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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Grandson

Mercury Dimes, Remaining opus 62

Four Mercury dimes--1941 to 1945--lie packeted together.
Ready to give as a little Christmas gift to my grandson.
I had originally thought he would have enjoyed
Exchanging numismatic thoughts about coins together--
A subject to possibly bind our friendship.
But sadly, he will not talk nor visit.

My days, at my age, are running out.
Perhaps I shall never have such fantasized joy.
A decade or more of pending possibility:
One can only wait and savour those things that do remain.

A Text to my Grandson opus 128

My grandson, Rowan, is almost three years old--
Starting to be verbally interactive--what a relief and joy!
Today I texted him via his father's cell phone the following :

    Rowan! See my Betta fish (photo included).
    I think it would be nice for you to have one.
    Let's talk. L. (love).

Ok, why want to push a fish on a three year old?
Well, I have four wonderfully interesting Betta individuals.
I place them each in a large, clear vase--no aeration needed;
These beautiful, variable Asian fish gulp air whenever necessary;
Water change is limited and uncomplicated;
Feeding consists of five Betta pellets in morning or afternoon;
A water conditioner can be occasionally added.
Simple enough--but then the fun begins!

When I feed in the morning (a good time for me),
I first gently tap on the vase and let five Betta food pellets
Fall onto the water's surface.
These clever fish soon learn the routine
And even follow me as I pass by their individual vases.

Such fun and character-building for a little boy to learn the joys
Of interacting with another totally different species than he,
And there is a good chance, with some wise guidance,
He will be closer to having a healthy respect and 'reverence for life'.

Wonderful Tony opus 149

Tony Bennett, died at 96 just yesterday.
His voice rendered a gentle, slow, soft vibrato.
He had his highs and lows in life--drugs in the 70's;
Some albums made in that decade did not go over well, until later.
'Sometimes the world needs to catch up with what you are doing.'
And then a tenacious comeback in the 80's and on.
He recognized and worked on solving hunger with many he saw.
His later musical collaborations with others such as Lady Gaga,
Endeared him ever more to his greater audience.
He exuded joy and voiced a very strong love for just being alive.
'Money does not bring happiness, but a stability to be happy
And to have the time and the ability to bring joy to others.'

As I age, Tony, I feel what you say--
My joy in my sons, my new little grandson, Rowan, all my friends,
And all the creatures I share my abode with--
My lamb, my steer, my emu, my tortoises, and, yes, my responsive Betta fish!

Chance, My Grandson opus 207

Chance had tremendous challenges in his early life--
He had terrible digestive pain with much of what he ingested.
Diet, under the guidance of his parents,
Was juggled to make food intake less painful.
Chance had a 'different' sort of face,
With a cute, crooked smile (according to his father),
And strove hard to get over his weaknesses.
This boy, with his striving, did indeed, overcome those problems,
And he continually reminded me with his similarity
To Theodore Roosevelt's health struggles.
Chance worked on building up his body
By bike riding, bodybuilding, and coming to our farm to work.
When I offered to pay him for his labors,
He said, "I want no money from you, you are family!"
Chance increasingly became very popular with both his peers and elders.

One evening he borrowed his grandmother's car
And drove to the beach for recreation in the sand.
Something horrible occurred, where speed and three boys
Resulted in a terrible crash--all beyond recognition.

His absence has been a deafening silence--
We miss his airy countenance, always raising up our spirits.

A New Perspective on Santa opus 252

This is a saga told to me by my son, Pierre.
Rowan, my grandson, was being initiated
Into the stories of Santa Claus and
From where some presents come.
After a few tales of initiation, Rowan became emotional--
Non-cooperative, crying, and with belligerent behavior.
Both parents were clueless as to why.

After a time, it was slowly revealed
That the concept of Santa coming down the chimney
Created a disturbing thought of a stranger-intruder.
This might be because of all the news
Of violence surrounding us?
This imagined intrusion outscored
The thought of incoming presents!

