Tag Archives: blind writer

Peaches

7 Nov

by Reja-e-Busailah

The two peaches came from opposite orchards.

They waited to be picked up by some buyer or another;

it was late when the two men,

brothers in trade, arrived.

They examined the peaches and shook their heads:

 

“Who on earth would eat such peaches!”

exclaimed the one: “One peach with so much sugar,

but with hardly any juice!

While the other with so much juice,

but with hardly any sugar!”

 

“You nailed it on the head,” agreed the other,

“just what I have been meaning to talk to you about:

I have a son,

and you have a son,

right?

Your son is blind but smart,

my son is sighted but dumb!

Now is that fair, I ask you?

What would a dim-eyed person do with a brain?

Wouldn’t God have done better

if he had given the brain of your son

to my son who sees but is a dimwit?

At least there would then be one good peach

don’t you think so?”

 

Shocked, the other would-be buyer said,

“You must ask God that.”

 

The two peaches heard all that

and nodded as if to say,

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”

“I wouldn’t for the world,

sweet sister, covet your sugar!”

“Nor would I for the whole world,

my good sister, covet your juice!”

 

Reja-e-Busailah was born in Jerusalem and now lives in Indiana, U.S. He has been totally blind since infancy, from before the end of his first year. He has published poems in a variety of little magazines on different subjects. This poem and the next that Vision Through Words will post are from a collection of poems, Poems Out of Sight, which he hopes to publish in the near future. Reja-e also in the process of having a memoir about his childhood published within the next few months.

Blue Vibrations

22 Oct

by Crystal Howe

Blue is my favorite color,

Though I really can’t say why.

I’ve never seen the ocean,

The flowers or the sky,

The hue of sweetest berries,

Or my child’s sparkling eyes.

But blue’s my favorite color,

And maybe I know why:

The peace of its vibration,

The healing it provides,

The grace so all-embracing,

A deeper touch than sight.

O blue’s my favorite color,

A blessing of the Light!

 

Crystal Howe has been legally blind since birth and lost all light perception at age 12, after a difficult struggle with Glaucoma. She is an ordained minister with a Doctorate Degree in  Metaphysical Science. Crystal especially enjoys songwriting, poetry, weaving, and trying new coffee  flavors.

Think Autumn, Think Color

11 Oct

Two new poems by Nancy Scott.  Feel the color!

A BLIND WRITER COLORS

Sunday is brown

seeds of reading and TV, eating

too much and calling long distance.

 

Monday is white

space for lists and ledgers, guilts

and promises of the busy and brave.

 

Tuesday is black

ink and thinking

even if your computer talks.

 

Wednesday is orange

flame of waiting and impatience.

 

Thursday is red

accounting for cross-outs and surprise

or blue accounting for not understanding

 

Friday is green

pay-off and fruit

for all to see

 

Saturday is pink or purple or yellow

depending on whim or preference

 

 

AUTUMN AIR for Carole

Poets know fall sounds clearest.

We hear geese fly—

skeins of high, V-shaped leaving

even through closed windows.

Half-time bands reverb

off houses we’ve lived in for years,

defining solidity and reminding

that drums can be heard from a distance.

Leaves crunch and schoolchildren run,

late again

lured by night sounds and atmosphere.

 

I thought I alone

heard one autumn cricket sing

beyond my screen

until you wrote

your late-October soloist.

Do these solitary minstrels

favor poets’ yards

or is this chance or curse

heard by anyone listening

for muffled, crack-crystal winter?

 

Nancy Scott, Easton, PA, is a blind essayist and poet. Her over 600 bylines have appeared in magazines, literary journals, anthologies and newspapers, and as audio commentaries. An essayist and poet, she has published three chapbooks. She won First Prize in the 2009 International Onkyo Braille Essay Contest. Recent work appears in Breath and Shadow, Contemporary Haibun Online, and Stone Voices.

What a Feeling!

16 Sep

by Andrea Kelton

The easel

Holds a painting

Featuring a free-form tree

Under an explosive yellow sun.

 

The artist

Brush in hand

Stands back

Admiring her masterpiece.

 

Satisfaction bubbles

Then

Glee gushes and rushes

Through her four-year-old body.

 

Andrea glows with wonder

At this treasure she’s created.

 

Emotions explode

As she discovers

That

Doing art

Creates bliss.

