At Lexington, proud farmers stood their ground.
An indentured servant left bloody footprints
Across the snows of winter in Valley Forge
Just to make sure we had a flag to fly.
A city lad fell on the deck of the Bon Homme Richard
While a mountaineer marksman fell at New Orleans
Providing the courage and the blood to assure
That our flag would continue to fly free.
So much blood and tears were shed at Antietam
Where a Maryland boy killed his Virginia cousin
Because he wore a different colored uniform.
Yet that made sure our flag survived to fly.
Uncle John charged up San Juan Hill
As they guaranteed that our flag could
Always fly high and free wherever it is,
But he carried malaria for the rest of his life.
On a windswept hill, a memorial stands
Containing the last remains of a lad—
His name unknown to anyone—
Fallen on Flanders’ field in the war to end all wars.
But in a maniac and a sneak morning attack,
Our youngest and fairest fell again,
Followed by the dead at Midway,
Guadalcanal, Omaha Beach, and Anzio.
Perhaps, now, our flag will fly free and in peace,
We thought. Then quickly followed Pork Chop Hill,
Inchon, the Hanoi Hilton and a sea green jungle hell.
What was our flag doing in these strange places?
Then, all too soon, came Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm.
When will our leaders hear the voices
From Yorktown to Veracruz to Gettysburg,
Inchon, Belleau Woods, Manila Bay and Fort McHenry?
The muffled drums roll on across the land.
Will our glorious flag ever fly in peace?
#FlagDay #Patriotism #Anti-WarPoetry
SPLINTERS FOR JUNE 2021
AN ODE FOR KUMQUATS
O, lowly kumquat
With your sour meat
And sweet skin
You are rarely
Appreciated
Plucked fresh
From your tree,
But cooked
Into a jam
Like marmalade
You earn accolades.
#NaturePoetry
A CHANGE OF TIDE
All day long the slow sun burning bled
Upon the southern sea. Waves rammed red
Bulldozers racing down the battered beach
As far as tyrant tide could time-clock reach.
But came a change of tide and night’s star-rise
Made flameless fire the ocean’s new disguise.
In wonder-stroll, cliff-high, we saw how red
Became electric white, the crests below
Alight with foaming phosphorescent glow.
Steel-bright, in luminous runs, long spears
Broke silver-black, a thousand chandeliers
Fell, crashing crystal dark upon a row
Of sandpools melting into receding tow
Of sea’s erupting glass. Now high, now low,
Quicksilvered night cascaded, wild and free,
When water lightning struck the southern sea.
#SeaPhosphorescence #SeaPoem #NaturePoem #SummerPoem
GOOD-BYE, POP
Looking down at your thin, tired face,
So many memories flooded my mind.
Why was I not there at the end, and
How you taught me to meet threats head on.
My troubles also seemed less serious
Because of how I saw you handle yours.
I was a much better workman
After you showed me how
To do a job right the first time.
But because we were often angry with each other,
I never once said, “I love you, Pop.”
I know how you felt as I am trying not to cry,
Yet I sound just like you on that day
When we had to say good-bye to John.
I know you may not be able to hear me,
But I want you to know how special
You always were to me and now one more thing,
I really did love you, Pop.
#Father’sDay #Mourning #ElegyPoem
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“CHANGE OF TIDE” was published in Cyclo Flame (1967) and The Pen Woman (1968). This poem describes the author’s first encounter with the “red tide” of California, a plankton life form that appears reddish in the daylight but glows at night.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
For Father’s Day–“GOOD-BYE, POP” is a memory from the funeral of the poet’s father. “John” in the poem is the poet’s older brother who died in a 1929 coal mine disaster at age 24 when the poet was 16. The poet’s father features in more than one of Robert’s poems of his childhood. His father, also named John, worked in coal mining and actively supported the workers’ right to unionize. Union organizer, John L. Lewis, was among the friends of the poet’s father. This poem appears in the authors collected poems, Reflections on a Lifetime.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“AN ODE FOR KUMQUATS” is a recent poem by the author in memory of the kumquat tree that grew in the yard of her childhood home.
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 JUNE 2021
GIVE YOURSELF PERMISSION
Give yourself permission
To sing outside the shower
To dance to piped-in music wherever—
Elevator or grocery store
To dream in the daylight
To make room for beauty
A flower, laughing trees
Dogs and cats romping
The kind word to a stranger
To take time to notice life
Feel its pulse in the air
Hear the breathing of the earth
To feel the touch that says you are alive
#Freedom #lifestyle #LifeAdvice
DAWN
It’s so quiet….
Early morning’s buffered light
taps softly against the peace.
Soon the full sun
will stretch from its own
satisfied sleep and burst forth—
all relentless energy
read to spend its glory
extravagantly upon the world.
But, for the moment, now
soothing soft, new-borning morning
whispers lovely songs:
little treasures to store against
the vibrant dim ends of day.
#MeditationPoetry
OUR FLAG
At Lexington, proud farmers stood their ground.
An indentured servant left bloody footprints
Across the snows of winter in Valley Forge
Just to make sure we had a flag to fly.
A city lad fell on the deck of the Bon Homme Richard
While a mountaineer marksman fell at New Orleans
Providing the courage and the blood to assure
That our flag would continue to fly free.
So much blood and tears were shed at Antietam
Where a Maryland boy killed his Virginia cousin
Because he wore a different colored uniform.
Yet that made sure our flag survived to fly.
Uncle John charged up San Juan Hill
As they guaranteed that our flag could
Always fly high and free wherever it is,
But he carried malaria for the rest of his life.
On a windswept hill, a memorial stands
Containing the last remains of a lad—
His name unknown to anyone—
Fallen on Flanders’ field in the war to end all wars.
But in a maniac and a sneak morning attack,
Our youngest and fairest fell again,
Followed by the dead at Midway,
Guadalcanal, Omaha Beach, and Anzio.
Perhaps, now, our flag will fly free and in peace,
We thought. Then quickly followed Pork Chop Hill,
Inchon, the Hanoi Hilton and a sea green jungle hell.
What was our flag doing in these strange places?
Then, all too soon, came Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm.
When will our leaders hear the voices
From Yorktown to Veracruz to Gettysburg,
Inchon, Belleau Woods, Manila Bay and Fort McHenry?
The muffled drums roll on across the land.
Will our glorious flag ever fly in peace?
#FlagDay #Patriotism #Anti-WarPoetry