What so attracts all small children
To worms, pansies and puppy dog tails,
Mud puddles, toilet bowls and snails?
Why crawl under beds, chairs and tables,
Into flower beds, cupboards and drawers,
After cats, dogs and almost anyone
Going anyplace away from home?
What makes candy tastes better with dirt
To almost any small child anywhere?
Cannot any of them eat their food
Without getting it into their hair, on their clothes,
Their faces, the table, floor and everywhere?
But, should I protest so much
When that sleeping face looks so angelic,
When two small hands hug my neck,
Or one small body falls asleep
While I am reading a bedtime story?
What is that magic spell that all
Small children cast on all of us
Who are no longer young?
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 2024
MIRACLE OF CHILDHOOD
What so attracts all small children
To worms, pansies and puppy dog tails,
Mud puddles, toilet bowls and snails?
Why crawl under beds, chairs and tables,
Into flower beds, cupboards and drawers,
After cats, dogs and almost anyone
Going anyplace away from home?
What makes candy tastes better with dirt
To almost any small child anywhere?
Cannot any of them eat their food
Without getting it into their hair, on their clothes,
Their faces, the table, floor and everywhere?
But, should I protest so much
When that sleeping face looks so angelic,
When two small hands hug my neck,
Or one small body falls asleep
While I am reading a bedtime story?
What is that magic spell that all
Small children cast on all of us
Who are no longer young?
TOO MANY WINDS HAVE BLOWN
Too many winds have blown
from out the North
my gentle knights all slain
as they rode forth
The castle stands forlorn
on wasted earth
and every wall is claimed
by icy frost
A winter silence sweeps the land
and dearth
of valiance voiceless
cries the deadly cost:
my gentle knights all slain
as they rode forth
A cold sun seeks in vain
the stalwarts gone
who fought the chilling
North Wind wars and lost
Ah, whence can come again
this kingdom’s worth
of such sweet valor
lying now snow-mossed:
the gentle knights all slain
as they rode forth
Too many winds have blown
from out the North
#globalwindday
HILLS IN THE DESERT
Wind whistles through bone
The flute of the long dead
Music from another time
When lost people danced here
Beside hearths now buried
Beneath the desert sand
I imagine I hear their voices
Their songs circling
Within my head
Melting my staid posture
I sway as if blown
By the whistling wind
But in truth, I dance
In this ancient space
#globalwindday
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“TOO MANY WINDS HAVE BLOWN,” was written at a time when the author’s health was failing, her energy waning. In 1990 the poem appeared in her self-published chapbook, Glass Rain, Golden Rain. It is included this week for June 15, Global Wind Day.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“MIRACLE OF CHILDHOOD” is included this week for June 9, World’s Father’s Day. It was first published in the author’s collection, “Reflections on a Lifetime.”
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“HILLS IN THE DESERT” is included this week for June 15 Global Wind Day. From childhood the author was fascinated by the wind. Though she grew up in a beach town, her father often took the family on visits to the deserts of the SW states of her country where she learned of the history of their recent and ancient residents.
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 2024
THE LITTLE WOMEN
And they were there, too,
Mothers, sisters and daughters,
Stoking the fires of chill winter morns,
Baking bread, frying the potatoes
Hugging you safely close
When thunder clouds rolled in,
Kissing away the tears of tragedy.
Mom, healing the cuts and bruises,
Cleaning, sweeping, dusting, too…
Typing, shorthand and filing cards,
Never a thought of equal pay,
Just glad to be able to say,
“I can buy my own clothes now.”
GIFT FROM THE SEA OF NIGHT
I see your star light
Brilliant gift for me
Dewdrop in heaven’s sea
Scientifically we know
You may have burned out
In final flare
Many eons ago
And vanished
But, for me,
Your scintillating light
Still bright time-traveling
Its destined flight
Shines and shimmers
In the starry sea of night.
#repeatday