Little Bo Peep, all forlorn
Has lost her sheep.
“They are gone,” she moans.
Little Bo Peep do not mourn
“But they are gone,” she repeats.
“All my sheep.
My beautiful sheep.”
Do not mourn Bo Peep
Do not fret and weep
For they will again come home.
No longer will you wait alone.
Little Bo Peep all forlorn
Do not weep and do not mourn,
“They are gone, gone,” she repeats,
“All my sheep, my beautiful sheep.”
From their roving they return, coming home
Beneath the darkening vast blue dome.
Round and round Bo Peep they wind.
Little Bo Peep no longer is forlorn.
No longer will she mourn,
“Gone, gone
My sheep are gone,
All my sheep, by beautiful sheep.”
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“PIRACY” is included as a nod to the fact that August is designated International Pirate Month. The poem was found among the author’s papers as one of the poems she shared with her Round Robin poet friends.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry by Robert Roxby
“YUMA” is included this week as the fourth week in August is Be Kind to Humankind Week. The poem was found in the poet’s journal.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“ANNEKE (An Author Writes to the Character She Created)” is included this week for World Letter Writing Day, September 1. When in tenth grade, the author’s English teacher presented the class with the assignment to write one page of a diary from the point of view of a person living outside of the US and in the midst of WW2 action. Having read both the diary of Anne Frank and that of another of a child of similar age also a resident of the Netherlands, the author used this knowledge to inform her writing. She received an A minus on her project because technically she wrote more than a page, turning it in on a page slightly longer than standard letter size. The original diary page still exists in the author’s files.
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 AUGUST 2023
DYLAN THOMAS ENVY
Sometimes I think
I should like
To write like Dylan of Wales,
To wrap myself and the world
In words awandering
Rolling, cresting
Like salt crusted waves
And over everything
Summer light
So urgently tumbled
Swallowed up,
Oblivious to night and day
Aware only of the
Sound and shape
Of words
And a music my throat cannot hold
THIS POET
A rider of
Stormy skies
Who must move
To the thunder
Of his cloud-master.
HOW I CAME TO KNOW WHAT LANGUAGE IS
I climbed the sounds until I found a word. Then I played upon the shape of it as though it were a jungle gym or the playground monkey bars (sliding up and down and wiggling in and out the angles and curves) until it became as familiar as home: so that I would know it in the dark, recognize it in a fog.
Then growing more adventurous, I flew like the trapeze artist from word to word–sometimes to fall, tumbling into confusion only to land back where I had started. Yet the thrill of the flight would draw me back up onto the high platform to try again and again. I learned to balance upon the high wire, that taut string of words reaching from meaning to understanding. There I performed a delicate ballet: each step, each forward movement carefully executed following the narrow path.
Next I took to the suspended swinging rope: words in a flexible line that arched and wove around me. I swung outward till I stretched free of the rope into the bit of air circumferenced by the words. There I flew and danced while barely tethered to the line like a kite held to the earth by a string. Yet I was freer to explore the sky than any kite.
So, this is how I have come to know what language is. And the thrill of discovery still remains. With each day a new trick may be learned, while the danger now is more acute for no longer do I wear a safety harness, no more perform above a safety net.
#EnglishLanguage
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“THIS POET” was found among the poet’s papers written on a scrap of envelope.
KALEIDOSCOPE—the writing of Kathleen Roxby
“HOW I CAME TO KNOW WHAT LANGUAGE IS” was inspired by a poetry workshop prompt and the urge to try writing a prose poem. It is included the week to accompany the other two selections with the subject of poetry.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“DYLAN THOMAS ENVY” was written after the author had viewed a biopic of Dylan Thomas’ life and binge reading of this works.
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 AUGUST 2023
LITTLE BO PEEP RESTYLED
Little Bo Peep, all forlorn
Has lost her sheep.
“They are gone,” she moans.
Little Bo Peep do not mourn
“But they are gone,” she repeats.
“All my sheep.
My beautiful sheep.”
Do not mourn Bo Peep
Do not fret and weep
For they will again come home.
No longer will you wait alone.
Little Bo Peep all forlorn
Do not weep and do not mourn,
“They are gone, gone,” she repeats,
“All my sheep, my beautiful sheep.”
From their roving they return, coming home
Beneath the darkening vast blue dome.
Round and round Bo Peep they wind.
Little Bo Peep no longer is forlorn.
No longer will she mourn,
“Gone, gone
My sheep are gone,
All my sheep, by beautiful sheep.”