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Wed May 16 23:04:11 UTC 2012

How do you get Matilda  Ziegler magazine?
What sort of writing is in it?

-----Original Message----- 
From: Robert Leslie Newman
Sent: Tuesday, May 01, 2012 8:51 AM
To: writers nfb
Subject: [stylist] There be Members in this online Mag!

(Look for Nancy and Marilyn)

This is the Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the Blind

2012 Poetry Issue

  Table of Contents

  Editor's Note

Nancy Scott - Advantages of Not Knowing Mirrors William Shake 'N Bake

  - An Epicurean's Epigram Sally Rosenthal - Solace Bunny Maginnis - I

  Saw a Sunset Ann Chiappetta - Appearances Cathy Brotz - Growing Old

  and The Golden Door Valerie Moreno - Wake Up Call Marilyn Brandt Smith

  - The Walk Home Floris Brown - You dressed me in purple Lori Castner -

  Window-shopping Claudia Del Real - Another Day Carol Fleischman -

  Braille Rosetta Brown - A Poem Is Carole Rose - Swinging Rex Leslie

  Howard, Jr. - Force Unseen Abbie Taylor - I Walk Alone Ray Holland -

  The skies I remember Ed Neiman - Meditation on the Memorial Wall Karen

  Crowder - Country Folks James Boswell - Oh Kapten My Kapten Ruth E.

  Coleman - The Promise Keeper Norma A. Boge - Longing Bonnie Rennie -

  Okay I Can't See Kalu Ndukwe - A Third String Gratitude

  For your convenience, each poem is separated by the ## symbol.

  Editors Note:  Poetry is literary art, and forces the artist into a

  habit of intricate deliberation as they carefully place words into a

  confined space--like a watchmaker gently laying the gears and springs

  into the body of their work.  Every element is meaningful and has a

  defined purpose as they build rhythm and meld to fulfill the function

  of the artist.  But where time is static, poetry is like a

  cloud--constantly changing and experienced differently by each observer.

  I would like to thank everyone who submitted material for this year's

  poetry issue.  You have all done a fantastic job.

  Enjoy!

##

Nancy Scott - Advantages of Not Knowing Mirrors

  I've forgotten again

what color

my clouded eyes are.

People have said grey,

but someone said blue once

and I like the sound of that.

  I want to hear my face's

laugh lines and heart shape

and wishful forty-five-year-old skin

but I don't ask,

not wanting the sound of truth

unknowable by touch.

  I can feel

my Irish-bent nose

and the breathlessness

of twenty pounds I should lose.

But the sound

of my still-thick hair

is silver.

  Now isn't that more fun than seeing?

##

William Shake 'N Bake - An Epicurean's Epigram

  Eat what you love, and love be what you eat O you who snack on care's

  perfidious crimes.

A fool's content lies more with white than wheat, and diet is a symbol

  of the times.

Love is a dish of gusto-garnished veal, and steak is not outwitted by

  the rest of Cupid's saucy arrows, for his meal contents love's least

  sad labour with the best.

If low-fat yogurt adds but little spice to salad dressings creamy and

  divine, it is the diet's demons dour device.

Love and be loved with fat and flavour fine.

If counting calories you do despise,

then grab a chocolate milkshake and be wise!

##

Sally Rosenthal - Solace

  I brought my mother a dog

to polish the dullness

of a nursing home routine and

make it sparkle

with Labrador enthusiasm.

  I brought my mother a dog

to remind her she was the same person

whose ninety-one years had been graced with canine devotion, from the

  wire-haired terrier of her native England who, being averse to

  grooming, buried his brush in a neighbor's garden, from the mastiffs

  bred and shown by her late sister at Crufts, from the Boston terrier,

  assorted brown mutts, and retired hunting spaniels who had Christmas

  presents under our family tree to the yellow Labrador who, with my

  hand on her harness, deftly guided me through the institutional halls

  on her missions of comfort.

  I brought my mother a dog

to salve my conscience for

the care I could not provide

and to assuage my guilt for

the luxuries I had at home of

meals of my own choosing,

hot cups of tea,

and quiet privacy.

  I brought my mother a dog

a few hours before she died.

As I held her waif-like hand,

listening to her changing breath and

bidding her safe travel, I prayed

the woman in the nursing home bed

that held no hint of home realized

I had brought us both a dog.

##

Bunny Maginnis - I Saw a Sunset

  I awoke in darkness, the hour seemed quite late.

How long had I been sleeping, I tried to concentrate.

