Walt Trizna's Blog, page 39

STORIES RECENTLY ACCEPTED FOR PUBLICATION

THE UNIVERSE IN BALANCE accepted by the Corner Bar Magazine and should appear soon.

BEETLE MANIA accepted by Creepy Podcast. I’ll let you know when it will be broadcast.

REVENGE AND REDEMPTION accepted by YELLOW MAMA and will appear June 15 in issue 104.

I will keep you updated as these stories progress to publication.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: HOPE

Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Mirrors of the Wistful Dreamer in 1980.

                                                         HOPE

Hope,

Like tiny bubbles

In the mirky depths

Of liquid life,

Traveling to the surface

They expand,

Realizing only too late

They have traveled too far

And burst.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: A RAINDROP FALLS

Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Tracings of the Valiant Soul in 1978.

                                  A RAINDROP FALLS

A raindrop falls

Its birth uncertain,

Its death

A roadside pond,

The center ripples

And long after

The raindrop expires

Long after its fate is done

Gentle waves are felt

Along the shore.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: OVERHEAD

 Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Journeys of the Poet / Muse in 1983.

OVERHEAD

 Overhead, one by one the light bulbs expire,

Their guts bursting,

And in death their ghosts yield a softer view of life,

Harsh shadows melt away,

Reality fades into the background

And the room’s boundaries sink into infinity,

Another bursts in incandescent death,

Familiar objects take on new shapes

As possessions melt from sight,

A book left open,

The words blur into feelings,

Something calls from the darkness

Waiting to be released as the last flame fades.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITNG POESTRY: DISTANT JEWEL

 Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Echoes of the Unlocked Odyssey in 1974.

            THE DISTANT JEWEL

Shimmering diamonds in the distance,

Glimmering pearls on an ebony sea,

The city lies ahead

Made lovely by night

And the span of miles,

Those who know her close

Have seen her decay,

Known her bright avenues

The debris of progress,

The broken spirit of men.

Distance lends to a hazy beauty,

Close inspection,

Horror.

MY ATTEMPTE AT WRITING POETRY: NIGHT RAIN

Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Voice of the Majestic Sage in 1984.

                                         Night Rain                                                                                                                      

The darkened hush of an autumn evening,

A distant mummer and a world of sound approaches,

The wind sweats great flowing beads

Yet in darkness

Where colors fade to gray

And reality to hazy contours

Night hides the rain,

As if only the sound exists,

A time for memories that have no sounds

Only pictures alive in some unchanged time,

A memory’s life.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: PHANTASY

 Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Images of the Mystic Truth in 1981.

                         PHANTASY

Sickness pervades this cloistered sphere,

This world he calls his own,

Mutterings leap with meanings unclear

Crying a message unknown.

Shadowy thoughts revoke the day

God gave His hand, then turned away.

Come see the shell that isn’t a man,

Muse at this poor wretched fool,

Look to his eyes a moment and then

Depart his mad vestibule.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: LOVE VISITED

Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Dreams of the Heroic Muse in 1982.

                                  LOVE VISITED

Love visited me once

On a moonlit night

Last in six months,

I grew,

Was nourished,

Became almost human

As my being sought a home,

I held the moon at arm’s length

And watched it grow small

As its certain cycle

Continued to darkness,

The baying of dogs rings untrue,

The sky is empty.

MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: THE TEMPEST

Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Treasures of the Precious Moments in 1985.                                                                                   

                                     THE TEMPEST

Lost,

In a torrent of storm and power

A delicate finger fondles the earth’s surface,

Extends from a dark gray womb reaching out,

Caressing,

Tearing with the force of a lover lost in ecstasy,

A mighty machine borne of cloud and air

Spending itself on the unsuspecting earth,

I watch,

A distant viewer of a mystical force,

Amazed at the beauty death’s angel has summoned,

Amazed at the power unleashed before my eyes,

Distance masks the fury, the rage of storms,

Distance masks the horror of life’s reality.

A NEWARK REMEMBERANCE

                    DOWN NECK ST. PATRICK’S DAY PARADE

                                    A NEWARK EVENT

During my youth I live in a section of Newark, New Jersey referred to as the ‘Down Neck’ Section of Newark. The area was also known as the Ironbound Section due to the many factories in the area. The title ‘Down Neck’ was acquired, which I once read, due to the shape of the Passaic River running past the area. And on the Sunday afternoon, nearest to St. Patrick’s Day, the residents of this area and my street, Christie Street, were treated to what had to have been one of the shortest St. Patrick’s Day parade in existence.

The local Catholic Church sponsored the parade, whose steeple I could see from my parlor window. Weekdays were filled with the rumble of Balentine Brewery trucks set on the mission to quench the thirst of a parched city. Sunday was a day of rest for the trucks, making the parade possible.

Magically, sometime before the parade, a green line appeared down the center of our street, harbinger of the gala event. I never witnessed this line’s creation, but every year it materialized. At approximately one-thirty the residents began to gather on the sidewalk. Since the brewery and Catholic Church’s school took up one side of the street, the number of residents was few. Of course, there were always the annoying boys riding their bikes down the center of the blocked off street before the parade began.  I was proud to be one of their number.

The parade began around the far corner from my house, on Market Street. With a band, not a school band, but one made up of adult men most of which had almost mastered the instrument they were assigned.  Before the band came a few ruddy-faced Irish men, decked out in their top hats, waving to the minuscule crowd.  At the front of this procession were the parish priests.  The parade was half a block long and took thirty seconds to pass.  The procession turned the corner onto Ferry Street, melting into the Down neck neighborhood, and repeat the tradition next year.