'Vertebra' opus 259

(My daughter-in-law rarely communicates in any form, so it was a surprise
that I received a text! 5 January 2024.)

I have had an occasional visit from my 3 year old grandson, Rowan,
Who traversed my farm, talking with me about encountered objects.
He pointed out a whale vertebra, from one of my earlier biology jobs.
I repeated the word, 'vertebra', many times,
Also pointing out his own vertebrae, comprising his backbone.
My grandson had a great time and went back home.

Eight days later, his mother sent this text to me:

    Hi, Frank, sorry (as usual) for the lack of contact.
    I wanted to let you know something you would enjoy.
    Tonight Rowan said, "I hope my vertebrae are doing ok."
    I asked him where he learned such a sophisticated word.

    And he said, "From Papa Frank."

  It was quite impressive and very sweet.
  Thank you for teaching him these important things
  That he will carry forward in his life.
  I appreciate it.

I answered, "Yes, he liked that word. We were looking at
My whale vertebra then to his back."

Such an unpredictable, unforecast pleasure!

A Ceremony Over an Opossum Skull opus 477

Humans have tended their dead over centuries in many ways:
Some burned, some left for the vultures,
Some buried in several configurations.
Are these customs instinctual, or learned through culture?

Well, I was walking around my pond the day after Thanksgiving
With my son, Pierre, and his son, my grandson, Rowan.
We watched wild turkeys in the sun, with their exploding iridescent colors;
We munched on the desert jojoba seeds, from shrubs transplanted to the farm.
Suddenly we came upon an opossum skull buried in the grass.
Rowan was immediately mesmerized, as we pointed out its morphology.
Quickly Rowan commenced pulling out neighboring grass blades
And tenderly laying these herbs over the skull.
He repeated this ritual several times, until we moved on.
As we were observing things farther from the opossum,
Rowan turned and walked all the way back to the burial site.
He then proceeded to pull more grass, further covering the skull,
Then returned to us to continue our observations.
He repeated this maneuver thrice more in the exact same way.
So sweet to see--a tiny four year old boy,
Crouching over an opossum grave, which he was helping to lay to rest.
It was then that the original question (from above) came to me--
Is this an innate behavior or something that just must be done?
I shudder thinking about the profundity of this query.
My mind drifts back to the time when Homo sapiens
Intermingled with Neanderthals, each species interacting differently
As to what is now known from their early cave habits.
It seems the Neanderthals possibly 'taught' Homo sapiens how to bury their dead.

I revel in the new knowledge we are gleaning
From modern technology and methodology.
But it seems my question still remains in the ether around us.

A Note to a Daughter-in-Law opus 481

The murder of my two lovely hens by a dog(?)
Does not at all equal my sadness
By not being able to just plain
Talk with you and with your son.
Strange, I could talk with my two hens,
Even verbally, urging them into their shelter at night.

So, finally, I could talk with two sweet birds,
But not with a 'bird' who is human.

A Child's Mind! 1 opus 513

Rowan, my 4-year-old grandson, visited today.
I had hidden a four inch wide metal 'ladybug' in the grass
For him to have a game to try and find it.
I told him it was his to take back home,
But, for the moment, all he wanted to do
Was to have it hidden once more,
So he might attempt to look for it once again!
He repeated this three more times, without tiring.
I asked him again if he would like to take it home,
Or possibly leave it at the farm
To hunt for it on the next visit.
It had a lovely red carapace with seven big white spots;
I thought for sure he would take it home.
Nope, he asked me to save it here
For his next round of 'seeking'.
I am never sure what his little mind will come up with.
We had such a lovely, meaningful afternoon.