I must have closed the curtains, that's it, without a doubt.

Or perhaps, a storm came through and then electricity went out.

I felt my way across the room and when I found the door, I opened it

  and stood there, bewildered and unsure.

The birds were sweetly singing and folks were walking by.

At first I felt fear and anger, and then I began to cry.

For it was my eyes, I lost my sight I knew it had to be.

But I felt so alone and frightened, how could this happen to me.

I cried my God, where have you gone,

Why have you left me all alone?

You know on you I will rely,

But must I be blind until I die?

And then, in my mind's eye there did appear, A vision bright, and very

  clear.

A blue sky, puffy clouds, lovely to behold, Surrounded a suspended

  ball of crimson, orange and gold.

My mind's eye filled with wonder, I shed not one single tear drop.

For you see, I viewed this lovely scene standing high on a mountain top.

It was this that made me realize,

That I could live without my eyes. Though physically they are quite

  blind, I'm not sightless in my mind.

Whenever a thing I wish to see,

I activate my memory.

Yes, that's a day I'll not forget.

I lost my sight, but, I saw a sunset.

##

Ann Chiappetta - Appearances

  Once, not long ago

the details of life consumed me

Images of wild flowers, riotous colors in a blanket of green were

  picked, not left untouched.

  Dependence on Televised Greek tragedies Indelible Portraits, live

  feeds and last breaths Possessed me.

  Now a sound or smell overrides the lost optical cues Memories ribbon

  the air with Familiar scents Warm, pungent earth after it rains

  Reminders of ripening tomatoes The brace and sting of crisp winter

  wind Recollections of hikes in the snow tipped pines

  The soft, clear tinkle of ice on a windowpane And my husband's

  breathing deep in the night Comforts the troubles Lulls me back to

  sleep ## Cathy Brotz - Growing Old and The Golden Door

  Author's Note: The first poem was written by my grandmother, Katherine

  Gilbert Cullerton, who was blind from Retinitis Pigmentosa. She wrote

  the poem in January 1985. She passed on in January 1988, just shy of

  her 98th birthday.

  The second poem was written by my father, John H. Cullerton, on

  January 16, 1988, the day that his mother passed. He is legally blind

  from Retinitis Pigmentosa and will turn 87 on May 20, 2012.

  Growing Old

Katherine Gilbert Cullerton

  You'll never know how sad it is,

What growing old can be like,

Until you're near the Golden Door.

  My eyes are dim, my hearings's poor;

The arthritis in my back

Gets worse with every twist and bend.

  So enjoy yourself while you are young.

Get the things you can afford.

  My greatest pleasure was helping others And lending a helping hand.

  I have a wonderful family

And kind friends by the score,

But I hope it won't be very long

Before I reach the Golden Door.

  The Golden Door

by John H. Cullerton

  She sees it now... the Golden Door.

  Slowly, nearer, nearer, nearer,

Even nearer, nearer more.

  She is there now...

  Then turns to take a final bow,

And returns to former state,

Of passing through that Golden Gate.

  We do not know what lies ahead,

But see her smile as she does tread,

Along the beauty flower bed.

  She slowly disappears from view,

As the Golden Door askew

Gently closes.

  She is gone.

##

Valerie Moreno - Wake Up Call

  Brooding too long

in bare branches

absent vitality

  A touch stirs

sleeping resolve energy

time to imagine

  untangle

unravel stiff boredom and respond-

universal wake-up call

##

Marilyn Brandt Smith - The Walk Home

  I seldom walk this way, but since it's late, The highway tempts me,

  offers smoother tread.

Approaching from the woods, my traps all set, I see that rain has left

  a silver sheen;

  Lights from a passing car direct my gaze; Am I the first to come upon

  distress?

Tendrils flutter, motion draws me near.

A child, a wounded dog, what have we here?

  Hurry home and call for help from town?

Lift this bundle, see what I can do?

I touch the unfamiliar, pull away,

My God! It's only broken bales of hay!

  I murmur thanks, and soon go on my way.

##

Floris Brown - You dressed me in purple

  In my grim loneliness

I also want to love

touch you

feeling with passion

the curves of your face

until I have my picture

of how I think you

might look

  your voice, your warm

presence

your smell, your footstep

your laughter, is all I have

to hold on to

to know

you are mine

  your explosions of fury

your intolerable manner

of screaming at me

no patience venom

the purple dress you always

clothed me with

as doctors told

  dimmed my light yesterday

like the branches of a willow tree

your dark side

hovered over me

clothed me enfolded me

and I wanted to elope

away from the dark side in you

  then you give me your shoulder .

