Green is juicy, chewy and richly moist.
It is the end of hunger
And smells of dinner.
Green wraps the skin in baby bunting,
Soft, safe and warm.
Brown tastes like baker’s chocolate
Or the sand flavor of a desert wind.
It has a dryness that clings to the teeth.
It smells of loam and mulch warm in the sun
And may slightly tickle, like grass.
Black is the slick hard smoothness
Of tempered steel: unyielding, unforgiving.
Black has the chemical taste of polyester,
And the flat aftertaste of factory milled cloth.
It has no more smell that aluminum or plastic.
Orange is hot chocolate surprised
With a touch of cinnamon or chili spice.
It is the touch of chenille both soft and not—
With ups and downs, uneven.
Orange is thick with the smells
Of bleeding saps, the perfumes of spice.
Red is stiff taffeta petticoats,
The sharp cold that cuts
And tastes like blood
And smells of tundra.
Or it is hot, perhaps with a scalding heat.
It smells of wood smoke
And has the tang of resins
Charred and steaming.
It is a taste that clings
Dry as ash upon the tongue.
Yellow is the delicate sweetness
Of honeysuckle sap.
It is not heavy with overtones
Like honey or maple syrup.
It smells of spring blossoms.
In the coolness of evening
It has caught the warmth of sun
Found in ceramics and rock.
Yellow slips across the skin
Like bangle bracelets
Ultimately delicate
Infinitely light.
The surface of velour or corduroy
Is the fleshy touch of Red-violet
Which tastes of fruit, soft yet crunchy:
Cherries or grapes,
Apples, plums or pears,
Melons or peaches.
It smells like the first cut
That opens the summer watermelon.
Blue is the touch of a down feather
Or the wet cling of a cold shower.
Blue has the contrary sweetness
Of rock salt or the sourness of brine
From too long exposure to decay.
It has the dank smell found in caves
Or in the hollows of sea shells.
Violet slips across the tongue
With the heady, heaviness of honey.
Velvet smells of night blooming flowers.
The touch of violet is the allure
Of expensive velvet or the softest of furs.
It is a tempting warmth
Deep enough to smother in.
#rainbow, #senses, #flavors, #textures. #prism, #color
REMEMBERING A DREAM
It seeps through like a fog
In sweeps of color
And swirls the room
My heart stirs
But only for a moment
Because then it is gone
Like the fog vanishing
Like myself
Like the fog
gone
#dream, #disappearing
ENGLISH VS TWO ORIENTAL LANGUAGES
Taking a slightly different direction than my other essays on the English language with this post. Back when I was a teenager, I learned that Japanese, like English, is stress dependent. This lesson came from a Japanese speaking actor performing the play Kataki at the community theater where I attended Drama lessons.
Everyone at the theater was pronouncing the play title as “ka-TAH-i” or “ka-TACK-i.” The Japanese actor informed us the proper pronunciation was “KAH-tah-ki.” But just yesterday, I learned Japanese is also pitch dependent like Chinese. In other words, the same written word (characters/script) when pronounced with not only stress, but pitch change, will have more than one definition.
I should have realized this before as I have long known that Chinese has this characteristic, and the two languages share a linguistic string. But what I found most interesting is that the author of the post explained there is a possible way to write a word to indicate the pitch variant, and therefore the true meaning intended. However, it is also possible that the word’s connotation will vary depending on how the word is used—something common to most languages.
Ignoring connotation for a moment, I have to say never have I been happier to know that English meanings change primarily due to where the stress is place on the word. Example from an earlier post*, CON-test is a competition, but con-TEST is the action of vying to win that CON-test.
However, English speakers manage to even make the simplicity of this complicated. Americans pronounced the word dedicated as DED-i-ca-ted, while our English cousins will say ded-i-CA-ted (long A). If the speaker is from India, the word might or might not mimic the English pronunciation. And so it goes, around the globe. Just imagine what would happen if English, like Japanese or Chinese, were also pitch dependent. Horrors!
*For the full text of the February 27, 2023 post, see:
#EnglishLanguage
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“REMEMBERING A DREAM” was found among the writer’s papers. It was likely written about the same time as “The Awakening,” see this site July 26.
