[stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
cheryl echevarria
cherylandmaxx at hotmail.com
Fri May 18 20:30:19 UTC 2012
it comes in e-mail format, I know I get it, in fact, they recently did an interview on me back in April.
http://www.matildaziegler.com/
Cheryl Echevarria
Leading the Way in Independent Travel!
Cheryl Echevarria
http://www.echevarriatravel.com
631-456-5394
reservations at echevarriatravel.com
For daily updates read our blog at
http://www.echevarriatravel.wordpress.com
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> From: loristay at aol.com
> Date: Fri, 18 May 2012 16:18:12 -0400
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
>
> Matilda Ziegler magazine can be gotten online now, I think. It used to come out in Braille, but the costs got them.
> You can check out their website: www.matildaziegler.com
> David says the address we found for them might be old, but it is 80 Eighth Avenue, New York NY 10011
> and the phone: 212-242-0263, email blind at verizon.net
> Hope some of that is helpful.
> Lori
>
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Ashley Bramlett <bookwormahb at earthlink.net>
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Sent: Wed, May 16, 2012 7:06 pm
> Subject: Re: [stylist] There be Members in this online Mag!
>
>
> 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.
>
> If you are no longer interested you can unsubscribe instantly:
>
> http://swisher.cmail4.com/t/r-u-dkhkkid-fldlthya-r/
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> 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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