##

Lori Castner - Window-shopping

  I spent those weeks

Before each childhood

Christmas

Yearning to possess

The store display.

I stood in crowds

And peered through glass

Unable to afford

The porcelain doll

That begged for

Unconditional love.

I longed to caress

Sumptuous blonde curls

Knowing they would feel

Soft as down.

My fingers ached

To stroke supple skin

Certain it would prove

Lifelike and warm.

Eyes that shut in sleep

And opened wide in pleasure

Tantalized and beckoned.

Each day I stood adoring,

And anticipated Christmas

Sure she would be there

Beneath our tree.

  The year I turned thirteen

I ceased to hope,

Too old for dolls,

Anyway.

Instead I received

A synthetic coat

My parents scrimped

All year to buy

And wore it six Decembers

Against Chicago chill.

  Loving you is like

Those childhood times.

I return day after day

To bask in your smile

While your eyes look beyond me

To the nearby crowd

Or watch your own

Reflection in the glass.

Faithfully I wait

In reverence.

Eagerly you seek your own.

  I long to relive

That yuletide season

When I put aside

Childish things.

And gratefully accepted

A gabardine cloak

That warmed me in seasons of cold.

##

Claudia Del Real - Another Day

  Another day

Has come and gone.

Yet every day's

like a new dawn.

  So full of promise,

So full of life,

So full of hope

And sometimes strife.

  Another day

Has come and gone.

Yet every day's

Like a new dawn.

  Love with your heart,

Live with your soul,

You'll shed your tears

And sometimes lose control.

  Another day

Has come and gone,

Yet every day's

Like a new dawn.

  Enjoy your life,

Conquer your fears,

And always know,

These are your best years!

##

Carol Fleischman - Braille

  Fog hides the loops and lines of print.

A hand sails over a sea of dots,

Letters, words, and sentences flow past.

Fingers, like a silent ship, read forward.

  A pattern of six dots plots a course.

The treasure is mine; I know the code.

Steady fingers ride the waves of dots, Taking me as far as my mind can

  travel.

##

Rosetta Brown - A Poem Is

  A poem is a bequest to leave behind

It is a treasure the poet bestows upon mankind The poem is part of the

  creator that can be read and recited many years later

  It is a brief moment in time

I dedicate it to the reader for it's no longer mine The poem may give

  them some insight Or lessen burdens for some plight ## Carole Rose -

  Swinging

  The swing sits quietly in the early spring sunshine, Waiting for me.

It has been months since our last voyage together.

I climb onto the swing

and grip its warm, strong chains.

The familiar sense of anticipation returns.

I swing gently at first

listening to birdsong

savoring the cool breeze,

and then:

I begin to push harder and swing higher.

I stand in the seat, my muscles straining, willing myself to soar even

  higher.

I am oblivious to the other children on the playground.

I am wild with joy.

The wind speaks to me.

My heart is singing

my smile is radiant.

The swing is even with the bars.

I am free!

I am reaching for the sky!

I want to kiss the sun, to capture a fleecy cloud!

Suddenly I realize I can go no higher.

The swing slows.

I am spent, yet exhilarated.

I tumble onto a grassy carpet

and bury my face in its greenness.

A swing is just a swing and I am just a child.

One can only swing so high.

And yet

Imagination offers endless possibilities.

My swing and I will soar again.,

ever higher until we touch the sky.

I will kiss the sun,

I will capture my fleecy cloud.

##

Rex Leslie Howard, Jr. - Force Unseen

  I come from places far and near.

I'm a moaning, whispering voice of force.

I'm not transparent though I am clear, and nature guides my course.

  I bring the world refreshing reprieve, on the hottest days of spring,

  In the Fall I prune away last year's leaves.

while southbound birds take wing.

  I bring the flurries of whitest snow,

with the chill of winter days.

I wonder aimlessly to and fro,

and sing in ghostly haunting ways.

  I amplify scent when the days grow long; I give waves to the heat and

  shimmer to the light.

I bring the tune of returning birdsong.

I'm the sweetness of remembered summer nights.

  I'm an endless cycle not to be undone, always beyond the hands that

  grasp.

Angry, I can be stopped by no one.

Even the oceans yield to my task.

  I comfort, enrich, bless and curse

and spread life around the globe.

I suck vast waters up when I suffer thirst.

yielding only to God's control.

  I bring down cities and entire nations, with only a whispering sigh.

Never tiring and constantly patient,

I live on though I frequently die.

  I am the one thing physical eyes will never see, And against which

  Mortal man is helpless to defend.

I am the thing I've been and will always be, I am the awesome force of

  wind.

##

Abbie Taylor - I Walk Alone

  In favorable weather, I take the sidewalk to the bank, pharmacy, post

  office, jewelry store, card shop, senior center, library.

My white cane sweeps from side to side in front of me.

Alone except for the cars that whizz by.

I find peace of mind.

##

Ray Holland - The skies I remember

  Beautiful was the deep blue of a clear morning sky Fluffy white clouds

  that floated in every imaginable shape A large white whale followed by

  fluffy cannon balls in the wake A sitting dog begging for scraps of

  food, than falling on his backside A bowling ball disappearing into a

  floating ship Oh those unlimited, wonderful cloud pictures in the

  beautiful blue sky Jet streams that criss-cross the sky on clear

  cloudless days Each day gave off new dramatic scenes as my head turned

  upward to observe them

  Dark stormy clouds in a grey sky that blot out the sun and warn of

  impending bad weather Bright streaks of lightning followed by rolling

  booms of thunder usually followed The bright sun breaking through any

  break in the clouds was and is a never forgotten warmth of nature

  The night sky is a wonder to behold on a clear dark night Stars that

  twinkle and shine as pinpoints of white light are uncountable Each

  night the moon changes its size and brightness Was that a man's face

  that is on the full moon?

Birds fly, bugs skim and flutter about the sky

  Now without sight all the memories of that greatness above live on in

  my memory

  However, are they still all there?

There is warmth that flows from above to cover my face and arms Clouds

  and shadows blot out that sunny warmth from my body Today is that

  great sky looking just as I remember?

Or is it just a nebula,

Nothing that I now seem to perceive?

##

Ed Neiman - Meditation on the Memorial Wall

  Author's Note:  A perspective, in reverie, upon a visit to The Vietnam

  Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington D.C., and Remembering my brother,

  Gary Preston Neiman: (1951-1969).

  Diaphanous, incorporeal, wrought of reverie, A soldier's image looms

  in fantasy Over the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in D.C.

His arms, (as The Wall), extend in earnest plea; And thus perceived,

  the colossal eidolon speaks to me:

  "Serving America, I perished in far-off Vietnam, Bereft of blithesome

  youth's due aspiration.

Dauntless, facing adversary's pestilential gun, Was I forfeited to

  vicious strife's abomination.

My arms entreat: Come, see what this war has done!

As now they stretch inert in resignation."

  These arms are a wall of burnished granite, (black for mourning):

Poignant is the somber metaphor.

These arms are a ledger unfolded:

Grim chronicle of commitment's tariff.

Names of this war's casualties mortally wounded, (so many treasured

  thousands), Here, with profound tribute, are enduringly told.

  Not all the rain that bathes these gargantuan arms Could fade the

  taint of blood surged from Kinsmen dispatched; Nor could all the

  sunshine that warms their graven panels Disperse the torrent of tears

  shed by those who loved ones here ennobled.

  These arms, downward cant, seem heavy laden, As ponderously burdened

  with eons of precious years unspent.

These arms are spread like a tormented V, --For venture? . Or for

  Vietnam?

  A V, devoid of conviction, shallow, inverted, signing distress, Like

  flagging wings of a valiant Eagle aggrieved, Or like a shaken Nation's

  countenance woeful shown.

But yet, A V that strengthens structure, Bulwark 'gainst the surge of

  time and tide's obliteration, Forefending inhumation.

  Oh, this palpable commemoration!

Its majestic simplicity!

It's enthralling democracy!

Its fervent solemnity!

Pledge of perpetual veneration!

  Meditate upon this stately, humble, Wall.

Apprehend its pleading call.

Mute, it speaks with myriad tongues in silence, Despite the stifling

  hand of violence.

Listen to the eloquence of hush:

A whisper midst quotidian rush.

Gaze into deepness 'neath its lustrous sheen, Mirrored in glaze,

  perceived, unseen.

Touch the singled symbol of address,

As once was dealt the fond caress.

  Each name here scribed: a history hewn by tragic conflict, --Abridged

  amidst a battle breaking.

Each cherished soul bethought: a private echo in the heart of its

  beloved, --A throbbing, wistful, aching.

Each past: some future's fabric weft of sacrifice, --Demand of

  calamitous leave-taking.

  Honor those absent.

Recall them present.

Wonder: what if...?

  GRIEVE.

