The cooling touch upon the fevered brow
A quiet word in the still of the night
A helping hand in time of need
Just being there at the needed time
A small hug, gentle kiss, or simple caress
The refuge of a nice warm lap
Old eyes meeting across a crowded room
The electricity of just holding hands
Quiet things, little things, just anything
The simple acts that bestow our love
Upon those we chose to love so much
How poor our world without quiet love
For love, like yeast, grows and multiplies
The more you give, the more you have–
Now, with some understanding of love
I love you, and you and you and you
SPLINTERS FOR NOVEMBER 2023
IN ANOTHER’S SHOES
I forced myself
To travel roads
Unknown to me
To hear the howls
Of broken destiny
I chose to write
In this alien voice
To speak out
To explain the why
Now upon inked pages
It is all spilled
That pain, the twisted limbs
Of history that maimed
Lie bleeding across pages
Charred by words burning holes
Leaving me here
Stranded where I sought
To be—
In no-man’s land—
Waiting to learn of peace
Holding my white flag
Of surrender
MOODS
Nighttime
Fragrance
Gardens, old, forgotten, sweet…
And strolling ghostly feet.
Dreams
Wandering
Cool alleys of shadow trees…
Thoughts of mist
And, somewhere, memories
Songs
Melodies
Music that has ceased to be…
Sorrow and sadness
And dying ecstasy.
A LITTLE LOVE
The cooling touch upon the fevered brow
A quiet word in the still of the night
A helping hand in time of need
Just being there at the needed time
A small hug, gentle kiss, or simple caress
The refuge of a nice warm lap
Old eyes meeting across a crowded room
The electricity of just holding hands
Quiet things, little things, just anything
The simple acts that bestow our love
Upon those we chose to love so much
How poor our world without quiet love
For love, like yeast, grows and multiplies
The more you give, the more you have–
Now, with some understanding of love
I love you, and you and you and you
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“MOODS,” was found among the poet’s papers with a cutting from Good Housekeeping magazine. It is unclear if she intended to submit the poem or even if the poem was written by this author, though it appears to be in her style.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry by Robert Roxby
“A LITTLE LOVE,” was selected for this month when our minds are drawn to care for others (Veterans’ Day and Thanksgiving Day). The poet said this was written “to a memory of my youth.”
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“IN ANOTHER’S SHOES,” is the author’s response to the admonition, often heard in her youth, “walk a mile in another’s shoes.” Exploring this challenge to acquire empathy for others, she composed this poem.
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
DEARTH
All
all
all
The death of all
that was dear
All
that comforted
bought warmth
through the winter
of body, mind, soul
All
that consoled
brought serenity
in the midst of storms
All
that brought that most precious
moment of joy
gone…gone
All
all
all
TO A SOLDIER
(The Letter Not Sent)
I cannot hope to see you now.
We have parted all too soon.
More than friends, we made a vow.
I cannot hope to see you now.
Our time, so short, would but allow
a dream, a song, one sunlit noon.
Oh…we have parted all too soon.
NOVEMBER ELEVENTH
All of the guns became suddenly so quiet.
A silence so engulfed the battlefront
That even the winds seemed stilled as if in awe.
Nothing moved in any direction, not even birds
(As if there had been birds here in four years).
A voice cried out as though still in doubt,
“They signed the armistice!”
From all sides came shouts and sounds of singing
As one by one, slowly as if not yet quite sure,
They came from both sides through shattered trees
And scarred, torn land to stand face to face
Staring face to face as if amazed at their youth
Hugs, songs and talking without understanding
Yet, knowing that the war was over and all of them
Could go home, oh beautiful word, Home!