Different Slants

Seeing the World from a New Angle

Maybe Tomorrow I Can Go Outside…by Robert M. Katzman

Filed under: Children,Depression and Hope,Friendship & Compassion,Liberation Fantasies,Marriage and Family — Bob at 8:44 am on Sunday, March 31, 2019

by Robert M. Katzman © March 31, 2019 

Baby, what’s wrong?
I wanna go out
I know, your coat is on and everything 
But the rain is so cold
So, want some hot cocoa?
No! I wanna go out…
What would you do…outside?
I’d run around
I‘d watch the ants
I‘d try at climb that big tree
One day, when I‘m bigger…
What else?

(Read on …)

Sirens of Regret…by Robert M. Katzman

Filed under: Bewilderment,Liberation Fantasies,Life & Death,Love and Romance — Bob at 7:21 am on Tuesday, October 2, 2018

Sirens of Regret

By Robert M. Katzman © June 26, 2014

 

I can hear it far away

Weaving in and out

Sirens

Firetruck?

Better get outa the way

Wasn’t I painting something?

Mrs. Phillips, your boy has talent

You can tell that at seven?

(Read on …)

1964: A Runaway’s Renaissance and a Jewish Boy’s Revenge…by Robert M. Katzman

1964: A Runaway’s Renaissance

by Robert M. Katzman © September 9, 2018

Fifty-four years ago on June 8th, 1964 I ran away from a dangerous violently abusive home. I was fourteen and two weeks away from graduating Caldwell grammar school on the South Side, about a dozen miles south of State and Madison, Chicago’s Downtown.

My story is filled with Ghosts, but it is worth writing down, if only to soothe the Ghosts’ anxiety.

After all, aren’t I part of a world-wide Tribe so often called: The People of The Book?

Who am I to resist that Celestial Design?

It is now long past “What will become of this wild child?”

Now near seventy, I must write, “This is what really happened.”

(Read on …)

America, Please, Don’t Do This!…by Robert M. Katzman

America, Please, Don’t Do this!

By Robert M. Katzman © July I, 2018 (Canada Day)

Eyes flicker open in the darkness. I hear the battery wall clock ticking, so I must still be living. Pale morning light is peeking past the loose drawn shades covering some of this small house’s dozen large windows. If this were a fort, no way to defend it. But on a sunny morning, cool wind outside, shades up and windows open a bit on four sides, I don’t need electricity to clear the stale air or illuminate my house.

Wearing my usual long black T-shirt with the screaming American Eagle on it, the one that stops near my knees so I always appear modestly dressed to a morning visitor, expected or not, except for the fact that its only about five ounces of opaque cotton, I decide to do my morning routine, parts of which I’m recording here for future anthropologists. Present day people may be less entranced.
(Read on …)

I Seek the Praise of Ordinary Men…by Robert M. Katzman (originally posted 4/13/07)

I wrote this a decade ago to protest the War in Iraq. But now we have a screaming infant in the White House creating havoc because no one has the nerve to say no to him. America is bigger than him. This is no Democrat or Republican thing. This is about decency and how we treat our friends around the world. What have we become?
Men, Women, start saying NO!!!

I Seek The Praise Of Ordinary Men

by Robert M. Katzman © Friday, April 13 2007

I seek the praise
Of Ordinary Men
Whose lives I reveal
And then capture by pen

Men who slaughter cows
Who farm and cut trees
Men who suffer pain
In theirs backs, in their knees

Carpenters, Cops
Women who teach
People who protest
And march in the streets

Marooned in Illinois with 400 Copies of My New Book “A Savage Heart” by Robert M. Katzman

by Robert M. Katzman © April 9, 2018

I first posted this beginning part on Facebook on April 3, 2018. But what I wished and hoped for isn’t what happened. Read the older part first and my story will begin after that:

Ok, this is a little eerie. Well, everything I write about probably seems a little eerie. A little over a year ago, I bought a 1993 suburban car/van because it was big enough to carry my wife’s wheelchair, walker and other things she needed to go visit our children and our friends.

What once was a casual get-up-and-go on impulse to do something, morphed into a production of trying to get her out of the house, down the three steps and then into the van by putting a step down for her to use to move up. This woman was a gymnast at Thornton High School in 1967.

Whenever I became exasperated by having so much to do, I imagined what an insult this progressive decline of her body had become to her, and I kept quiet. We were in the last act of a tragedy, and we both knew it.

(Read on …)

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