Candlelight and strange old tales
wove long ago fantastic dreams
of phantom ships with silver sails
for one who followed poets’ trails
through realms of glowing silver streams,
candlelight and strange old tales
of wanderings and holy grails.
The years were filled with starbright beams
of phantom ships with silver sails.
Memory through time prevails,
heartholds apart from mundane schemes
candlelight and strange old tales.
Through life’s dark hours and stormy gales
come sailing back to me, it seems,
phantom ships with silver sails.
The magic dream that never fails
to bring me joy: remembered gleams
of candlelight and strange old tales
of phantom ships with silver sails.
#ships, #sails, #tales, #wanderings, #phantomships, #dreams
SPLINTERS FOR DECEMBER 2023
CHRISTMAS TO THE NTH RIDICULOUS
Bows on presents?
Well – okay, that’s to be expected
Ribbons of taffeta
Satin and shimmering lights
Spill all over house
And yard.
Bows of electric lights
Strung against the night
Hoo, boy!
Bows encircling chimney tops?
Plastic cookies and candy canes
Line drive and porch
Oh, my, oh my, what else?
Colorful streamers
Stiffening with ice,
Threatening to crack
In the winter freezes
Who is this fool?
This Christmas
Decorating fool?
Not me. Huh, uh, not me.
#Christmas, #Christmasdecorations, #decorationcritic
SEASON’S GREETINGS
For you:
Christmas joy
….That never ends
….Good Health
….Good Friends
#Christmasgreeting, #joy, #Christmas
FOOTSTEPS
Footsteps walking forever at the beach
Toward some distant unknown goal ahead
From which they cannot turn aside until reached.
Some unknown force seems to drive them onward.
Could there be an understandable answer
Would we recognize an answer as such?
Footsteps! Forever in the sands of time.
#footsteps, #time
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“SEASONS GREETINGS” is another of the simple verses the author created to use on her own handmade greetings cards.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry by Robert Roxby
“FOOTSTEPS” was found among the author’s papers. It is included this week for National Roots Day, December 23.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—works by Kathleen Roxby
“CHRISTMAS TO THE NTH RIDICULOUS” was inspired by a a couple of television movies depicting decoration competitions which seemed to get out of control.
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 DECEMBER 2023
WEATHERING WINTER
Like an otter
Slipping so easily
So naturally
Beneath the water surface
To slither amid summer
Warmed river deeps
I slide into sleep
Couched in the warmth
Of quilt and coverlet.
Morning arrives
With sounds like ice
Shivered
Wind tossed
From frosted trees
The air twitters
Brittle with rude
Coughing mufflers
Newspapers slapping
Onto nearby doorsteps
Chill nips my nose
Sneaks tip toe across my lashes
Teasing me at last
To surface into morning.
#winter, #wintermorning, #waking, #warmth, #otter
FANTASY, THE MAGIC DREAM
Candlelight and strange old tales
wove long ago fantastic dreams
of phantom ships with silver sails
for one who followed poets’ trails
through realms of glowing silver streams,
candlelight and strange old tales
of wanderings and holy grails.
The years were filled with starbright beams
of phantom ships with silver sails.
Memory through time prevails,
heartholds apart from mundane schemes
candlelight and strange old tales.
Through life’s dark hours and stormy gales
come sailing back to me, it seems,
phantom ships with silver sails.
The magic dream that never fails
to bring me joy: remembered gleams
of candlelight and strange old tales
of phantom ships with silver sails.
#ships, #sails, #tales, #wanderings, #phantomships, #dreams
THE EPITHET
It is only a word
Letters strung out into shape
To be read by human eyes
Spoken by the human voice.
It is just a word
Like many other words.
Then, why does it scrape
Against my soul
Like a rasp against soft wood,
Letting fall away bloody shreds,
Leaving the raw abrasion
To fester and never heal?
People damaged by rages of anger at their fate
And terrified of their future
Have imprisoned their anger and fear
Into a cage made of a word.
Locking away their fear and anger
Allows them to pretend they are now safe.
They can say, “Not me, never me.”
But the quiet space they create
Is only an illusion.
For with their every utterance of the word,
The rabid dogs of anger are let loose
To shred and devour peace
And strip all our lives of joy.
#EnglishLanguage, #epithet, #hatred, #lossofpeace, #anger, #thepowerofwords
#wordusage