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.

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.

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 ."

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.

“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.

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.

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