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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Mortality

A Mad Rush to the End opus 1

As we near the end, many grasp time and try--
Some just give up and grow obese.
Some find younger partners to maintain an illusion of youth.
Some spend their last to maintain satisfaction.
Some reach out to the family they always ignored.
Some play golf with a vengeance and die of a heat stroke.
Some lament for what they have not yet accomplished.
Some pursue the former arts of their youth.
Some utter truths to pass on to the next generation.

And a few work to the end to leave a positive legacy.
But, certainly, a mad eventual rush to the end for us all.

On the Edge of the Storm opus 3

I was on the edge of the passing storm.
It warned with thunder and lightning.
Oh, I am on the edge so all would be alright.
Finish harvesting the flowers, I thought--
It will be alright,
From the field to the barn to the water containers.

Suddenly a bolt and a flash on top of me;
The vibrations pierced my body--
And then the smell of burning ozone in the air.
Was I then to die with my pounding heart?
Thought--whom would I again ever see or not?
Thought--What really comes fore out of stress?
My ears still ring.

But--I was just on the edge of the storm.

White Ash opus 12

White ash filters silently down around me.
Like snow I think.--When suddenly
I connect this falling ash
To the fires consuming California, everywhere.

My finger obstructs the fall of a flake.
What was this in its former form?

Someone's house or barn?
Someone's car tarp?
Someone's flower bed, destroyed?
Someone's woodpile, ready for winter use?
Someone's chicken flock, unable to escape?
Someone's Bar-B-Que plastic cover?
Someone's pet dog's hair?
Someone's beautiful old oak standing for centuries
next to a home?
OR--Someone's personal ashes, transformed
when defending her property?

Lifespan opus 51

There are those who say we must stay longer.
Ah, the secret desired to maintain for each of us a longer sojourn on our planet.
Are there implications for such desires?

There are, of course, vital elements held in each living body
Which in a 'normal' system are regularly recycled to the next generation.
If we increase the length of life for us
And for our dogs and cats and horses,
Will we be depriving the following generations
Of certain life vitals which yield good health and well being?
Consider this as well as the would-be increasing number,
Hoarding space and elements for our own pleasure.

Perhaps we should be considering more deeply the life we have now
And not desperately vying for yet more time.

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.

My Brother John opus 87

My brother John was two years younger than I
And two years older than my sister, Susan.
The two, being part of an odd number of siblings,
Would often form an alliance, leaving me the third one out.
I was often in some brotherly combat where I thought I might harm him.
There were times,when a conflict would become too aggressive,
And therefore I would run and hide in the locked bathroom,
So as not to cause a possible injury.

John was a very good looking boy.
He was very popular and behaved as a cool kid.
I would ride my bike everywhere,
Carrying a briefcase in high school and wearing a trench coat.
John would have none of that by walking and carrying a bookbag.

I listened to and played classical music,
While John was a 'pop guy'--the Top Twenty.
I went to college (Antioch) and he became a walking postman.
John married a young woman--I forget her name.
He 'rescued' her from a family struggling and aspiring to be 'upper class'.
The parents were forcing her to come out as a debutante.
She wanted none of it; John and she married;
I was not there, but my parents were the only guests at the wedding.
If there were other reasons, I do not know of them.

Later I had an Antioch Co-op job in the San Francisco area--Richmond--
Working as a biologist, collecting whale specimens
In the last of whaling in the United States.
John and Ann--her name I now remember--
Came to visit me at my co-op job area, meeting me in Chinatown.
Marriage had matured John and we three had a wonderful time:
I remember taking several photos--
One of John standing up on the base of a lamp post.

Back to work, I was sampling whale vitals as they were brought in for slaughter.
One night about 2 AM, as I remember,
The payphone in the hallway rang--
I thinking it was notice of the boats once again arriving.
It was my father, saying John was hunting and had been killed by a stray bullet.

My knees weakened with confusion, but a determination came over me.
I wandered through the streets of Point Richmond,
Ending up at Gretta Tedrick's house (at 2 AM)-- a family I had befriended.
They let me in and I listened to Bach's B Minor Mass on their record player.
After which, I flew to Pacific Palisades and the funeral.
I talked a lot with Ann's sister and walked with her
Through the chaparral in the neighborhood.

At the chapel, I remember requesting some music by Bach;
I had, thus, prevented some schmaltzy, 'nothing' music to be played.
There was a reception perhaps, or some get together at the house.

Life went on and flowed into all the kaleidoscope of events that have followed.
Do read my several written thoughts and be informed of other remnants of my life.

The SinkHole opus 95

We were on a University safari in the Kalahari, Botswana.
We had explored the Drotsky's Cave area and other local points of interest.
Now the geologists wished to explore a special remote sinkhole.
I, the biologist, went along, studying my own subjects.
After several days of Land Rover driving,
We arrived at a wide opening on the flat African landscape.
I remember a grassy, treed area--not quite a true savannah.
Much climbing gear, with many lengths of rappelling line was hauled out of boxes.
Camp was set up and evening cooking alleviating much pending hunger!

