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:

  1. List Splintered Glass prompt which inspired the work in the text of your email.
  2. Submit material to be published as Microsoft Word document. Submission should not be longer than one page. Editing will not be provided, please be careful.
  3. Include two brief sentences about the author. Example: Michael Whozits is the author of A Book and The Curl, a blog. He is a retired pilot and avid surfer.
  4. Submission must arrive no later than the 3rd Wednesday of the month in which the Splintered Glass prompt appeared. Only one reader’s submission will be selected for any given month.
  5. Send submission to karoxby@gmail.com.

 

You stayed home all weekend

Again

Your mother called

After two weeks of your silence

To ask if you were still alive

 

You waste all the minutes

Not bound to barest need

 

Just what do you find

So fascinating about that blank wall

That keeps your attention

For hours at a time?

 

In your secret cave, your home,

What is it that causes you to mourn

Till your body quivers beyond control

With the gasps of silent tears

That do not wet your eyes or face?

 

Have you no voice to speak?

Is it language that confounds you?

Can you find no words

To name the thing

That traps you there

Alone and hiding?

 

Do the worlds

Of your heart frighten you?

Have you condemned

Your heart to silence

And shadows?

Where are you going

How far away will you flee?

Will anyone ever again hear

The music of your laughter,

See your eyes once more

Fill and spill over in tears

Of compassion or grief?

 

I wait for your answer

A vein pulses

at your temple—

it signals the pressing things

you have somehow, some why to get to

 

I would ask you

“Linger yet a while

For friendship’s sake”

But your eyes have already turned

To other places

Other happenings

That have no part in me

“Someday,” you say,

“when we have time”—

“There are so many things

I’ve stored up,” you say

 

Ah, my dear friend,

The dust of dissolution

Has already seeped into that storehouse

 

There are those who think

Time is the great robber

But time

is not the thief here

If I cannot be free

Then I wish not to be

I must smell the wind

Touch the sun’s warmth

Walk where few men go

Feel the grass on my toes

To be alone when I think

With friends when I talk

Life is a broken bough

If I cannot live this way

GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby

“THE THIEF,” was written in response to the author feeling a long-time friend pulling away, drawn by other people and other interests to explore. Whether the poet shared the poem with that friend is unknown, but it is not unlike her to have done so. It is included this week for Send A Card To A Friend, Feb 7.

REFRACTIONS—the poetry of Robert Roxby

“TO BE FREE” is included this week for National Freedom Day. The poem first appeared in the author’s collection, Reflections of a Lifetime.

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby

“TO MY DISAPPEARING FRIEND,” is included this week for Send A Card To A Friend, February 7. The point of view was suggested by a poetry workshop, but the poem describes the author’s experience with depression in her late twenties.

  1. This month the contributors focused on three related days observed this month: National Freedom Day, World Thinking Day and World Social Justice Day. Pick one of these or more and voice your opinions, feelings that the day(s) suggest to you. Here are some challenges for you:
    1. Write your definition of freedom.
    2. Considering the events of this year, do you believe people are losing their willingness to think things through, to test statements for logic?
    3. What is your definition of social justice?
  2. Love in a major theme for the month. The site’s poets were inspired by Valentine’s Day, Love Your Pet Day, and Send a Card to a Friend Day. Choose one and write your “love” poem.
  3. There are two poems written for Musical Therapy Day. Music can be used as a therapy in many ways, for Alzheimer’s patients, for example.
    1. Do you turn to music to change your mood? Why do you think it helps?
    2. Do you have a loved one who has been helped by music?

 

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:

  1. List Splintered Glass prompt which inspired the work in the text of your email.
  2. Submit material to be published as Microsoft Word document. Submission should not be longer than one page. Editing will not be provided, please be careful.
  3. Include two brief sentences about the author. Example: Michael Whozits is the author of A Book and The Curl, a blog. He is a retired pilot and avid surfer.
  4. Submission must arrive no later than the 3rd Wednesday of the month in which the Splintered Glass prompt appeared. Only one reader’s submission will be selected for any given month.
  5. Send submission to karoxby@gmail.com.

 

Margins, intended to force order,

Succeed only if we accept them.

They are not natural.

 

The richness of life

Overflows imposed margins

Like people spill unstopped

Across unseen political borders.

 

Even in the wild

Where a first look sees a line

Marking the edge of life—

Beyond which nothing seems to grow—

 

Yet, should we look more closely

With a trained eye,

There we will find life

Dormant waiting for change,

Or actively thriving in adversity.

 

Spilling into paper margins

Are the fantasies

Escaped from boredom.

 

In the margins

Are the afterthoughts,

The reconsidered,

The questions to pursue.

 

Margins have the climaxes

Of thoughts left unexpressed.

 

What are margins

But arbitrary boundaries?

 

They are as much imagination

As the insubordination

Bursting into their cordoned off space.

(For Elena)

There is a liberation

when the green stem stretches

in strength, baring

its buds to the blazing sun

 

Then the golden light

rains gladness

upon glazed windows

and tapering towers

upon bird-hugged trees

and leaf-rugged paths

and upon the unexplored

places of the human heart

 

 

 

 

“The,” three simple letters, is neither a name for something (noun), nor is it an action (verb)—the two requirements for any English sentence—yet it appears in nearly every sentence.  For example, “The dog jumped.” Why is the there?

In English we have two other similar words, “a” and “an,” as in “A bottle broke” and “An elephant roared.” These show up almost as frequently as “the” and are also neither noun nor verb. All three are called “articles,” which I personally find to be ridiculous. The word article can mean “thing” or a piece of writing, like an “article” in a magazine. In other words, an “article” is a noun, but “a” and “an” and “the” are not!

Maybe long ago the teachers of language were struggling to explain these three words and in their desperation they settled on referring to them as “articles of speech.” I suppose I can forgive them, but why are they required? I know English is not the only language that uses these “no definition” words—though to be fair, “a” and “an” can mean “one.” This makes some sense to me as “one,” which was once long ago “ane,” is somewhat visually similar. The two equate to the French “un” and “une,” the Spanish “un,” “uno,” and “una.”

But the “le” and “les” in French, and the “la” and “las” and “los” in Spanish (the equivalents to “the” in English), seem to me only necessary because “that is the way we do things.” What kind of reason is that? Even if I accept that (because what choice do I have really?), the word “the” has two pronunciations with different connotations. The usual sound of the word rhymes with “uh” and is a dull, almost missed sound. The exception to the rule pronounces the word as though it were spelled “thee.”

What does this signify? “The” when pronounced “thee,” is calling attention to the noun which follows, singling it out from all the others of its kind. The dog (pronounced “thee”) is not just one of the bunch of dogs, it is unique in some way.

This change of pronunciation is not obvious as written, yet the native speaker almost always knows when to say the word as “thee” rather than “thuh,” presenting one more stumbling block for those learning the language.

 

#EnglishLanguage