A somber voice silences, leaving no sound
Save that of a faint few windswept leaves
Until there came the sound of a bugle refrain
Which, slowly drifted into a quiet silence
Disturbed by the soft echoes of those bugle notes.
As these faded, a sudden sharp command
Gives voice to three sharp blasts.
Military men standing by, firing salute,
Say good-bye to a fallen comrade.
Two soldiers gather the flag
From the long box it had covered
Fold it neatly into its standard triangle.
The lieutenant, solemnly, now places it
Onto the lap of a frail, white-haired lady.
She barely notices his snappy salute.
Sons, daughters, and family friends are gathered
Around to offer their love and support,
Each knowing of the inner pain she hides.
Suddenly, as if on a mysterious signal,
A single shaft of sunlight strikes
And soft breezes ruffle the leaves,
Creating a sound that seems to say,
“Mom, it is so peaceful here.”
#Memorial #MemorialDayPoetry #DeathandPoetry
ON MY SUNSHINE TABLE
On my sunshine table
Golden rays from my dear friends
Like sunbeams glowing there
Bring a happiness that never ends
#FriendshipPoetry
THANKS
Thanks for expressions of love
And the gift of a welcome home,
For the preciousness of friends,
This home where strangers
Are greeted with warm hugs that say
You are now one of us, rest safely.
Tomorrow we will offer a sacrifice
Perhaps the gods will bless us
And life will be gloriously renewed.
#FriendshipPoetry
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“ON MY SUNSHINE TABLE” was written as a thank you note which she sent to her friends who had gathered to honor her.
REFRACTIONS
“THANKS” appeared in Reflections on a Lifetime, an anthology of poems written by Robert Roxby.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“FINDING FRIENDSHIP” was inspired by a conversation with a woman who was in despair of ever finding a good friend. She described her past friendships (the fools’ gold and riches versions). As she talked, she and the author sat beside a creek. The vision in the poem appeared in the author’s mind. At the same time, the author’s mother was learning Esperanto. The Esperanto word for friends, “amicoj” (pronounced ahm-i-coy), appealed to the author who chose to use it in this poem.
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 2020
A FLIGHT OUT IN THE MORNING, BUT HE NEVER TOLD ME
We met
We smiled hello
We danced
We laughed
We spoke of all
The unimportant things
While our hearts
Were filled with the dreams
We might share
We waved farewell
And smiled a promise tomorrow
One hour
One carelessly happy hour
Was gone
We had laughed and smiled
And waved good-bye
But that promise of tomorrow
Died in flames
Somewhere on a hill
In Viet Nam
#VietNamPoetry #VeteransDayPoetry #MemorialDayPoetry
IN MEMORIAM
How measure the greatness of their contribution?
The laughing boys
The joking boys
The scared, bragging, tearless boys
The little cupfuls of life
Flung above the fields of death
Reeling, whirling globules of light
Tiny spheres of time
Evaporating in the stenchant air
Or spattering upon the thirsty, dirty ground
Lost beneath the blood and rust.
One hundred: A thousand?
One hundred thousand?
How many to fill each day’s demanding void?
They came, running from their playgrounds,
Still shouting over disappearing shoulders
To laggard game-mates
Boots fitted, belts buckled
They were gone
Long before the calls could end
Or the deeds be done
Or the medals molded.
How measure the greatness of their contribution?
#MemorialDay #VeteransDay #SoldiersandPoetry
PEACE AT LAST
A somber voice silences, leaving no sound
Save that of a faint few windswept leaves
Until there came the sound of a bugle refrain
Which, slowly drifted into a quiet silence
Disturbed by the soft echoes of those bugle notes.
As these faded, a sudden sharp command
Gives voice to three sharp blasts.
Military men standing by, firing salute,
Say good-bye to a fallen comrade.
Two soldiers gather the flag
From the long box it had covered
Fold it neatly into its standard triangle.
The lieutenant, solemnly, now places it
Onto the lap of a frail, white-haired lady.
She barely notices his snappy salute.
Sons, daughters, and family friends are gathered
Around to offer their love and support,
Each knowing of the inner pain she hides.
Suddenly, as if on a mysterious signal,
A single shaft of sunlight strikes
And soft breezes ruffle the leaves,
Creating a sound that seems to say,
“Mom, it is so peaceful here.”
#Memorial #MemorialDayPoetry #DeathandPoetry
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“IN MEMORIAM” was originally published in 1961 in Writers Notes and Quotes, then 1968 in Wisconsin Poetry Magazine, then again in 1980 in Seal Beach Journal. Military service was common in Margaret’s family. Her great grandfather fought at Chattanooga, Tennessee in 1863. She was two when WWI began and only six when it ended, but she saw young men leave to serve in WWI, including her uncles. Later in WWII, her male and female friends, her younger brother, and cousins were swept into the fight. Most survived, but as was too often true, not all. Later she waited in fear for the result of the Viet Nam draft lottery which might take her son from her based on the random draw. He was not chosen, but some of his childhood playmates were. This selection is about all of them and so many others. She wrote this poem originally for Memorial Day.
REFRACTIONS
“PEACE AT LAST” by Robert Roxby. In this poem, Robert describes the funeral of his younger brother, Kenny, WWII serial gunner with the rank of private killed in a training exercise during which his plane crashed. Kenny was 22 years old.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“A FLIGHT OUT IN THE MORNING, BUT HE NEVER TOLD ME”. During the Viet Nam War era, a friend of the poet suggested she join a group of young women who attended social hours on the local Air Force bases. Kathleen did so and at a base near San Diego she met the young man of this poem. They became warm, if still casual, friends. This was written shortly after she learned that this pilot friend had flown out the morning after their last encounter. She never saw or heard from him again. While the fate of this one pilot is unknown, she knew that the ending she included in her poem was all too often true.
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: