I sit with doors and windows open wide
And the world passes through my home
On the way to somewhere else.
Behind they leave bits of themselves,
Or the sloughed off remnants
Of where they’ve traveled:
Wet footprints, dried leaves,
Sand and new mown grass,
The soft warmth of summer breezes,
The salty embers of blood and of tears,
A photograph, a scrap of cloth—
Echoes of the sound of their brief time
Within this awaiting space.
Hardly anyone of the passing throng
Returns to repair the damage
Left by the turbulence of their invading
And abandoning this place.
Seldom does anyone stop awhile
To share with me
The disquiet of my hours.
Rare, indeed, the one who asks to see beyond
The closed doors within, to glimpse
The secreted thoughts held apart, unseen,
Undreamed of by the crowd passing through.
I sit in this place
With doors and windows open wide,
Unable to shut outside
What I have yet to know
And wish I could not see,
Awaiting the moments
When the seeing is sweet
And the feeling is warm,
When the heart is quiet
And the knowing is peace.
SPLINTERS FOR SEPTEMBER 2024
LIBERAL: HIP, HIP, HOORAY!
“You Liberal,” he sneered.
Suddenly I am tall,
For by my side they come
From far fields, distant climes:
Thomas Jefferson, author
Of the Declaration of Independence;
Thomas Paine, firebrand of freedom;
Madison, supporter of the Bill of Rights;
LaFayette, the French sophisticate;
Garibaldi, Bolivar, Father Hidalgo.
Oh, am I ever taller now.
There’s honest Abe, hand-in-hand
With Frederick Douglas, talking.
Here’s Teddy Roosevelt, glasses shining
And staying that axe from our trees.
How proud I am for these
And for F.D.R. and for social change
To come stand by my side.
“Liberal!” I gleefully shout
Plunging on, renewed in strength.
“Bring on your regressive thoughts.
For now I am truly ready.
A liberal, yes, a true liberal,
Finally a liberal, a liberal.
Hip, Hip, Hooray!”
APOLOGIES TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Nine months they waited
With hopes and dreams
For the babe they could not see,
And oh, the joy of their happy day
When Trevor came to be.
IN THE AWAITING PLACE
I sit with doors and windows open wide
And the world passes through my home
On the way to somewhere else.
Behind they leave bits of themselves,
Or the sloughed off remnants
Of where they’ve traveled:
Wet footprints, dried leaves,
Sand and new mown grass,
The soft warmth of summer breezes,
The salty embers of blood and of tears,
A photograph, a scrap of cloth—
Echoes of the sound of their brief time
Within this awaiting space.
Hardly anyone of the passing throng
Returns to repair the damage
Left by the turbulence of their invading
And abandoning this place.
Seldom does anyone stop awhile
To share with me
The disquiet of my hours.
Rare, indeed, the one who asks to see beyond
The closed doors within, to glimpse
The secreted thoughts held apart, unseen,
Undreamed of by the crowd passing through.
I sit in this place
With doors and windows open wide,
Unable to shut outside
What I have yet to know
And wish I could not see,
Awaiting the moments
When the seeing is sweet
And the feeling is warm,
When the heart is quiet
And the knowing is peace.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry of Margaret Roxby
“APOLOGIES TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,” is included this month which is the ninth month of the year (see reference in the poem). The title suggests the author was inspired by the title poet when choosing the form of this piece. It was written for and sent originally to the parents of “Trevor.”
REFRACTIONS—the poetry of Robert Roxby
“LIBERAL: HIP, HIP, HOORAY!” is included this week in honor of September 15, UN International Day of Democracy. The poem was found in the author’s poetry journal.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“IN THE AWAITING PLACE” is included this week in honor of September 21, UN International Day of Peace. The poem represents one attempt of the author to describe her experience of the world as an introvert.
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 SEPTEMBER 2024
HOW BRAVE
Where have the brave ones gone
Who dared defend the weak and helpless
Huddled in fear shaped lumps of clay,
Waiting to be slaughtered one by one?
Do we die defending the faith,
Or stand by meekly, awaiting the lash?
Do you stand by as murdered dissidents
Defend liberty as a most precious jewel?
If you would be wholly free of fear,
You must risk life itself forever.
FOR THE UNFULFILLED
Time has found me unfulfilled
Yet withal I can keep dreaming:
Why not fairy castle build?
Yes, I know it’s only seeming.
Still, when spatial spires go towering
And the magic spreads its spell
Surely then there is a powering
Greater than mere words can tell.
Hope is flowering.
ON BOUND FEET
Bound by cables and locks,
drum taut,
defying pain,
denying the softness of tears,
percussive is the voice
of my friend
Strapped and bound
as in a flying harness,
held within restricted goals
by the flying cable’s reach,
disguising a fear
-and the anger-
a puppet of fate
tentative of grace
sudden and swift is the dance
of my friend
Somewhere
on a day when the sun fell softly
on petals vulnerable in their youth
on a day when the breezes danced lightly
on butterfly wings
on a day when the Earth sped quietly
for an hour or so
on its dizzy journey through space
Somewhere, on such a day,
oh, what song was heard,
what vision of freedom seen–
before my friend
caught by a shadow
bound her feet
and her soul
for the needs of others
even as she willed herself to survive