KALEIDOSCOPE—a series by Kathleen Roxby
“ENGLISH VS TWO ORIENTAL LANGUAGES” continues the author’s exploration of the oddities of the English language. This particular selection was inspired by reading another author’s exploration and explanation of Japanese (and its links to Chinese) in an on-line post on a site the author follows. The author and her poet mother were both drawn to oriental poetry and therefore the native languages in which these were written. When Kathleen was still a child, she found a small pamphlet describing the Chinese script from which she copied the ancient version of the word for “horse” (which still looked like the image of a horse) to paint onto a porcelain bowl she created in her fourth grade classroom when they studied China.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“RAINDROPS,” is a seasonal haiku which the author wrote during an exceptionally rainy year. It is included this week as the Fall season comes to an end.
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 NOVEMBER 2023
A PRISM SAVORY
Green is juicy, chewy and richly moist.
It is the end of hunger
And smells of dinner.
Green wraps the skin in baby bunting,
Soft, safe and warm.
Brown tastes like baker’s chocolate
Or the sand flavor of a desert wind.
It has a dryness that clings to the teeth.
It smells of loam and mulch warm in the sun
And may slightly tickle, like grass.
Black is the slick hard smoothness
Of tempered steel: unyielding, unforgiving.
Black has the chemical taste of polyester,
And the flat aftertaste of factory milled cloth.
It has no more smell that aluminum or plastic.
Orange is hot chocolate surprised
With a touch of cinnamon or chili spice.
It is the touch of chenille both soft and not—
With ups and downs, uneven.
Orange is thick with the smells
Of bleeding saps, the perfumes of spice.
Red is stiff taffeta petticoats,
The sharp cold that cuts
And tastes like blood
And smells of tundra.
Or it is hot, perhaps with a scalding heat.
It smells of wood smoke
And has the tang of resins
Charred and steaming.
It is a taste that clings
Dry as ash upon the tongue.
Yellow is the delicate sweetness
Of honeysuckle sap.
It is not heavy with overtones
Like honey or maple syrup.
It smells of spring blossoms.
In the coolness of evening
It has caught the warmth of sun
Found in ceramics and rock.
Yellow slips across the skin
Like bangle bracelets
Ultimately delicate
Infinitely light.
The surface of velour or corduroy
Is the fleshy touch of Red-violet
Which tastes of fruit, soft yet crunchy:
Cherries or grapes,
Apples, plums or pears,
Melons or peaches.
It smells like the first cut
That opens the summer watermelon.
Blue is the touch of a down feather
Or the wet cling of a cold shower.
Blue has the contrary sweetness
Of rock salt or the sourness of brine
From too long exposure to decay.
It has the dank smell found in caves
Or in the hollows of sea shells.
Violet slips across the tongue
With the heady, heaviness of honey.
Velvet smells of night blooming flowers.
The touch of violet is the allure
Of expensive velvet or the softest of furs.
It is a tempting warmth
Deep enough to smother in.
#rainbow, #senses, #flavors, #textures. #prism, #color
STOREHOUSE
there is a storehouse of delight
billion-globed in the night:
a treasure there but for the finding
a knowing how to reach the site
#treasure
SENSING LIFE
Come one, come all, come to the show!
Come hear the blaze of lightning
And feel the loving caress of moonbeams.
Smell the taste of green apple pie,
Then hear the glories of Autumn’s colors.
Then touch the sunrise, caress a sunset.
Watch the soul when an operatic diva
Lifts it as high as a C: with Aida.
Come taste the perfume of a rose.
Smell that marvelous eclectic tingle
Of the windstorm through distant trees.
Feel the quiver of a tenor’s noise
And breathe in the beauty of your dreams.
Best of all, you can, if you try
See, taste, smell, feel and hear
The most innate glory of human loves.
#senses
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“STOREHOUSE,” was found among the poet’s papers. It is another example of the poet’s persistent optimism which seems appropriate as Thanksgiving approaches and the end of another year.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry by Robert Roxby
“SENSING LIFE,” was selected as a companion to the poem this week by Kathleen Roxby as both are celebration of our senses. The poet’s only comment on this poem, “Just musing.”
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“A PRISM SAVORY,” another poem intended for her chapbook A Singular Prism, a series exploring color . The poem is included this week in anticipation of the feasting to come at Thanksgiving dinners.
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: