Blue Vibrations

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.

Your Light

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

When Spring Comes

by Valerie Moreno

I rejoice when Spring comes,

after so long a time

needing rebirth and light.

 

Sounds of singing birds,

sweet scent of lilac and rose

assure me life begins again.

 

Flashes of grief come

when I recall blue sky and greenery

I only know now in memory.

 

Still, in dreams, I see the vibrance

my brain hasn’t forgotten

like my silent eyes.

Valerie Moreno is 59 and a published writer. She writes poetry, memoir, fiction and articles. Her eye disease is ROP (Retinopathy of Prematurity.  Some favorite hobbies include reading, raised line drawing, music and singing.

Another Interpretation of Seasons

When Aaron Carroll completed the writing exercise in our workshop about seasons, his interpretation had a totally different take.  Here’s what he wrote:

*My season is found in the spring because my vision was fully lost in the winter. …

*My season hides  in the fall when light was turning to darkness.

*My season sounds like the   acceptance of vision loss during the winter.

*My season feels the summer when I can enjoy the warmth of the sun.

*My season’s job is to work through each season to find new ways to adjust and grow.

*My season moves like the spring as I learn new things.

*My season wants to help others adapt to learning how to listen effectively.

*My season tastes like seafood gumbo on New Year’s Day.

*My season smells like Christmas.

*My season says  to stay encouraged.

*My season’s secret is… to continue setting reachable goals.

Optical Illusions

by Mel Finefrock

I walk on an endless plane where ground and sky are one.

People are characterized by articles of clothing:

Floating T-shirts and pairs of shorts

Contrasting against a non-descript, grayscale world.

Color does come to me sometimes like smatterings of paint—

A blue sky here, a golden sun there, a green cloud of foliage—

Especially red, like the girl in the red sweatshirt from Schindler’s List.

The eye doctor waves hello, but I see her white sleeve, not her tawny hand.

I’ve been known to think a small tree was a person.

I’ve flinched at unknown shadows, even my own.

I turn like a sunflower toward any emission of light.

I have personal firework shows in my head every night

That find their way even into my dreams.

Cones and rods fall away, and I see ghostly yellow and purple ripples.

Blood vessels burst, and my world bleeds red.

If I stare at something long enough, I can make it disappear.

Sometimes, I can find it in me to laugh at these optical illusions…

 

Mel Finefrock is a senior at the University of North Texas, majoring in literature, minoring in Spanish, and pursuing a twelve-hour certificate in rehabilitation studies. She has Cone/Rod Dystrophy, similar to Retinitis Pigmentosa, and is among the eleventh generation in her family to inherit this condition.  Her  boyfriend Jordan encouraged her to write this poem when she was describing to him what things looked like after a bad bout of vision loss her sophomore year. Though it’s a bit on the darker side, Mel is hoping that upon reading her words, those of you with progressive (and eventually total) vision loss will feel less alone. You can visit Mel’s YouTube channel, where you can hear her reading this piece aloud: www.youtube.com/supertyphoonmelissa .

We Sit Beneath the Woody Sky

by Sarah Martin

We sit beneath the woody sky

Watching the light slowly fade

Golden threads

Drift toward the night

My brother stands

Sharing whispers of

Moving mountains

That he can’t shift

Dusty flames dance

Before us

And we spin blue bottles

Sending shards of darkness

Into the winters breath

And flickers of light into our

Shivering hearts

We wait for the cracks to open

And the first cleansing

To wash

Away the lingering dream

 

Sarah Martin is 32 years old and lives in Melbourne Australia.  She was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa at age 16.  Since that time, she has been on a journey of light and dark.  The one thing that has become clear over the past few years is Sarah’s passion and joy in poetry and exploring her world through words.

On Being Blind

By Tali Sarnetzky

Like vampires, I mirrors hate,

For I have no use for those,

And the beauty of the rose

Must prick, almost like fate.

And windows sense have never made,

As if installed to tease

Those who cannot enjoy with ease

The light and must know the shade.

Some advances of mankind,

Cars to drive and wars to win,

Which I cannot even begin

To understand, for I am in a bind.

Do not pity the lack of the perception!

Instead, observe a fresh conception.

Tali Sarnetzky became totally blind at age 3 and has come to love and appreciate this technical challenge. She is working on becoming a lecturer of English Literature, writing her first screenplay and spreading her uncompromising optimism.