A Child's Mind! 2 opus 514

After our 'ladybug' hunt, we, Rowan and I, looked at our thumbs.
I showed him they rotated around and could oppose all his fingers.
I told him we were the only animal with such a dextrous thumb.
He seriously looked down at his moving thumbs,
Then looked up at me and said,
"This is how I can pick up things so easily!"
We went on to discuss that monkeys cannot do such, as well.
I mentioned that monkeys also have thumbs on their feet,
But they were also not completely opposible.
I added that we had no 'foot-toes', because we are real walkers.
He looked down at his bare feet and said,
"We are really special, Papa Frank!"
I smiled with satisfaction that I got the lesson successfully across--
A new dimension in thought for my growing grandson.

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!"

'Number Five' opus 623

Rowan, my grandson, is now 'number five'--
His fifth birthday was 6 August.
He called me while driving with Pierre, his father.
His school is out and he was going
To his other grandparents for the day.
He was so excited to now be five.
I wonder if I might talk with him when he is twenty five?
Or I muse if I might last until he is fifteen.
When he comes to visit for my birthday, I have ready
A lovely green malachite piece of copper-based stone,
A shimmering 'artificial' lump of crystals,
A shiny silver Kennedy 50 cent coin, along with a trilobite,
And a miniature of an Emperor Penguin in color.
Plus a lovely children's book for his Dad or Mom to read to him.
Happy Birthday, Rowan.

A Follow-up on 'Number Five' opus 635

I previously wrote a note about Rowan's (grandson's) birthday.
When he arrived to celebrate my birthday,
He immediately pulled out a small lava stone.
He said it was from his bar-b-que and was for me.
The party continued on, until I reminded him of his lava stone gift.
I asked if he would like to see one of my big red lava stones.
He responded affirmatively and I said it was by the porch. 
Astoundingly, he gave a quick nod and ran to that destination,
Knowing exactly where it was.
Barely being able to lift it, he moved it out into the open.
He looked at it, rubbed it, and then sat on it.
I asked him if he would like that stone in exchange for his.
Immediately he responded and posed for photos, sitting on his new gift.
Thus leaving a happy grandpa with a little lava stone
And a five-year-old boy with more than he was able to carry!

An Unexpected Attack opus 659

July. My grandson, Rowan (5 now), visited me on my farm for another adventure.
We were feeding the calf and the emu when suddenly,
Rowan discovered scattered, strikingly-colored black and white varied feathers.
He began collecting them as any 'nature-child' would do:
Many from the body, several from the tail, and one partial right wing,
Maintaining the first eleven primary flight feathers.
These were all the remains from a preyed-upon Redshouldered Hawk.
What on earth had attacked and killed such a top-of-the-chain raptor?
Rowan and I discussed together as a five-year-old and a grandfather might do.
We slowly agreed that the only possibility was another resident raptor--
Which could be only the summer-roosting Great Horned Owl !
What a perplexing possible event, leaving us both astonished--
Nature around us often comes up with the unexpected.

An Ambivalent Scooter Owner opus 696

My grandson, Rowan, is now an 'older' five.
He has graduated from crawling, to walking, then running,
To his present stage of discovering the wonder of wheels! 
Wheels came into his life vicariously through toy trucks and other play things.
Suddenly, one day, he was presented with a small, three-wheel scooter,
Which he mastered and controlled, especially on his way to school.
Each morning his Dad followed him on his way to the halls of education.
He loved and enjoyed his little scooter, becoming bonded.

Then, I, his grandfather, contemplated something more 'grownup'.
It would have only two wheels, an adjustable handle control and brakes!
Well, it arrived in a big box, left unopened until Rowan's arrival.
While we were munching on burritos, the box, unopened, nearby.
I was explaining a few features about his potential new scooter.
Rowan was hesitant, saying he really liked his little three-wheeler,
And did not really want this upgrade in his life.
One exception became evident when he asked if there were any LED lights.
And no, there are no such upgrades on this model.
Out of the box it came, now being assembled by his Dad.
Gleaming white, large tires, and a fancy brake system.
Rowan viewed it with a little less reluctance,
Not wishing to betray his relationship with his first love.
He stepped onto the platform, handles firmly gripped,
And off he slowly, then more rapidly glided onward,
Left foot powering the sleek vehicle down the drive.
He never looked back, (until he returned),
Beaming with a newly discovered joy.
No ambivalence now, successfully having taken that unknown step,
As we all have done, leaving that familiar past,
Gliding into an exciting new, unthought of, until discovered, new world.

Christmas, 2025 opus 716

The Eve gently shifts to that Day.
I am awake changing my pads.
My body diurnally leaks--
It shall continue until I die.

My mind floats to the events and thoughts
Of just today--now yesterday:

A photo of us three children,
So long ago, tucked by the tree.

Elaine's text of her partner's cancer.

Waiting for even a quick call from grandson, Jayden.

Pleased to have conversed today with son, Pierre;
Pondering the section of my living room ceiling,
Which tumbled down during the last rain.

Wondering how my calf is doing in this storm.

Observing my Bettas, gulping air each three minutes.

Enjoying the Mozart Piano Concerto, K 502, now on.

Wondering when I will be tired, so to sleep.

So tormented about politics these days.

So sad about some relationships, not gone well.
Joyful in those that have, indeed, succeeded.

Listening to my furnace monitoring its temperature level.
I try to use as little propane as possible.

Sipping my water drink, touched with Anise.

Thinking of this 'Thought' I am composing.

Viewing the Libyan Desert Glass on my table,
Alongside the jar of New England Sea Glass.

Still wondering when I will be tired enough to sleep.

Oh, perhaps now--My thoughts transformed to Dreams.

Rationalizations opus 737

I was to have seen my grandson, Rowan, today,
But, his father, having a cold, thought it best to delay.
Disappointed, I began a series of rationalizations:
I was really too tired to cope with a five-year-old;
The predicted sunny day became cloudy and cold;
I needed to have time now to finish my writing;
I had no adequate snacks for the sharing;
He really wasn't ready for that scooter I had ready for him;
The house was disorganized and not ready for his explorations;
I was relieved not to catch his father's cold;
So many thoughts to make me feel better.
It was all for naught.  
I just plain missed him this planned-for day.

Rowan Amongst Our Flowers opus 747

My grandson, Rowan, is growing calmer
And for a five-year-old, focus is developing.
From the time he was two, he always brought me a flower,
When he came to our multifaceted farm.
He had a cow, tortoises, and emu to visit with,
But flowers and leaves seemed to take 
A large part of his focus and thought.
We have had early rain for a change this December,
Thus coaxing narcissus bulbs to burst forth.
After visiting me with his father over burritos,
He roamed into a mass of narcissus blooms.
These were planted over the years to 
Supply product for my farmers markets.
Now, they 'lie fallow', blooming outrageously,
But with no harvest.
They are there for the taking 
And Rowan revels in their scented glory.
Such pleasure he has in viewing and smelling,
And picking for me and his mother and Dad.
For me, it is sad I can no longer attend markets,
But it is so worth it, that Rowan thoroughly enjoys wandering
Through this plethora of blossoms, overwhelming his spirit.
Such joy to see and be a part of this with him.

Pierre's Pancake opus 748

Pierre, my son, was coming with his son, Rowan,
To visit our farm as occurs every month or so. 
As we planned the visit, they would leave to come,
Soon after he made a pancake breakfast for Rowan. 
I knew how delicious his pancakes were,
So I asked him if he would bring a couple for me as well.
This he did:  a beautiful evenly browned cake,
Tucked in a Ziplock bag to keep it moist.
There was only one because, as he explained, 
The rest were just gobbled up.
I drew it partly out of the bag to give it a test.
Even though it had been created a few hours previously,
The sweet, pancake aroma struck my nostrils.
The brown pattern was perfect, the thickness was even and delicate.
I sank my lips around it and utilized my incisores through it.
Oh, my, the moisture, the mellifluous taste, 
Just lifted my emotions almost to a state of imbibition!
Just a 'plain' pancake--no syrup nor butter,
Stood alone as a gourmet achievement par excellence!
My son, Pierre, has indeed perfected the 'art of the pancake'!