For just a blink of the eye in time
They seem frozen, as if in flight…
Those tired, black-dusted miners’ faces,
Down-beaten and old before their time.
The mine mouth at their back seemed like
An inanimate, all devouring, beast
With an insatiable hunger for flesh;
No bargains, no special discounts here.
A penalty applied for any sloppy work–
A broken arm, a leg, a crushed skull.
At times a surtax was extracted–
Someone’s life and perhaps many more.
The coal mine never forgives a mistake
And the price of coal remains the same:
A pound of flesh for a pound of coal.
Even those small frame houses on the hill
Exact their special toll on miners’ folks.
Too many people in too small a house;
Children playing on toxic piles of slate;
Mothers with hands and knuckles scarred thin.
Sometimes, death seems to be a release;
No more coal, no more sleepless nights,
No haunting heartache of a hungry child.
Only a few ever escape this dreariness.
Rest will end as always before.
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 2024
April has several special days that might inspire a writer. Here’s a few:
THE MINERS
For just a blink of the eye in time
They seem frozen, as if in flight…
Those tired, black-dusted miners’ faces,
Down-beaten and old before their time.
The mine mouth at their back seemed like
An inanimate, all devouring, beast
With an insatiable hunger for flesh;
No bargains, no special discounts here.
A penalty applied for any sloppy work–
A broken arm, a leg, a crushed skull.
At times a surtax was extracted–
Someone’s life and perhaps many more.
The coal mine never forgives a mistake
And the price of coal remains the same:
A pound of flesh for a pound of coal.
Even those small frame houses on the hill
Exact their special toll on miners’ folks.
Too many people in too small a house;
Children playing on toxic piles of slate;
Mothers with hands and knuckles scarred thin.
Sometimes, death seems to be a release;
No more coal, no more sleepless nights,
No haunting heartache of a hungry child.
Only a few ever escape this dreariness.
Rest will end as always before.
SOMEWHERE
Somewhere never seen,
in far land spring of cherry tree,
blossoms await
EASTER LOVE
Easter is a time to express
Love in all our communications,
To speak with long time friends,
Renew love ties with old loves,
Touch the heavens in thanks,
Remember why we are here.
Easter, peaceful bliss,
Omen of what we all owe,
Divine help when needed most.
May I thank you for your love?
One more reason to be glad.
Happy Easter to you all.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“SOMEWHERE” appears this week for April 17, International Haiku Poetry Day. The author shared this in 1992 with her “Round Robin” poetry friends who shared and commented on poetry they exchanged by mail. On her original she wrote the following:
“This is a little poem which I wrote many years ago, but I thought it might be appropriate since we have lost one of our “robins”—I am sure she has seen those blossoms.
Speaking of syllable count as I have in comments, this haiku or senreyu or whatever, the last line has just 4 syllables. Someone once suggested changing it to “blossoms are waiting”—but that says something entirely different, so I never changed it. and I’m glad.”
REFRACTIONS—poetry by Robert Roxby
“THE MINERS” is included this week for That Sucks Day, April 14. The scenes in this poem were a daily vision in the poet’s childhood. The 1930s Depression had hit his area by the time he graduated high school (the only one in his family to do so), and so his family talked him into a job as a coal miner. Even having seen and felt what he reveals in this poem, he spent the day in that particular hole. But when he emerged, he declared he would never again enter a mine to work, even though jobs were so scarce during the Depression. This poem first appeared in the author’s collection, Reflections on a Lifetime.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“EASTER” is a piece the author intended as a sort of Easter Card verse to share with family when her grandmother was still living.
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 2024
April has several special days that might inspire a writer. Here’s a few:
MINERVA
We always called her Nervy.
She was not really nervy but,
Always she was in trouble of some kind.
She was too soft hearted for her own good.
Someone was always taking advantage of her.
Three of the homes she lived in while married
Were so run down, old and weather beaten,
It’s a wonder she was allowed to live there.
Her husband left when she needed him the most.
Cancer dogged her life the last few years;
She always tried to hide how much it hurt her.
She would give you anything she had if
You said you really needed it.
One brother finally figured how to help her.
He built a concrete block house on his property,
Furnished it so she could look after Mom.
When she finally died of the cancer
My sister, Dorothy, was there and her last words
Were, “I’m coming Mommy. I’m coming.”
WATCHERS IN THE SKY
Are there watchers in the sky?
Do they see us, wake us from dreams
and mark with hope the wonder
that we might now remember
time-travelers of the past?
Wait! they somehow seem to say.
Wait! we will come back someday.