He crosses the schoolyard, climbs the fence
Into a meadow and is near the road
When he hears that loud voice calling out behind.
Since most of the teachers don’t feel at ease
Entering the meadows and wooded areas,
He sprints across the road and into
The stand of trees covering the nearest hills
Swiftly entering that grove of trees. As the noise
Fades away, he is in his favorite place.
He would stay there if he had a choice,
Not where he lived with Mom and Dad and Sis.
Now he enters the small brook running thorough.
His feet are refreshed by the cooling water—
So clear, that the pebbles glow,
Seeming to shimmer just beneath the surface.
He takes a small swig of water, knowing that
Its clean, sweet taste tingled his mouth and throat.
Now, far away in this a very special corner
Two maple trees hang like a shelter
Where the brook leaps over a small rock ledge.
Here he rests, keeping himself ever so still.
A squirrel appears, washes its face,
Takes a quick drink. Then off to his tree.
Now a rabbit darts by, cotton tail flying high
While clear calls rise nearby—
From a titmouse, a swallow and the braggart crow.
One tiny bell sounds the approach of a cow
And that far off bark sounds like the dog who
Is his friend but growls at every stranger.
With great hunger, he samples some tidbits
Of nature’s fare, first an Indian radish, then
A berry or two. Chewing now on the twig
Of sassafras root and cheered by the
Whispering autumn winds as he enjoys
The pungent smells from crushed mint leaves
And the wild asters’ perfume.
Long shadows remind him of this day’s end.
Dad expects everyone home at dinner time.
With one last look, he is off and gone.
GYPSY DREAMS
With gypsy dreams
The wild heart turns
And visions fair of the almost things
A beauty rare to a dull mind brings:
With fairy tread
And careless head
I stroll high roads the mountain round
Where far below the sea waves sound.
No simple place
No normal face
But strange, fantastic haunts I know
Where pixies glow and weird winds do blow
As darkness falls
On giant walls
From the heights my drugged eyes look down
At dream dimmed lights of sylvan town
LAST LEAF
Falling one by one,
These beautiful leaves
Were on my tree since Spring.
When the last one falls to earth
Twigs and branches will remain—
Memories of last Spring’s gift.
Let me not be the last to fall.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“GYPSY DREAMS” was selected this week for upcoming Halloween when children dress up in costumes and thoughts of magic are in the air. Gypsies and fairies are recurrent themes in the author’s poems. She, herself, held a belief that in a former life she must have been a gypsy somewhere on the Iberian peninsula.
REFRACTIONS –a poem by Robert Roxby
“LAST LEAF” first appeared in the author’s 2000 poetry anthology, Reflections of a Lifetime. It is included for this month as Autumn leaves are falling.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“PETER PUMPKIN-EATER WAS CRUEL” was written when the author was writing a series of poems with color as the overall theme. As may be guessed, the author would not choose orange as a favorite color.
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 OCTOBER 2023
ALFALFA
Alfalfa straw teases the senses
With a hint of wet green Springs,
The aroma of loam gone to must.
Its molting skin tickles the nose
Catches on clothes and hair
And follows you home.
Ground to dust and sifted
onto a tarred lot, Alfalfa
builds a phantom barn,
plows a phantom field.
THREE STRAW LADIES
Three straw ladies
in three places
before a wall with straw hats—or faces
(difficult to tell)
and bare feet
but these are straw as well
and do not dance
their only music a bell
that tolls a beat
for straw shadows
that leave no traces
on sunburned lands
Why does the heart skip a beat
for three who only seem to be?
Three
faceless traceless straw ladies
in a Dali-dream
A DAY TO BE TRUANT
He crosses the schoolyard, climbs the fence
Into a meadow and is near the road
When he hears that loud voice calling out behind.
Since most of the teachers don’t feel at ease
Entering the meadows and wooded areas,
He sprints across the road and into
The stand of trees covering the nearest hills
Swiftly entering that grove of trees. As the noise
Fades away, he is in his favorite place.
He would stay there if he had a choice,
Not where he lived with Mom and Dad and Sis.
Now he enters the small brook running thorough.
His feet are refreshed by the cooling water—
So clear, that the pebbles glow,
Seeming to shimmer just beneath the surface.
He takes a small swig of water, knowing that
Its clean, sweet taste tingled his mouth and throat.
Now, far away in this a very special corner
Two maple trees hang like a shelter
Where the brook leaps over a small rock ledge.
Here he rests, keeping himself ever so still.
A squirrel appears, washes its face,
Takes a quick drink. Then off to his tree.
Now a rabbit darts by, cotton tail flying high
While clear calls rise nearby—
From a titmouse, a swallow and the braggart crow.
One tiny bell sounds the approach of a cow
And that far off bark sounds like the dog who
Is his friend but growls at every stranger.
With great hunger, he samples some tidbits
Of nature’s fare, first an Indian radish, then
A berry or two. Chewing now on the twig
Of sassafras root and cheered by the
Whispering autumn winds as he enjoys
The pungent smells from crushed mint leaves
And the wild asters’ perfume.
Long shadows remind him of this day’s end.
Dad expects everyone home at dinner time.
With one last look, he is off and gone.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“THREE STRAW LADIES” was written, according to the author’s daughter, sometime late in 1960. The daughter’s recollection is that the author woke from a troubling dream which is described in the poem. Searching for meaning, the author shared the dream because her daughter had demonstrated a knack for interpreting dreams. What the daughter did not tell her mother was that from her daughter’s perspective, Margaret was having an identity crises brought on by the ravages of menopause.
REFRACTIONS –a poem by Robert Roxby
“A DAY TO BE TRUANT” first appeared in the 2000 author’s poetry anthology, Reflections of a Lifetime. This is not the only poem the author wrote about being truant. After reading them, his daughter wondered just how many days of school he did attend and , given his penchant for being truant, how he managed to qualify for two scholarships (mathematics and chemistry) by the time he graduated high school. On this particular day in 1922, he was living in Harmarville, Pennsylvania.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“ALFALFA” appears this week to accompany “Three Straw Ladies.” though the poems have little in common but the product of nature they speak about. This poem was actually written in response to a writing prompt at a writer’s conference.
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: