The fog slowly settled, concealing the road.
Its ghostly white obliterating all about,
Holding in its soft, moist embrace
Sight of Earth’s most lovely vistas here.
A cluster of lights, shrouded by the fog
Slowly revealed in the faintest outline
A large white and gray modern structure.
The glowing, reddish sign high above,
Boldly declared this as the site of Crown Point.
Stopping to walk about, we went inside
Where we found ourselves in a quaint attractive dining room.
Ordering a slice of pie and coffee, which after
We carried outside to the veranda.
We sat there and cleaned our plates
Of every single scrap of that apple pie.
A lightness appeared in the heavy fog.
Now we could see the land drop off,
Exactly where that lightness first appeared.
The fog, lifting, like a giant curtain
Seemed to promise a precious gift of nature.
We walked to the edge of land, going slowly.
There before us, the fog opened
Like before a stage play revealing
A deep cliff.
Now unseen hands raised this curtain
Even higher.
Allowing us to see an awe inspiring sight.
The world about us seemed to pause
As if to emphasize what nature now presented.
Far, far below, a river broad and clear,
Opposite a cliff as the fog curtain climbed higher
Until the far cliff was as high as our own.
Quickly Mother Nature cleared away all the fog.
There before us, the gorgeous gorge
As green as green trees could make it.
The river far below, so clear and now lit up
As a shift of sunlight blazed across
As if heralding the opening act
Of Mother’s Nature’s play—
The beautiful vista of
The Columbia River Gorge.
SPLINTERS FOR AUGUST 2024
MOTHER NATURE’S STAGE
The fog slowly settled, concealing the road.
Its ghostly white obliterating all about,
Holding in its soft, moist embrace
Sight of Earth’s most lovely vistas here.
A cluster of lights, shrouded by the fog
Slowly revealed in the faintest outline
A large white and gray modern structure.
The glowing, reddish sign high above,
Boldly declared this as the site of Crown Point.
Stopping to walk about, we went inside
Where we found ourselves in a quaint attractive dining room.
Ordering a slice of pie and coffee, which after
We carried outside to the veranda.
We sat there and cleaned our plates
Of every single scrap of that apple pie.
A lightness appeared in the heavy fog.
Now we could see the land drop off,
Exactly where that lightness first appeared.
The fog, lifting, like a giant curtain
Seemed to promise a precious gift of nature.
We walked to the edge of land, going slowly.
There before us, the fog opened
Like before a stage play revealing
A deep cliff.
Now unseen hands raised this curtain
Even higher.
Allowing us to see an awe inspiring sight.
The world about us seemed to pause
As if to emphasize what nature now presented.
Far, far below, a river broad and clear,
Opposite a cliff as the fog curtain climbed higher
Until the far cliff was as high as our own.
Quickly Mother Nature cleared away all the fog.
There before us, the gorgeous gorge
As green as green trees could make it.
The river far below, so clear and now lit up
As a shift of sunlight blazed across
As if heralding the opening act
Of Mother’s Nature’s play—
The beautiful vista of
The Columbia River Gorge.
BARRIER BROKEN
A jet flushed
From beyond the far hills
As silently as a bird,
Shot in a silent streak
Into the soft blue cloudless sky
And then the sound came
Rocking the ground
A charging beast
Too late to catch anything
But the twin streams of thrust
Spreading and thinning
And dissolving
In the teeth
Of the futile bites of sound.
#airborneday
THE POET SPOKE
(For Enid)
Like amphibians stranded upon rocks
Standing too long exposed
Above a once deep pond,
We eagerly awaited the words
The poet was spilling like a spring shower
Into the depression of the arena.
Between each poem, in the silence—
Wet and slippery—
We lapped at the startling, clear droplets
Which slid slowly down into our consciousness.
We floated; we swam in the depths
Of the now rain-freshened pool,
Relishing the slip of cool water
Across our dry and sunburned skins.
At last, water-slicked and shivery,
We climbed once more into the sun.
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 AUGUST 2024
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN – poetry by Margaret Roxby
“BARRIER BROKEN.” The title of this poem is defaulted from its subject as the author never officially gave it a title. She found all such scientific advances fascinating and wished it were possible for her to be part of space exploration. She envied her younger brother, a general in the USAF, his hours in the air. The poem is included this week for National Airborne Day, August 16.
REFRACTIONS – poetry by Robert Roxby
“MOTHER NATURE’S STAGE” describes one morning on a family trip in 1964 through the Columbia River Gorge, east of Portland, Oregon. The poem, found among the author’s papers, received its final edit for this release. It is included as a fitting, natural rather than man-made, event to pair with the poem by Margaret Roxby.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS – poetry by Kathleen Roxby
“THE POET SPOKE, (For Enid),” was inspired by Enid Osborne (California poet) reading one of her poems at a gathering of poets in Ventura, California. A copy of “The Poet Spoke” was later presented to Enid.
SIS
Today I am no fit companion to anyone.
A cloud of pain and sorrow covers the sun
That lights up my life as I go slowly,
Across these lovely hills and valleys
To where we walked, these many years past.
Her her face and voice will be with me.
Perhaps my soul will find a bit of comfort
As it remembers moments to cherish.
Today, my sister left on a long, long journey
To a far place of no return, and
Never again shall I see her dear face.
Perhaps, someday, in some distant clime,
We may meet again as a family renewed.
Now the cloud of sorrow deepens as I
Grope for some small solace for my soul
To heal the wound that seared my heart
When Sis left for that far distant land.
#sisters
MY NAME IS AUGUST
We are twelve
Together we make the year
But why, among us all
Do I seem to be held least dear?
I am a pleasing month, I think
True, sometimes I dawn quite hot
Yet many days, shiny and bright
Warm and balmy, not
Really too hot. That’s clear,
I think.
Make me to be a favorite month
Give me some wonderful holiday
To celebrate
And I’ll take my rightful place
Among the twelve
And dwell there in my new happy state,
Happily
In my new honored state.
SPELLING LIFE
To speak the words
That will take others to where
They have never been,
To give words
To those who have none
For what they have seen
To spell life upon a page
Where it may be held,
Shared,
And perhaps for a blink of time,
Understood
To give those who believe
That we strive all alone
The proof that there is one other
Who knows what we have lived.