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Skyline Magazine Pushcart Nominations for 2005
(published in 2004 Skyline Magazine)
Listed
in random order, the following stories and poems have been selected by
a
special committee comprised of Skyline Affiliates and Editors.
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Darkness
"And the Eath was without form and void
and darkness was upon the face of the deep."
,... Genesis 1:2
Raymond Morris McDaniel
before I was alive
there was darkness
rain falls, wind blows, the sun heats
but darkness endures knowing nothing
life is hot, sweet, bright, smooth
water, fruit, skin, eyes, breath
singing, voices, the flight of birds
all of these are absent in the darkness
it is not sleep
sleep has dreams, layers, levels, glimmerings
I who was stone
am now a bird, a tree, a person.
I who was blind
am now sighted.
It is a cold, dead weight inside me
harder and colder than wet slate
I would pull it out of my entrails
delivered of it I would rise
like a bubble through water
striking heaven I would make stars
it is evil and nothing lives in it
if the devil walks and talks like a man
I do not fear him
but there are no words in the darkness
if I reach out from lightness
and try to force words on it
my words illuminate it
making it safer, more knowable than it was
if I describe it
it is no longer that which I am describing
it becomes as algae-covered pebbles
are to cold black stone
the darkness cannot speak
it cannot be spoken of.
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Beware The Siren
Keith E. Sparks Jr.
Phlebas the Phoenician, a
fortnight dead, recall!
I too, have buried the dead
and seen the faces aptly avoided
by the living.
I have touched the pallid hand
weathered in a desert land
with and without misgivings.
And I have even heard
Alfred's sirens singing.
Venir l'amour venir.
The drowned Phoenician Sailor said,
"Dare not ignore the honored dead!
The Cheshire grin upon my face
is a permanent mark of my disgrace."
"Beware the siren's call!"
Alluring, beseeching,
a deceitful thing it was,
painted in white lies,
and much too lovely
to
linger in.
Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets!
But I do not fear the darkness, nor balk
at grinning demons haunting dusty halls,
sweeping cobwebs with ragged brooms.
At spring mending-time
the gaps are always pondered
(as we swap lie for lie.)
and one wonders how they came.
Yet no one ever knows.
It's four A.M.
I should be sleeping!
But I digress
and sojourn in the desert.
One decade more is all.
Perhaps then
I can rest.
So I wander through broken pillars;
somewhere I have already traveled,
vaguely familiar--remembered.
The siren's call combs the sands
while the unstrung Ovation streams melodies
to muffle the inevitable doom
avoided for a time.
Wandering deeper into a barren land,
further and further from a siren's hand.
The sun had set alone.
A grinning moon now casts doubt
in slanted shards of lunar light.
I've felt the curse of mortal man
throughout the somber day.
I wonder what the night may hold
to send the curse away.
A final flight to the water below
caressed by a witch-maid's song.
Open arms await me
to immerse in the welcome chill
of the waters below.
Perhaps now
I can rest.
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Cool Rapture
Orania Hamilton
He holds the tenor sax as he would a lover
Wet lips to the reed, he caresses the keys.
With pulsating, heavy breath he plays
unleashing desires hidden in his mind.
Hypnotic blues seduce the soul,
indulge the senses with every note.
Master of mood and meaning,
the horn prevails, relentless, consuming.
Music that crawls inside you,
rhythmically, uninhibited, owning your heart,
pushing the urgency to live life to the limit,
discover the light of the dark side.
Slowly defused, emotions and energy subside,
memory lingers and wraps with love,
leaving him satisfied, in harmony
with heaven's melodic cords
Rhapsody, tempered by the cool of a whiskey.
Promise of a quiet sleep.
He lights a cigarette and blows a smoke-ringed sigh.
"It's Jazz... You either dig it or you don't ." |
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A Poet's Story
Robert M.
Hensel
Robert M. Hensel was born in Rota, Spain in 1969.
Currently a resident of Oswego,
NY, he is an international poet-writer. On October 1,
2000, Robert was honored
when the mayor of his hometown declared a week for the
disabled, "Beyond Limitations
Week," in his name. Robert is also in the Guinness Book
of World Records, and Ripley's
Believe it or not, for the longest Non-Stop wheelie in a
wheelchair, for which he
covered a total distance of 6.178 miles. The reason for
his record was to help raise
money for wheelchair ramps in his community. To learn
more about Mr. Hensel please
visit his website at: http://wheelierecord.tripod.com/
Here is his story:
Living With Spina Bifida
I grew up with a birth defect known as spina bifida, a
disability that affects my sense of balance, causing me
to walk with a limp. Not only does it affect the
function of the legs, but it also has an impact on the
kidneys, causing them to deteriorate.
