[stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine

[John J. Boyer]

I must say that I am personally very disappointed with the Ziegler 
magazine. I had been receiving it in braille for more than forty years. 
Then one month they announced that they were discontinuing everything 
except an online edition. There was no explanation. This was so opposed 
to what I thought the purpose of the magazine was that I couldn't 
believe it and kept looking for my braille copy for a few months. There 
were a lot of international subscribers who depended on the magazine for 
braille material. I think that dropping everything except the online 
edition is contrary to the wishes of Matilda Ziegler herself. I've 
looked at the website a few times, but the magazine has changed. It used 
to be sort of general coverage and even had some articles of scientific 
and technical interest. There was always a story. The last time I looked 
all I could find was articles on blindness, many of them by their own 
employees.

Sad memmories of what once was.

John

On Fri, May 18, 2012 at 09:42:17PM -0400, Ashley Bramlett wrote:
> Cheryl,
> Thanks. Email is easier than reading online. I wish they did braille 
> though! Maybe the website will say if they produce it in other formats such 
> as audio or braille.
> 
> -----Original Message----- 
> From: cheryl echevarria
> Sent: Friday, May 18, 2012 4:30 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
> 
> 
> 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
> >
> >
> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
> >http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
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> >
> >
> >_______________________________________________
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-- 
John J. Boyer, Executive Director
GodTouches Digital Ministry, Inc.
http://www.godtouches.org
Madison, Wisconsin, USA
Peace, Love, Service