  But these arms, alas, cannot embrace to grant surcease Of sorrow's

  pang, or abate the timeless anguished breath; Nor ever can they,

  tranquil, folded be in pose of peace:

  THESE ARMS, INSENSATE, ARE INELUCTABLY FROZEN by DEATH.

##

Karen Crowder - Country Folks

  We awaken not to the sound of honking horns, We are not disturbed by

  the constant sound of roaring traffic, The melody of chirping birds

  wakes us from sound slumber The quiet whisper of breezes coming

  through our open windows,

  Early mornings are not nerve jostling with jarring sound of rush hour

  traffic People always rushing down streets to subways and busses In

  the country the smell of growing things fills the air, Unhurried

  people arrive at work content with the gentle chatter of rustling

  leaves and barking dogs.

  Late afternoon horns blare in the mayhem of oncoming traffic People

  wishing to escape the cacophony of city noise, Cars glide home with

  already planted gardens The melody of robins and chickadees greeting

  them as they arrive

  Nighttime falls with city sound of boom boxes and slamming car doors,

  Serenity and rest are hard to find with loud music and sirens The

  peepers chirp, birds serenade us through the evening Sitting on

  porches, we love the tranquility of the country.

##

James Boswell - Oh Kapten My Kapten

  Oh Kapten my Kapten, I broke down and cried, Becausse I was bewildered

  by your study guide.

Oh Kapten my Kapten, directing toward success With MP3 player, FM, and

  GPS.

Oh Kapten my Kapten, global navigation Your system will point the way

  to my destination.

Oh Kapten my Kapten, global navigation, Announcing streets in my town

  and across our nation.

Oh Kapten my Kapten, I need to be aware Of where I am, where I'll go,

  and how I will get there.

Oh Kapten my Kapten, when I choose to roam, Your voice will declare to

  me How I will get home.

##

Ruth E. Coleman - The Promise Keeper

  In all the things that have happened to me, God's given me ability to

  see.

How to make it to the other side,

Whether I walk, jump, slip or slide.

He's given me ways to conquer my foes, By sniffing their deception,

  with my keen keen nose.

So far as attacks,

I ignore the whacks.

Like Ziggy and his dog,

I am victorious in smog.

Never knowing which way is up,

My way is made sure by my faithful pup.

Who is lead by the Powerful unseen Hand, The Lord and Redeemer of

  mortal man; The same who once walked on water, Who healed the sick and

  raised Jairus' daughter.

Who spit on clay and made the blind to see, Who told His Disciples.

  "Even though they Crucify Me., I'll shake off death on Day Three."

and His Promise to you and to me,

"I'm coming again, and ALL WILL SEE!"

Can we trust Him?  Sure we can,

Even better than sighted man,

Because we know who leads us, not our dog, He's the One who created

  and sees clearly in the smog.

He knows where we're going, and our end.

He's the One Who made us. Jesus, Our Best Friend.

##

Norma A. Boge - Longing

  When days are dark and the world's so cold And memories are all I have

  to look forward to I think about you, so sweet and so playful And how

  I loved to see the boy inside the man I know you loved me for your own

  reasons And my heart holds a special place for you Time and space

  conspired to keep us apart And I'm sorry fate dealt the hand it did I

  will carry on, as will you, down separate paths And I'll meet you

  where the stars collide ## Bonnie Rennie - Okay I Can't See

  Some say "So sad that you can't see!"

But that simply seems so silly to me.

The sights in sounds, in symphony

So sensational, not to be scrapped or scorned, sincerely!

I savor the songs, and seriously!

No room to perceive them, if I could see.

The shouting sea, the sandy shore,

The sheltering sunset, who could seek for more.

The other senses see how to celebrate life.

Were I to see now, it would surely bring strife.

So please don't say "sorry" that I can't see.

Glad to set aside the shallowness

Love what my heart can see.

##

Kalu Ndukwe - A Third String Gratitude

  Though not a 1st or 2nd string,

Which the world may call east or west, But my heart truly sing:

Thanks, thanks for your best,

Life's battles fiercely fought,

That the blind everywhere:

Their joy and independence no more hurt, And peace to all found so

  dear!

##

END OF POETRY ISSUE 2012

  This email was sent to rgardner4 at gmail.com.

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Robert Leslie Newman

Personal Website-

Adjustment To Blindness And Visual impairment

http//www.thoughtprovoker.info

NFB Writers' Division, president

http://www.nfb-writers-division.net

Chair of the NFB Communications Committee

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