The disability has had its ups and downs. As a young
child, I can remember the way other children would look
at me and stare because of the way that I walked. There
were many
times that my schoolmates would laugh at me and call me
names simply because of their
lack of understanding of why I was a little different,
especially back in the mid 70's and early 80's. Children
then were just unwilling to take the time to learn why
one of their classmates might walk, speak or seem
noticeably different from themselves.
Now that I am an adult, I have noticed that the stares
and names have begun to fade, and
judgments that once were negative have begun to turn
toward acceptance. The signing of the ADA has played a
great part in breaking down some of those barriers that,
as a child, left me to fight a war that seemed to have
no end. Now I look beyond what I can't do and focus on
what I CAN.
I have learned that limitations open doors that have
been closed, showing other ways to
meet our needs. I have always looked at life as a
challenge, grasping each obstacle with open arms. There
is nothing in this world that comes easy. I must stand
tall and look forward, to be ever so ready for what
still lies ahead. People often feel sorry for those who
were born with some type of disability. Their compassion
is misplaced. Yes, I may not be able to run as fast or
perform certain tasks, but my disability gives me a
better look at life and all that is around me. I want to
be seen not as a disability but as a person who has, and
will continue to, bloom.
So, I decided to become an advocate on behalf of
disabled Americans, to fight for our rights that for so
long have been ignored.
I feel that it only takes one powerful voice to change
the minds of many nations, and as long as I have a mouth
to use and a mind to think, I will continue to work to
bring peace upon the disabled community.
#1. "PEACE OF MIND"
Carry me out the ocean, where
my drifting thoughts flow free.
Guide them to a far distant land,
that only the mind can see.
There I shall paint a great portrait,
of what this world should be.
A place without senseless wars,
and human poverty.
#2.The Poet"
Words flow onto paper like rain,
forming giant rivers of unseen lands.
The very force guides us along a journey
that holds of great adventure.
We are the explorers of the literary world.
We must find the courage to write what
others are unable to, with the greatest
of passion.
A poet dreams, and then must portray his
visions upon the page that lies before him.
It is the beauty of all things that inspires
us to communicate in such a way.
A man does not wake up one day, and
decide to become a poet.
It must live in the very blood that courses
through his veins.
He is the creator of a world, only he has
known.
He is the actor and director, of all that
speaks out through his pen.
He is a man of all men, Visionary of all
visionaries.
What you haven't seen, he has.
What you can't say, he can.
For he is the poet.
#3."Beyond Limitations"
Placing one foot in front of the other,
I've climbed to higher lengths.
Reaching beyond my own limitations,
to show my inner strength.
No obstacle too hard for this warrior
to overcome.
I'm just a man on a mission to prove
my disability hasn't won.
#4."Inside of Thee"
I kneel down before the shallow waters,
to reveal my own reflection.
Just a mere window of the soul is all
that my eyes can be detecting.
For what all that I consume, is not
all that there is.
We must look beneath the visual shell,
for that is where we live.
Reach deep my friend, and you shall find
much more than you conceive.
For who or what we may become, exist
inside of thee.
#5."Let It Be"
Let it be, that I may
someday touch the stars.
When all time for me has
expired, and the soul
begins to part.
Guide me through the
heavens, where life one
day began.
A perfect creation,
molded right out of
our Father’s loving hands.
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“If Only…”
Arthur Isaacson
Odd how some memories remain, nearly intact in every
detail. It's been more than 30 years, but it seems like
only yesterday I took that ride. Marlene and I were
coming back from a day in the city; the bright winter
sun was behind us as we headed east for the 50-mile trip
home. Saturday traffic was heavy but steady, as usual,
and the expansion strips in the road lent their
monotonous rhythm as the miles slipped by. At some
point, I remember thinking we would pass within a mile
or so of the hospital, where Lakeville Road crosses the
Expressway. The thought just hung there in my mind. I
remembered all the years he had been ill since his first
heart attack, 15 years earlier, and how there were no
more improvements to hope for. This latest term in the
hospital for an angiogram, he had described as "Test?
Hell! That was surgery!" and took the news of no
surgical solution to his heart problems in his usual
stoic way. He was more than my partner, much more. He
was my friend, my mentor, my idol… my father.
It had been hard for me to watch as his health
deteriorated: Able to do less and less until he could no
longer come to the office or do any work. Once he had
yelled at me, over the phone, "Bring me something to do,
there's only so much TV I can watch and so much reading
I can do. I'm still here. I'm not useless". All I could
do was feel guilty, a son unable to help his father. We
had worked together for years. He and his partners had
asked me to join the firm about a year after I got my
engineering degree, but I had been on his construction
jobs since I was able to walk. First, it was simply as
his son, walking hand in hand, then summer jobs, and
later as a paid surveyor. All those years leading to the
culmination of a dream: to work alongside him as an
equal, to share more than just a profession, but a bond
of respect and love. I had never actually told him how I
felt, but we both were people of few words and not prone
to emotional expression. I knew someday I'd find the
right moment, comfortable for both of us, to tell him.
As I noticed the exits passing, I realized I had a
decision to make. Every day I stopped to visit him,
sometimes twice a day, once in the afternoon, if
possible, and then again on my way home from work.
Today, I just felt tired. I wanted a break from the
routine. One day without the obligatory hospital visit.
As soon as I thought about it, I felt guilty. How could
I not go? It was my duty. He was my father. I asked
Marlene what she thought; looking for her to say it was
ok that we not stop. I reminded her (and myself) that he
had survived the test ok and that yesterday he looked
better than in quite some time. He seemed brighter, his
flame burned with more brilliance than I could remember.
Marlene agreed. One day wouldn't hurt. He would
understand. Tomorrow, Sunday, we would drive in, as
usual, and spend the day with him. More to salve my
conscience than anything else, I called him from the
car. After some idle chitchat he said, "I thought you
would stop. " I explained I was tired and that we would
be in to see him tomorrow. He said ok and then,
uncharacteristically for him, said, "I Love you". I hung
up as we drove past his exit.
Some time in the night… his flame went out.
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My Relationship With
The World Trade Center
Sky Hooks
"I loved those twin buildings that
could hold my heart in the sky."
by
Billy Wayne Page
1978, first year in New York City, I felt small, the
city was big, I needed help. I got lost in Manhattan
while looking for work. I soon realized I could use
those two tall buildings, the World Trade Towers as a
southern point compass. Confused, blinking thankfully,
I was always relieved to find them when I stepped out of
the dark subway.
To survive job interviews demanded my confidence. I
formed a habit of going downtown to the Towers after I
discovered I could simply stand flat against either one,
feel their energy and believe I could absorb a smidgen
of the creative powers that brought them into existence.
Repeatedly employed and fired, I'd go to the observation
deck of the South Tower to look over the city's
buildings, bridges, and rivers to be consoled and
relieved of the murkiness of my job experiences. Up
there, standing closer to the sky, nearer the clouds,
the constant wind blowing through my hair cleared my
mind and helped me get a better perspective of my life.
Why worry? I was another day closer to who knows what?
I'd walk to each of the four sides of the observation
deck, grip the railing and gaze down to watch ships,
tugs and barges headed out to sea, frothy wake left
behind, gulls flying after them. The Tower held me high
and got me through many difficult years. I couldn't get
that same relief with my eyes closed, hands folded,
silently kneeling in a pew in Church.
Finally I landed a dream job in SoHo, downtown
Manhattan; an interior and furniture design job. My
route to work took me close enough to touch the Trade
Towers every morning. After work I'd walk home towards
them, watching as they returned the color of the sunset,
golden windows, rising up, luminous, a presence of art
visible from the center of SoHo. Winter, spring,
summer, fall, raining, snowing, shining, clouds, stars,
year after year the Towers kept my head up just to see
how the day wrapped itself around them.
Many nights I took the Waterway Ferry on the Hudson
River, passing my stop in Jersey City just to come back
from Hoboken, riding the bow of the ferry to see the
window lights of the Twin Towers glowing and shimmering
in the night air. I was truly smitten. All my
attention for them was returned with constant, uplifting
beauty. For their affection, I took lots of pictures!
How could I have guessed that a terrible divorce,
forcing me to find a place to live would provide me, at
that moment, needy and desperate, with a replenishing
surprise? I was shown an apartment where, from its
windows, I could see my Skyhooks, the World Trade
Towers. I was comforted and persuaded by the view to
rent the place on the spot. I put my mattress on the
floor, woke up and went to bed seeing those magnificent
buildings holding up the sky. From September of 1990 to
June of 1998 they were my two daily, reassuring
companions.
Once in that time I had gotten off the Path Train from
New Jersey ending in the station beneath the World Trade
Towers, transferred and was on a subway into Brooklyn
when the 1993 bombing occurred. Delirious, thinking
they could have been destroyed, I took an 8 x 4 foot
panel and insisted they sit for a portrait. Finished, I
was triumphant with the years I had yet to experience
them, but the painting revealed my fear. Windows
screamed, a blue crying towel flapped in the wind, a
nightmare balanced on a clothesline in the pajamas of a
man and woman.
Still I smile remembering the morning I was sipping my
coffee, staring up at the Towers, when a woman tourist
came running around the corner of the North Tower
shading her eyes, looking up, yelling and waving back to
her tired husband, "Harry, hurry up! You gotta see
this!" Giving him a smug stare, "You're not gonna
believe it! There's two of them!"
Yes there were.....and I loved those twin buildings that
could hold my heart in the sky.
Good Luck to our Pushcart Nominees!
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2006 Pushcart Prize Nominees
of Skyline Magazine and
A Hudson View Poetry Digest
(Poet's of Poet Express)
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