Five stalwart soldiers face the battlefront.
Then one by one they fall until only one remains,
The true soldier, not a replica like the four who fell before.
The last soldier, now alone, finally knows
His heart, his mind. He stands
To face the opposition, look them in the eye
That they, too, will know he is not afraid
To stand before them all alone:
They who prize winning above all,
Who break rules they agreed upon
As right and fair,
They who value winning
More than kindness
More that friendship.
The last of the five stalwart soldiers
Gathers up his fallen replica comrades,
Turns and walks away.
The fallen four will rest upon a shelf
To remind the fifth of what was learned.
One stalwart soldier stands tall
At the battlefront, alone but unafraid.
He can do nothing less.
He knows his heart, his mind.
He will look the enemy in the eye
That the other will know
To be kind is not to be weak,
To be a friend is not to lose.
One stalwart soldier stands
At the battlefront, alone.
The Stalwart Soldier
Five stalwart soldiers face the battlefront.
Then one by one they fall until only one remains,
The true soldier, not a replica like the four who fell before.
The last soldier, now alone, finally knows
His heart, his mind. He stands
To face the opposition, look them in the eye
That they, too, will know he is not afraid
To stand before them all alone:
They who prize winning above all,
Who break rules they agreed upon
As right and fair,
They who value winning
More than kindness
More that friendship.
The last of the five stalwart soldiers
Gathers up his fallen replica comrades,
Turns and walks away.
The fallen four will rest upon a shelf
To remind the fifth of what was learned.
One stalwart soldier stands tall
At the battlefront, alone but unafraid.
He can do nothing less.
He knows his heart, his mind.
He will look the enemy in the eye
That the other will know
To be kind is not to be weak,
To be a friend is not to lose.
One stalwart soldier stands
At the battlefront, alone.
ANOTHER KIND OF WAR
I heard an Aunt say, long ago
that she was happy she had only girls
No boys to go to war
She could not bear the thought
of battered bodies and broken bones
of the cold quiet of memorial stone
I saw her girls march off to unknown foxholes
O, was is hell, all right,
as Sherman said
It is of some, but little comfort
to me that my aunt was spared the pain
of knowing
that her girls marched to anguished drums
in silence felt the cannon fire
unseeing saw the blood run red
and wounded, fell in bombed-out shelters
with shattered hearts
O, yes, war is hell,
as Sherman said
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
Included for Memorial Day, “ANOTHER KIND OF WAR”, appears in honor of “those who also serve” on the home front. At least one of the author’s cousins served as a nurse in World War II, as well as a very close friend who was lost in the last days in the Pacific theater. The poem also offers a different, wider perspective of what war can be.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“A Haiku” was first published in the author’s collection, “Reflections on a Lifetime.”
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“The Stalwart Soldier” is a recent poem by the author. It is included as a companion piece for “Another Kind of War” (see above).
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
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“THE POWER OF DREAMING” was shared with the author’s Round Robin poetry friends in 1992.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“RHODODENDRON” was originally published in his collected poems, Reflections on a Lifetime. As a child who grew up in the mountains of West Virginia, he would be very familiar with the sight of rhododendrons.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“FOR A CLASSMATE” was newly edited for this website. It was originally written soon after the author learned of her college classmate’s death. He had been a special friend, someone with whom she shared a rapport that she rarely found with others. This relationship features in another of the author’s poems, as well.
FOR A CLASSMATE
Drifting ghostly in our memory—
A boy of shy and gentle smiles…
Quietly determined
Yet too fragile for the world
Blown away on the winds of war
Shipped home in a crate
From a field in Viet Nam—
Drifting ghostly in our memory.
THE POWER OF DREAMING
Time has found me unfulfilled
Yet, withal, I can keep dreaming.
Why not fairy castles build
Even though it’s only seeming.
For when spatial spires go towering
And the magic spreads its spell
Surely, then, there is a powering
Greater then mere words can tell.
Hope is flowering.
RHODODENDRON
The mountainside seems in flames,
Shimmering in red, white and pink:
It is Spring in the mountains here.
My heart leaps wildly to these flames
For my love is like this wild flower fire
As it rises and falls and then flows
A river of passion and hopes.
But, unlike this Spring-only flower,
My heart will flare wildly in flames
As long as I have life left.
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: