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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Disability

To Dick Miller, my Friend. d. 2009 opus 52

Dick was mute. Spoke with a whisper and a clacking tongue.
I met him at Antioch College as a student (1962?).
We fell into a wonderful friendship.
I had aspired to teach the blind at Perkins, Cambridge, MA.
Dick appeared, not blind, but I was immediately bonded.
He carried a notepad with him which we would trade back and forth,
Writing our thoughts and phrases to each other.

One day, I declared, "No more notes. I want to read your lips."
Dick, of course, already held that ability.
The paper soon became obsolete and we carried on flowingly.

One day, we were walking through our Ohio forest,
When suddenly I heard a cracking
And saw a distant tree starting to fall to the ground.
I touched Dick's shoulder and pointed to the right.
The great arboreal mass slowly swung down towards the north.
The crash for me was immense; for Dick, a bizzare sight.

We stood for a while together, marvelling each in our own way,
Then slowly pulled ourselves away and walked on, also to the north.
I shall remember that occurrence forever, as long as I live.

Being with Dick, the emphasis of sound
Was engraven in my mind--I could hear; he could not.
Dick, unknowingly, made me treasure my ability to hear;
A gift I treasure after all these six decades.
That afternoon stroll in the Ohio forest imprinted indelibly on my memory,
So that I am constantly conscious of
My beloved bird vocalizations I hear and joy to so often.

Mary Stoots. A Serendipitous Friend opus 145

She is in a wheelchair, but she exudes confidence, ability,
And the possibility that she might levitate at any moment.
I met her in Reynoldsburg, Ohio, at the Historical Society,
When I donated the Ohio Tartan Stone to be housed in their facility.
We went to a lunch at a local tasty-menued establishment,
The beginning of our verbal interactions about many local subjects.
Mary has a wry sense of humor, flavored with wisdom,
And an understanding of the situation.
Compiling Newsletters, outreach, hosting,
And organizing history field trips,
She is confident and authoritative-sounding
With her no-nonsense voice.
When I feel a need to be in Mary's aura of strength,
I dial Ohio and enjoy a flowing conversation
To share my joy and outlook on life.

Rationalizing Age opus 319

While chatting on the phone with my son, Pierre, today,
I mentioned my continual, 'gentle', consistent pain
In my somewhat unsuccessful hip replacement.
I told him that at 82, to endure this
'Inconvenience' with my ambulation,
I just rationalize, and tell myself quietly,--
'I am only pretending that I am simply old!'

The Fall Risk opus 362

At almost 83, I was yet again faced
With an operation complex enough to be put under.
A large squamous growth on my outer left leg.
Arriving at the hospital, concluding a loquacious taxi ride,
During which we discussed passing farming practices,
I went through the normal drill--
Copay, of course; ID, medical allergies, etc.,
And the normal anointing of my right wrist
With the white bracelet, containing the particulars
Which content the medical staff.
Then, gently, an additional new bracelet
Was juxtaposed by the usual white one--
It was narrower and streamlined and bright yellow--
Large, black lettering announced--'Fall Risk'.

Now, I ID and 'label' birds in my pursuit of new species--
Morphology, call, and feathering to yield age and sex.
Just as I have done so for many years with birds,
The receptionist has ID'ed me as a 'patient type'!
'Why this manner of ID?', I asked.
'Well, your age for one, and your cane!'
Unfortunately, she nailed it--no squirming out--
Just as I make 'positive' bird IDs, so had she!
I am what I am, in this last quarter of my life,
And now, just as with my beloved birds,
I have been absolutely identified and categorized and banded!

Mohammed of Gaza opus 363

His name is Mohammed.
He lives in Gaza.
At 14 he was exploring
The ruins of his home
And came across a canister.
Resulting from the powerful explosion,
He has no left arm
Nor any right-hand fingers.
(His brother helps him to urinate.)
Saved by four doctors,
He may still die--
There is no medical backup.

Ten percent of all bombs
Remain dangerously unexploded.
It will take 40 years in the future
To clear all unexploded explosives.
During that period many inquisitive children
Will continue to die.

An Unexpected Roll! opus 439

A few days ago I had just rolled in; back to the farm
With a new implement tucked in the back of my old Honda.
Stepped out for a second to make a check--motor still running.
I turned, realizing that somehow the vehicle was slowly rolling forward!
Attempted at 83 years to jump back into the front seat to hit the brake.
Too old, too slow; holding on, attempting to reach the brake;
Partly dragged; stretching my arm towards the brake!
It just isn't going to work--I must let go, still being dragged.
Some pain and weight on my right calf.
Lying on the gravelled drive, I see my leg--
Almost a foot split open, parallel to the bone--
Nothing broken, just butchered!
Assessing--not much pain (shock?) and little blood.
Organized things for my departure to drive to Emergency.
Now, ready to go with a towel-wrapped leg.

Wheeled into the ER, greeted and ready to be sewn up!
Considering the circumstances, it was a pleasant time--
The worse, being the many numbing jabs in preparation.
All turned out well and I was able to return home
At 10 PM on my own steam.

The one outstanding question I do remember from the many--
"How did you get here?"  "I drove myself."
"YOU DID WHAT?"

A Child's Mind! 3 opus 515

Once again, my 4-year-old grandson, Rowan,
Asked me, as we were sitting in my cozy bedroom,
To make him his favorite 'cocktail' which only Papa Frank could make!
I am walking much slower now, following health issues and aging.
I got up and slowly walked to the kitchen to prepare his drink--
A mix of part water, part cranberry juice, and part orange drink.
(The only ingredient missing, which I make for his father,
Pierre, and for me is citrus-flavored vodka.)
Rowan followed me to the kitchen,
Where he watched me make his concoction.
Rowan again followed behind me, when he blurted out,
"Papa Frank, you walk as slow as a tortoise!"
I couldn't help but laugh and then turned to him, chuckling, saying,
"I love tortoises; I live with tortoises; and I am happy to walk like one!"

A Dream to Freedom! opus 571

I am an aging man of nearly 84 now and for the last two years,
With a right hip replacement which was 'mis-mounted'--turned a few degrees inward--
As well as slowly wearing out from labor and fatigue,
I walk now slowly and carefully so as not to fall.
Last night I had an interesting dream, which I demanded my mind to remember.
I met a couple of 'guys' with whom I began running.
I remember being very swift and mostly in the lead,
As I had been most of the time before 80.
The soil was reddish. There were many pines. We followed old trails,
But often we had to maneuver alongside bulldozer paths.
It was back and forth between the two pathway types.
At one point, the trail led us under a highway overpass--
I remember the several round cement posts supporting the roadway.
As I woke up, images began to become jumbled.
I believe, in the dream, it was getting dark, and I personally wondered
How we would find our way 'back' in the dark night.
At that point, I fully woke and, being so intrigued with the dream,
I made myself be able to recall, even in the new wakeful state.
I have often managed to recollect many details in my dreams,
By training my mind to repeat details in sequential depth.
Of course, my mind was rebelling, using my swift dream-race,
To contrast with my now slow plodding which I must endure--
Merely moving from one spot to another.
Even though it was a dream, I woke, feeling refreshed and fully mobile!

To See or To Hear; And Then There is Walking opus 579

Many millennia ago humans evolved to be upright,
Changing the whole orientation of the body;
Thus creating a new dimension and meaning of the verb 'to walk'.
My whole life has been one of walking--
Moving quickly from room to room, or from farm field to field.
My childhood continually involved exploring places by foot.
All my field work for the doctorate included miles of walking,
Checking and attending trap lines,
While studying Microtus pennsylvanicus (voles!).

As a youngster, I pondered many hypotheticals--
Losing my eyesight vs my hearing often came across my mind.
I even considered at one point, learning Braille and working with the blind.
Now that I am almost 84, something else has come to the fore;
Namely, my ability to walk, as I always have--quickly and efficiently.
After a hip replacement, 'installed' slightly 'inwardly',
And the aging factor of just plain slowly wearing out,
I now walk with some difficulty, always observing for possible obstacles.
Falling is now foremost in my thoughts--
Continually attempting to avoid any cryptic catastrophe;
There is also some minor pain, adding to the mix.
So, so much for pondering on 'whether sight or whether sound'.
Life plays tricks on one and, that which seemed paramount,
Turns onto another unconsidered malady!

Adumbrations of Death opus 593

At the age of nearly 84, it is inevitable, my sensing the nearing of death.
On the longest day of the year, and doing farm chores myself,
I broke the work session into two,
Resting in between the feeding and the overseeing.
(Jessie, my man, was away on his wedding anniversary.)
I was, as usual, slow in my walk and efforts.
At about four, I sat and went through mail,
Enjoying the outside breeze and afternoon diminishing temperatures.
I felt then, I should lie down to rest for a moment,
As my chest felt light and I pondered what was to pass.
I wondered whether or not this might truly be near my extinguishment.
There was no pain, just that feeling of lightness.
I had no fear nor panic; just a soft feeling of possible finality.
I slowly arose from bed and poured a cup of Sake,
Returned to my restful repose, and felt more normal.
I guess I shall survive this wonderment towards the ultimate end.
Well, perhaps this was merely a rehearsal of what it might be like.
I have never panicked concerning my possible death,
This being a gentle preamble to that which is inevitably on its way.

The Weight of Two X Chromosomes opus 605

Could there truly be a benevolent, all-knowing deity creator?
Just compare the relative ease with which men (X/Y) 'sail' through life,
While women (X/X), the absolute necessity for the continuation of human life,
Must go through such relative torment to be bearers of that life.
Large breasts--unlike any other ape-- are permanently formed--
A possible platform for cancer.
Then menstruation, continually forming 'ripe' eggs
(But inconveniently in between the bleeding periods),
Until one is finally nabbed by a sperm to create an offspring.
Birth, often very difficult or deadly,--
And then several years of producing milk to feed such offspring--
Sometimes too much with accompanying pain and other times, paucity.
Then the female is discarded from reproductive abilities,
Through the process of menopause--far sooner in life than her male counterpart.
What makes this all happen,
Is that women are endowed with a longing for an offspring--a child.
And thus, such longing, masks the clear thinking,
Concerning all the trials she must go through (sometimes alone),
Allowing human kind to reproduce and multiply for the benefit of the species.

An Elder's Views on Aging, Learned While Living as a Youth, With Men Mentally Crippled from War opus 633

One of my Antioch Co-op Jobs was in the Ozarks of Missouri,
Girdling old oaks to improve the forest with a subclimax of pine.
Every day I went out and 'doubled-axed' my way down each long ridge.
Winter's snows came and went, then Spring and I saw my first wild lizards!

I lodged in a boarding house which catered to several men,
Mentally crippled from WWII and Korea-- all unable to cope in society.
On weekends, I would spend some time with each,
Conversing and interacting as each was able.
I built up friendships and learned something about war's effects on them.
It made a deep impression on me as a twenty-year-old.
So much so, that in graduate school at Cornell,
While the brutal Vietnam War was raging, (1966),
I declared myself a pacifist, registering with the US government.
I was then voted in as President of the Quaker 'Young Friends' organization
And led a protest walk across the US/Canadian Peace Bridge.

Those men in Missouri, expounding their stories and plights,
Have affected me to this day, in the ways I conduct my life's activities.
I shall never forget them--I can still picture the face of each one.