The house where he slept is gone—
A barren lot, now, in the dawn.
So where is he,
The child whose memory is haunting me?
With his skin, like a turnip left too long
Out of ground in the sun,
The last of twenty-five, born without a song,
Without a place to run,
The hunger shrieked from his eyes,
Despair in his sighs,
In hand-me-downs that never fit,
Never still, ever moving, he would sit.
His fingers nibbled up our treasures
For heroin, pills and acid cures
For brothers, uncles-who-weren’t, and mayhap fathers
Who spilled their deaths into the morning papers.
I required him day after day to stay
Till all his stolen prizes on the desktop lay
And day by day his take grew less and less
As though only stolen to confess.
One day escaping when I forgot the game,
He returned, though I did not call his name,
Offering two paper clips and a rubber band:
All of that day’s contraband.
A little praise, a little gentle care
I could easily spare
For hungry eyes and a true smile
That lost for once its former guile.
The house where he slept is gone–
A barren lot, now, in the dawn.
So where is he
The child of hungry eyes,
Child refugee
With hungry eyes?
#worldinternationalchildrensday
WINDY SEA
Jade green marbled
With fine white veins
Ruffled in tiers
White
Albino
Tiger paw
Slapping at stubborn retaining walls
#worldoceanday
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“GIFT FROM THE SEA OF NIGHT,” expresses the author’s lifelong fascination with stars and astronomy. Growing up at a time when city lights were few and not powerful, the night sky revealed much more than the sky above her later home in California where she tried to teach her child to identify the constellations that were visible in spite of light-pollution.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“THE LITTLE WOMEN” was first published in the author’s collection, “Reflections on a Lifetime.” With Father’s Day nearing, the author reminds of of the often unsung activities performed by women.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“WINDY SEA” is included this week for June 8, World Oceans Day. The author, growing up in a beach town, had lifelong love of the ocean in its many moods.
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
ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER
There has been an angel on my shoulder
All the days of my life this far.
When I was five, she saved my life by
Slowing my descent as I fell from
A one story platform onto some rocks.
When I was seven, she helped me swim
Out of the quarry pond I had fallen into.
The next time she showed up
Was in fifth grade, when three boys
Decided to trash me. She came as a young girl
Who went after those boys, scratching,
Pulling hair, poking her fingers so fast
Those boys couldn’t run fast enough to get away.
Then when I slipped on that small cliff,
She made sure I landed softly enough
That only a large bruise spot showed up.
I heard her whisper into my ear,
Don’t skate on that ice-covered pond.
Good thing I listened because
My best friend, Bill, fell through.
Luckily, we rescued him using
An old tree branch lying nearby.
#worldinternationalchilderensday
SONG OF HEALING LIGHT
Was that your voice, dear one,
last night I heard
or bird
from some enchanted world of dream-like
scope
where mysteries, where marvels yet
might be?
Tell me
was that your song
or my heart’s hope
Sometimes in deep unfathomed
realms of sleep
we keep memories of love and loss interred
If songs do wind from reaches
unmetered wide
from tide
of stars that was your song
each lyric word
No dream could ever conjure
such delight:
the night
so strangely still save only
that sweet sound
that woke within the dark
a sunlight glow
a flow
of morning’s healing light
and joy profound
#memorialday
The Child of Hungry Eyes
The house where he slept is gone—
A barren lot, now, in the dawn.
So where is he,
The child whose memory is haunting me?
With his skin, like a turnip left too long
Out of ground in the sun,
The last of twenty-five, born without a song,
Without a place to run,
The hunger shrieked from his eyes,
Despair in his sighs,
In hand-me-downs that never fit,
Never still, ever moving, he would sit.
His fingers nibbled up our treasures
For heroin, pills and acid cures
For brothers, uncles-who-weren’t, and mayhap fathers
Who spilled their deaths into the morning papers.
I required him day after day to stay
Till all his stolen prizes on the desktop lay
And day by day his take grew less and less
As though only stolen to confess.
One day escaping when I forgot the game,
He returned, though I did not call his name,
Offering two paper clips and a rubber band:
All of that day’s contraband.
A little praise, a little gentle care
I could easily spare
For hungry eyes and a true smile
That lost for once its former guile.
The house where he slept is gone–
A barren lot, now, in the dawn.
So where is he
The child of hungry eyes,
Child refugee
With hungry eyes?
#worldinternationalchildrensday
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
The poem “SONG OF HEALING LIGHT,” is included this week for May 27, Memorial Day. The poem was published in 1990 a part of her chapbook, Glass Rain, Golden Rain.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER” is included this week for June 1, World International Childrens Day. The poem is included in his anthology, Reflections of a Lifetime.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“THE CHILD OF HUNGRY EYES” is included this week for June 1, World International Childrens Day. When the author worked as a teacher in an inner-city school, this child was in one of her classes. The school had a policy that teachers should visit the homes of some of their students if not all. The author visited this child’s home and met his bed-ridden mother, saw the small bookcase she proudly pointed to which contained a set of lawbooks rescued from the wreckage of a construction demolition site. The history of the males associated with his family came to her from the school’s administration.
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 MAY 2024