In a gentler hour
Not needing to hide from light
I see truer colors
Some almost hurtful in
Their brilliance
And others whose shadings of subtlety
Are not visible
Behind tinted polarized glass.
Ah, dearest friend,
Though there are, gentle hours
When I see you
As clearly as you might wish
To be known,
It is also true
That these moments are too few
To permit a real friendship.
Your love of me is unique:
For you are my mother,
And needing you so to always be,
I most often see the woman that you are
In the shelter of a vision
Colored by your mother love
And polarized by the child in me.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“THE AWAKENING” is included this week for National Daylight Appreciation Day, June 21. However, Margaret wrote this in response to joining a poetry workshop group with younger women (including her daughter). This occurred at a time when the author was doubting her ability to continue writing, but being with these younger creative women awoke her muse once more. This is the true subject of this poem.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry of Robert Roxby
“WE WERE FREE, PART TWO” is included this week for West Virginia Day and also for National Selfie Day as this selection is like a series of selfies in words.. The poem was found in the author’s poetry journal. Note: part one of this selection appeared in May: https://www.singularprism.com/2023/05/08/we-were-free-part-one/
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“PINK,” is one of a series of poems the author wrote on the subject of color for her collection titled “Singular Prism” which gave its title to this website. It is included this week for National Pink Day, June 23.
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 JUNE 2023
WAS IT YOU?
For a moment
In the mist
Almost a shape
A shadow
Undefined
Was it you
Remembering me?
A MUFFLED FAR-OFF CALL
Long ago
–almost unremembered
but not quite—
Someone called
Inside:
the sheltered room
closed and warm and safe
Outside:
the winter night
cold, black, insistent
Ice—stillness and depth-ache
And then
the muffled call, far-off:
Margaret Margaret
I waited
heart-poised
vigilant
It never came again
Time passed
–a river flowing toward the sea—
Now
Removed by years and other yearnings
I wonder:
Why did I
hear that muffled call:
Margaret Margaret
From the cold still winter night
A ROSE
When God planted that first rose bush
I think He knew that we needed that rose
To convey a special meaning to love
Between a man and a woman.
No other flower seems to do.
With this rose, I am trying to say
You are really kind of special
So, I am truly glad to have you around me.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—poetry by Margaret Roxby
“A MUFFLED CALL” recalls a real experience of the author when she was young, still living in Wheeling, West Virginia. She told her daughter she often heard children playing late at night, calling to each other. This late hour play was common as many of those children worked in the mills, sharing the working hours of their parents, but it was the calling of her own name which haunted her. Was someone really calling her specifically that night? Who? It is included this week for June 11, National Children’s Day.
REFRACTIONS—a poem by Robert Roxby
“A ROSE” is included this week National Red Rose Day, June 12. The poem was found in the author’s poetry journal.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“WAS IT YOU?” is included this week as a companion to “A Muffled Call.”
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 JUNE 2023
SPLIT FRIENDSHIP
In a gentler hour
Not needing to hide from light
I see truer colors
Some almost hurtful in
Their brilliance
And others whose shadings of subtlety
Are not visible
Behind tinted polarized glass.
Ah, dearest friend,
Though there are, gentle hours
When I see you
As clearly as you might wish
To be known,
It is also true
That these moments are too few
To permit a real friendship.
Your love of me is unique:
For you are my mother,
And needing you so to always be,
I most often see the woman that you are
In the shelter of a vision
Colored by your mother love
And polarized by the child in me.