 

Andrea Kelton was diagnosed with uveitis at 24. Her diverse artistic life included photography and ceramics.  She taught pottery in her own Chicago storefront studio for 15 years.  Andrea attends a memoir writing class taught by author, Beth Finke.

The Place Where She Flew Away

9 Sep

by Sharon Tewksbury

When I left that dusty little town,

Where the tumbleweeds rolled, and the cactus grew,

I thought I’d set the world on fire,

With all the things I thought I knew!

 

I still remember that childhood sidewalk,

Leading to the shack I called home,

The lawn chairs sitting by the front door,

Where I sat when daddy was gone.

 

How many days did I sit in them and dream?

How many nights did I plan on the day?

when my restlessness would fuel my wings

And I would go far away.

 

I remember the parched West Texas ground,

I felt like I would never walk on it again,

I’d never taste the desert rain

Or hear the early morning wind.

 

But now, how different it is for me,

47 years have quickly passed,

Family are passing friends are leaving,

Did I really think temporary would last?

 

Time is going by, change writes destiny,

And The little shack is not there now,

But the weathered old fence stands defying time’s touch,

Though I don’t really know just how.

 

And that young girl still lives inside of me,

Her presence I feel each day,

Like an eagle she flew but she came back down,

To the place where she flew away.

 

Sharon Tewksbury, was born blind in the early fifties. She had cataracts before birth, was born prematurely and was in an incubator for eight weeks. Oxygen and bright lights made what vision she had leave at an expedient rate. This poem was written to share that although some sighted folks might think the blind have missed out, nothing could be further from the truth.

Got It Maid

29 Oct

by Jenny Jones

It’s probably been over two years since I decided to hire Myrna. It felt so frivolous to hire someone to clean my place but I figured it was important to me, and if I managed my money carefully, I could handle the expense. Besides I don’t have a car payment. My condo was so beautiful and new when I bought it, I didn’t want it to lose its shine. I know there are plenty of blind people who do a great job cleaning, but it just is too much for me when I work full time. I just don’t have the energy to stay on top of the dust. Sometimes when you have a disability it makes sense to spend extra money to make your life easier and more enjoyable. I know a guy who is blind and he likes to splurge on pedicures once a month.

I decided to try a house cleaner and hired Myrna. If it started to feel like a waste of money, I could just tell her I changed my mind. She cleaned the first time and I never looked back. I was delighted with how the place was transformed. My toes would sink into the plush carpet, which had felt thread bare the day before. It seemed like I was in a hotel. She even washes my windows. Every time she does her magic I am once again singing her praises. In books and articles I’ve read there is sometimes a story of an elderly person who dies and leaves a chunk of money to the maid. It never made any sense to me until I met Myrna! My quality of life has been enriched. Now with Racer, my guide dog in the house it can get pretty hairy. I bought a Dyson and when I first vacuumed after my dog had been with me a few weeks, I couldn’t believe the amount of furriness that was emptied from the vacuum. It was like a mini Racer was compacted inside the Dyson.

In between Myrna’s visits I venture to take out the vacuum. Racer watches me like he doesn’t trust me with the contraption. I expect him to run when he sees me with the noisy machine but instead he acts like he needs to supervise or protect me from myself. He stares as I push several levers and buttons and pull out all the extensions. Once I’m finished, I scratch my head about how to put it all back together. Accomplishment washes over me when the endeavor is over. Racer and I, feeling very relieved and worn out from our duties, trot to our respective spots in the living room and take a nap.

Jenny Jones lives with her guide dog Racer in Utah. She was born with cataracs. Retinal detachments took the rest of her sight when she was in her 20s. She loves to read but writing is new to Jenny. She finds it helpful and hopes to continue.  Jenny has a blog at: Jennysjourney464.blogspot.com

Your Light

20 Oct

by Stella De Genova

It was a night that went on for years

Skin cold and body hungry,

The blood in my heart

Drained down into my feet.

Lost on the side of the road

Trying to find the path

Defeated, I stopped looking

The chilled air snuffed out the last ember

Numbness became my comforter.

 

And then, out of nowhere

Or was it somewhere

You were walking toward me

Lantern in hand, growing brighter,

Your joyful eyes, soft as candlelight

Wakened my tired soul

Gone is the cold, endless night

In the caress of your sunlight

I taste the sweetness of morning