It was past midnight on the mountain top.
Starlight from a thousand million stars above
Brightened the land with a silver gray.
Every leaf reflecting a drop of light.
So too tall trees became spears of silver gray.
Ghostly shadows stalked about the earth
As one lone figure moved out into the scene
From a group of nearby small wooden cabins,
Walked a few steps and then stopped
As though suddenly aware of the sky above.
Perhaps this thought went through his mind:
Could there be another blue green planet
Somewhere in that massive group of stars?
A grain of sand blown on the winds
Through endless space to one ideal spot
In which a new life would then evolve.
Could we be the only bit of solar dust
Which we call civilized life?
Are we truly civilized, is it truly life?
Does true life take another form or style?
Will we ever know the truth of our universe
Or will it always remain a question mark?
THE SEARCHERS
Because the fever flames forever within,
We somehow, somewhere, sometime
Must begin to climb
The wounded weed-infested street
Exploring every empty house
In prescient fear
That nothing will be all that comes
To greet us in the grass-grown yards.
No secret one appears
To swing in splashing sun on derelict gates
Or leap with laughter from the ancient halls
Moldering behind the half-hung doors.
Nobody waits in silent surprise
Beside the crumbling walls.
No ear to hear, can there still be sound?
No eye to see, where is light’s playground?
Love? And no heart to feel:
Who then pleads blindly:
Please, somebody,
Please come and find me.
A GRAIN OF SAND
It was past midnight on the mountain top.
Starlight from a thousand million stars above
Brightened the land with a silver gray.
Every leaf reflecting a drop of light.
So too tall trees became spears of silver gray.
Ghostly shadows stalked about the earth
As one lone figure moved out into the scene
From a group of nearby small wooden cabins,
Walked a few steps and then stopped
As though suddenly aware of the sky above.
Perhaps this thought went through his mind:
Could there be another blue green planet
Somewhere in that massive group of stars?
A grain of sand blown on the winds
Through endless space to one ideal spot
In which a new life would then evolve.
Could we be the only bit of solar dust
Which we call civilized life?
Are we truly civilized, is it truly life?
Does true life take another form or style?
Will we ever know the truth of our universe
Or will it always remain a question mark?
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“THE SEARCHERS” was originally published in Writer’s Notes and Quotes in 1961. It is included this week for May 4, National Day of Prayer.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry of Robert Roxby
“A GRAIN OF SAND” was inspired by a night at Bryce Canyon, Utah. It is included this week for May 5, National Space Day.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“A PHOENIX IN THE GARDEN” describes the life of a geranium in the author’s garden. It is included this week a companion to “The Searchers,” as they both stress persistence.
SPLINTERS FOR MAY 2023
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:
Poetry Reading at the Bookstore: Sneak Attack
The words ricochet
off the book jackets,
slyly spill over the lip
of an unexpecting eyelid,
slither through the harem lattice
of a shuttered ear,
run in succulent rivulets
washing over silenced flesh,
seeping past the barrier skin.
Dangerous in ambush,
the words infiltrate
a mind once deaf.
THE DESERTION
—For Sylvia Plath
I wonder if it was
that he could not endure
that if not more, not less
was what she brought
and truer;
a rightful match
a mind and soul to catch
his star-flung thought
to soar
if not beyond at least as far
I wonder if it was
just envy, fear
that made him count it less
to be so mated near
when what he wanted most
was a certain awe
and worshipful tear
One thing we know:
the starcrossed paths divergence made
and she was left alone
This thing we know:
he reached and took life’s easy trade
she inherited a stone
TO MY LOVE
Any time I am near to you
I feel as if I want you to hold me
As tight as you can so I can feel safe.
When you hold me tight, my world feels safe.
My heart beats in turn with yours.
Every part of me feels so warm.
My whole body seems to quiver fancifully.
Take time to kiss me so slowly, that
I can feel each curve in your lips.
Take hold of my hands and do not let go.
I need to feel safe in your love.
You are like life itself to me, O, Love!
Please love me all the days of my life.
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“THE DESERTION,” a poem about two poets (Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes) is included for the conclusion of National Poetry Month. The author read both poets, their work and their biographies before writing this poem.
REFRACTIONS—the poetry of Robert Roxby
“TO MY LOVE” was undoubtedly addressed to the poet’s wife, perhaps for their 50th wedding anniversary. It was found in the poet’s journal and included this week for April 23, Lover’s Day.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“Poetry Reading at the Bookstore: Sneak Attack,” was inspired by one evening at the poetry reading in a local bookstore. Observing the non-participants browsing the shelves, perhaps turning their heads upon hearing a certain word of the spoken poetry, she conceived of the idea of poetry as sly, sneaking up on the unsuspecting like perhaps an intriguing aroma that lures the receivers away from their pursuits. It is included this week for April 28, National Great Poetry Reading Day.
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: