding a thousand forsaken shores.
Desolate plains starved unmourned
beyond monstrous mountained wastes
dissolving down dark continents.
In the pestilent vaporous valleys
warped eagles coughed and screamed
in sullen, swooping circles.
Black panthers and lawn leopards,
grown grotesque, prowled and growled
through lethal jungles.
Across the vast carrion land
desolation dragged,
and gnarled towers loomed and leered
upon the devouring devastation.
The planet Earth was dead
and Man its soul had fled.
#Science-FictionPoetry #Poetry #EcologicDisaster #EarthDay
HARMAR’S POND
A pond can be a truly wondrous place–
Dragonflies on wind, ducks afloat in space.
A frog sounds his bass love call for a mate.
Deep within the bulrushes and cattails
Even water lilies might show up.
For wild ones to have a sip at night,
The water must be crystal-clear sweet
Reflecting the wonders of the sky,
Calming the jangled nerves of men.
But, stay away from Harmar’s black pond.
No duck would come near its dark waters,
Nor will a frog ever sing out here.
Bulrushes, reeds, cattails absent this place
And the sky reflects as winter storms
In water black as the coal it cleans.
I hope nature can someday sweeten it
For ducks’ and dragonflies’ return
And frogs’ gravelly courtship song.
If there are still wild ones coming by,
Perhaps the water will be clear sweet.
I hope some distant kin of mine will know
The pleasure of a wondrous pond.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
The poem “REPORT FROM SURVIVOR SPACESHIP X69-3R” was first published in CYCLOFLAME, 1971. It is included this week in honor of Earth Day (April 22).
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“HARMAR’S POND,” first appeared in the author’s anthology, Reflections on a Lifetime. It describes a pond well known to the author who lived in the coal mining town of Harmar. It is included for EARTH’S DAY (April 22).
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“COFFEE AT SUNSET” was first published in Chameleon Woman, 2000. It is included for Espresso Day (April 17).
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 APRIL 2022