The mustang races her shadow
across the valley
to the far hilltop
where she stands for a moment
quivering – so aware of being free.
Arrogant with the power of escape,
she turns to watch her shadow
slowly sliding upward and closer.
Then she’s off again,
down the sheer wall
between her and the sun,
racing across the Plain of Moon,
mane whipping against her neck,
tail arched and defiant.
The sun cannot catch her
with her shadow.
The moon shall not find her
waiting to pay tribute.
She is alone and free.
She shall not be tied
to the earth by the lie
her shadow would tell.
She is strong. She is alive,
unbound — beyond the touch
of sun or moon
with only the wind
to know her name.
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 JULY 2022
Hills in the Desert
Wind whistles through bone
The flute of the long dead
Music from another time
When lost people danced here
Beside hearths now buried
Beneath the desert sand
I imagine I hear their voices
Their songs circling
Within my head
Melting my staid posture
I sway as if blown
By the whistling wind
But in truth, I dance
In this ancient space
TO A STAR
I see your star light
(a gift for me)
brilliant dewdrop
in the heavens’ sea
Scientifically
we know
you may have burned out
in super-nova final flare
and vanished
many eons ago
But for me
your scintillating light
time-traveling the destined flight
still bright
shines and shimmers
in the starry sea of night
THOSE TREES
As I awoke this morning in the wilderness
The trees were all whispering to each other
I wondered if they were talking about me
And if they resented my presence in these woods
The birds had all welcomed me so gloriously
I felt as if I had touched the treetops
I heard the siren call of a distant waterfall
Its irresistible music caught my ear and
As I walked away, trees stopped whispering
AUTHOR NOTES
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“TO A STAR,” was “written after a discussion with my son about the mysteries of our universe and, especially (in his words) the possibility of the illusionary qualities of what we think we see and feel, etc., etc., etc.”—from Robin letter written in 1991. It is included this week for Listening Day.
REFRACTIONS—a series by Robert Roxby
“THOSE TREES,” is included this week for July 18, World Listening Day which is devoted to understanding the world and its natural environment, societies and cultures. It was first published in the author’s collection Reflections on a Lifetime.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“HILLS IN THE DESERT” reflects the author’s fascination with archeology and her memories of visiting long abandoned ancient dwellings in the deserts of the southwestern states of the United States. It is included this week for Listening 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:
SPLINTERS FOR JULY 2022
THE MUSTANG
The mustang races her shadow
across the valley
to the far hilltop
where she stands for a moment
quivering – so aware of being free.
Arrogant with the power of escape,
she turns to watch her shadow
slowly sliding upward and closer.
Then she’s off again,
down the sheer wall
between her and the sun,
racing across the Plain of Moon,
mane whipping against her neck,
tail arched and defiant.
The sun cannot catch her
with her shadow.
The moon shall not find her
waiting to pay tribute.
She is alone and free.
She shall not be tied
to the earth by the lie
her shadow would tell.
She is strong. She is alive,
unbound — beyond the touch
of sun or moon
with only the wind
to know her name.
[Memory of Hawaii]
When wind
Is right, there blows
Across the bright lit sky
A fleet that challenges the moon:
White ships
Float eastward…clouds, shadow and light
As galleons advance
The war—when wind
Blows right