Though she never excelled in music, athletics
Or any of those other roads to fame,
In our town, she is very, very special.
Dorothy never went to school beyond eighth grade.
Yet, somehow, she learned all the skills
She needed to handle problems large or small.
Everyone in the town knew who Dorothy was.
Need some sugar? Here, take this bowlful home.
She volunteered to do all the cooking
When we had the fundraiser
For the volunteers’ uniforms.
Remember when she got that bad curve repaired?
That county commission sure got mad at her.
That stormy winter night her neighbor, Mary Jo,
Took sick and Dorothy rushed her to the hospital?
She got there just in time, in spite of icy roads.
She brushed aside all offers of reward, saying,
“Hon, I was only helping a good neighbor. Hon.”
How often did she help you in some way?
When I cut my finger playing mumbly-peg,
She bandaged it so well that it quit hurting.
My friend Billy got his wagon repaired
And little Joey Adams, such a poor baseball player,
Got to play the year she managed the team.
All of this because our Dorothy cared so much
About her neighbors and her friends.
She would volunteer whatever needed doing.
Don’t you wish your town had a Dorothy, too?
#VolunteerandValue
YOU LISTENED
You listened.
And as I spoke,
I saw in your eyes
not the anger
nor the fear
I had seen before
in other eyes.
For as those others
heard me speak
they saw a reality
that threatened
what security they had.
But you listened
to the pain,
to the frightened
lost child that spoke
You drew from me
what I most needed
to share.
You listened.
For the first time
in my seeming
endless search,
I found someone
to listen.
You gave to me
the greatest gift
I have ever received.
There is no greater gift.
You freed my soul.
#ListeningandCompassion #Communication #Depression #Compassion
BELOVED CHILD
You wandered where I could not go
And followed ways I did not know,
But you were mine—not long ago—
A maid so mild.
When you first turned toward distant flow
Of waters wild,
I searched for you where poppies grow,
Where dark shapes rise and cold winds blow.
Beloved child
Time passed. Love taught me how to cope:
So now I pray and now I hope
That one day soon from far-off roam
You’ll turn again and come back home.
#MotherLove #EstrangedChild
A Special Volunteer
Though she never excelled in music, athletics
Or any of those other roads to fame,
In our town, she is very, very special.
Dorothy never went to school beyond eighth grade.
Yet, somehow, she learned all the skills
She needed to handle problems large or small.
Everyone in the town knew who Dorothy was.
Need some sugar? Here, take this bowlful home.
She volunteered to do all the cooking
When we had the fundraiser
For the volunteers’ uniforms.
Remember when she got that bad curve repaired?
That county commission sure got mad at her.
That stormy winter night her neighbor, Mary Jo,
Took sick and Dorothy rushed her to the hospital?
She got there just in time, in spite of icy roads.
She brushed aside all offers of reward, saying,
“Hon, I was only helping a good neighbor. Hon.”
How often did she help you in some way?
When I cut my finger playing mumbly-peg,
She bandaged it so well that it quit hurting.
My friend Billy got his wagon repaired
And little Joey Adams, such a poor baseball player,
Got to play the year she managed the team.
All of this because our Dorothy cared so much
About her neighbors and her friends.
She would volunteer whatever needed doing.
Don’t you wish your town had a Dorothy, too?
#VolunteerandValue
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“BELOVED CHILD” was written for the author’s friend whose daughter had left home to explore a new religion and way of life which caused her to break ties with her family.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“A SPECIAL VOLUNTEER,” is a tribute to the author’s youngest sister. The poem first appeared in the author’s collected poems, Reflections on a Lifetime.
LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“YOU LISTENED” was originally printed in the CHOICE newsletter. It is another of the author’s depression poems. This one written when she was active in a church sponsored singles counseling group.
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 NOVEMBER 2021
From the Unpainted Series: The Storyteller
The glow from an unseen fire
Is both warm and cruel,
Revealing every crease
In the deeply lined face
Beneath a well-worn mob cap
From which a few gray,
Somewhat greasy looking curls
Have escaped.
She is an old woman.
Her skin dark from days of sun
And perhaps also from her lineage.
Her right eye is clouded by cataract,
But the left is alive with light.
This is a face that would have appealed
To Rembrandt to detail in a miniature
Portrait, perhaps, or in the shadows
Of a larger commissioned work.
Even the vague dark background
Of the portrait before us
Is reminiscent of his paintings.
True to the title, the woman,
Leans forward from her pillowed chair,
Her mouth open with a slight smile,
Her gnarled hands reach out from beneath
The heaviness of her shawl
In a gesture intended to clarify her words,
And draw in her listeners.
She pulls you nearer
Leaving you wishing
You could hear the story
She is so eagerly sharing.
#VirturalPortrait #WordPortrait #Storyteller
REMEMBRANCE TOTEM
Blood Brother
listen!
Hear our lonely steps as they glide
down the ghostly moccasin trail
near the grasses of echo place
in the crystal depths of the waters
of beautiful mountain,
seek us
O Pale-faced Brother!
Follow us
through the forest of fire
where songbirds dream
of vanished dustwing flights
O, find us!
when twilight smokes silently spire
above high cold canyon walls
and long ice night haunted with hope,
send shrilling coyote calls
into the wilderness of memory
At dawn when the winds thrum
through carved stone cathedrals
and the copper spirit sun
comes drumming upon the land
Blood Brother
search for us yet
through the desert day
into the savage sunset
#AmericanIndian #NativeAmericaHeritageDay
Gray Skies Dripping
A piece of the past is gone
The pain of remembering returns
Of being unable to forgive once
Will it ever erase from my mind
The sky’s dripping grayness
Is misting my life’s lenses
#RegretandForgiveness
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“REMEMBRANCE TOTEM” was published in 1962 in CANDOR. It reflects the poets early fascination with the American Indian, language and culture. It is included as November honors Native America Heritage on November 26.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“GRAY SKIES DRIPPING” was found among the author’s papers.
LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“From the Unpainted Series: The Storyteller” is one of a series of poems the author conceived when challenged to write about an actual painting in a poetry class and at the same time was renewing her efforts in drawing and painting.