[stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
cheryl echevarria
cherylandmaxx at hotmail.com
Sat May 19 10:24:03 UTC 2012
They don't offer it in braille anymore
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
> From: bookwormahb at earthlink.net
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Date: Fri, 18 May 2012 21:42:17 -0400
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
>
> 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/>
> >
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> > stylist:
> > http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/bookwormahb%40earthlink.net
> >
> >
> >
> > _______________________________________________
> > Writers Division web site:
> > http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> > stylist:
> > http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/loristay%40aol.com
> >
> >
> > _______________________________________________
> > Writers Division web site:
> > http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> > stylist:
> > http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/cherylandmaxx%40hotmail.com
>
> _______________________________________________
> Writers Division web site:
> http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>
> stylist mailing list
> stylist at nfbnet.org
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> stylist:
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/bookwormahb%40earthlink.net
>
>
> _______________________________________________
> Writers Division web site:
> http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>
> stylist mailing list
> stylist at nfbnet.org
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/cherylandmaxx%40hotmail.com
More information about the Stylist
mailing list