Next morning, with a beautiful winter (Southern Hemisphere) sun.
Each explorer started the descent into the deep darkness.
Instructions and descriptions were called up from the cavern.
(We had no communication devices, except our clear, projected voices.)
A long vertical distance of just a hanging downwardness,
Finally to contact with a sloping wall,
And then a rappelling to a flat floor of the deep hole.
There appeared to be no tunnels nor exits outward.

All who were descending had done so and my turn had come.
Truthfully, I was not enthralled to hang in darkness,
Reaching a nondescript floor and gaze around.
I had also just gone through a dramatic Cesarean with my first son, Pierre.
My head swam with thoughts of what to do.
Was I to appear as a coward amongst the others?
Was I to be an absent hero for my faraway family?
They had not a clue just what I was confronting.
Was a line to snap and I would fall to certain death?
Was I to truly be missing the experience of my life,
By deciding it would be completely foolish
To take a gamble--similar gambles in my earlier life
To which I would never have hesitated?

This was truly a most difficult moment of decision--
Seldom would one have had such an opportunity--
Stories for future devoted and adhering grandchildren!

I just could not do it. In the end,
I just could not do it. . . .
My fear of death was overcome by my need for life.

Some Thoughts opus 106

I am older now--coming on 82 years!
I wonder how, with so many dropping dead around me,
That I have made it so far.
The ones close and still around me--many--ignore me
Or are short, and only text--seeing that they
Have such 'demanding' pressure to exist!

I remember the (Newton, MA) neighbor children
Across the street banging their kitchen pots--
The end of WWII of which I was not really cognisant
Nor of its horrors.
I did learn later how my father designed
The Army Aircorps oxygen masks to fly--freeze free--
Higher above the Axis powers' aircraft.

I timidly was involved in the Civil Rights movement,
But when Vietnam loomed into our lives,
I was strongly involved in protests and countering wherever I could.

The planet is now challenged with our neglect of the air and sea.
The remainder of my life will be towards staving off this disaster.

But as I age, there are those who respect my efforts
And those who do not yet recognize my worth:
Strong statements to put me in my place.
Loving outreach which I wish for;
Lost because of the new communication--
Little talk and only the cold world of texting and emails.

I am not sure of what will become of me or my conservation attempts.
I feel helpless in the looming of inevitable death.
I will be in eternal darkness and powerlessness.
No longer able to care nor help nor act.
Will someone reach out with a soft, warm, loving hand?

Humanism opus 119

Religion reigns supreme throughout the world.
Whose god is stronger, more benevolent, more just?
We also feel free to kill and conquer to ensure the survival of our philosophy.
"That group does not have our saviour in their lives
And we need to involve ourselves in their lives
To enlighten them to comprehend our text of truth!"
What encourages people to be obligated to conquer minds?
To convince that their belief is definitely the way to a truly free death,
To allow one to slip into the final level of supreme existence?

But there is another way to enlightenment:
The love and respect of all life around us;
Understanding that there was no miraculous, godly creation,
But rather an evolutionary struggle of adaptation--
To fit into the great mosaic of life,
To survive successfully and replicate
To reach a positive reproductive level.
That is the basis of all life on our planet of life--
Oh, and nothing more is needed for all this incredible productivity!

Radiation and Half a Beard opus 120

I am, at 81, well into my Third Age.
With this comes challenges to health;
Cancer; the nemesis of human existence.
A neck squamous cell challenged my life
And it was decided to thoroughly operate;
Muscle removed, glands eradicated, and a graft.
The graft became a joke,
In that my neck started a strip of beard,
Borrowed from my chin!

Now, after some healing, the discussion commenced to radiation.
Oh, my. Another decision.
More than a month, for every working day,
I journeyed to Sacramento--the radiation center
Of the Mercy group--Mercy? Perhaps.

Encapsulated in a modelled, personalized upper body form,
Lying immobile, imprisoned; slowly, the pending feast of a Bar-B-Que.
As the days passed, the effect began to be manifested
In redness, rawness, and rigid muscles;
But I was still alive, perhaps now fully saved
By the additional prophylactic radiation.
Oh, and it was mentioned that, "You might lose your left beard!"

Time passed and, indeed, no beard and just bare, soft skin.
Friends showed their sympathy and compassion
But added, "Well, with half a beard, you surely will remove the opposite side?"
Now in my Third Age, without hesitation,
I blurted out with gusto,
"Of course not; I will just create a new style."

The Octopus opus 121

A creature with incredible intelligence.
Eyes that rival those of many creatures in the world:
The ability to recognize different human faces;
Acrobats, with the "dexterity" to escape through small outlets;
Possessing small pigment sacks, allowing complex color changes.

But the profound and sympathetic question is--
Why with potentially toxic bodily hormones,
Must these fascinating creatures die within one year?
If octopuses were to live to 80 years as we do,
Might they be able to take over the world
And possibly improve the place of our constantly conflicted species?

The Human Third Age opus 125

It has been studied that older humans are basically happier than the younger.
Why is this true? Older humans look at a limited time span
And are more content with what they have and have accomplished
Than the younger set, who are concerned about an unknown, long future,
Where they have much less control.
This principle needs teaching to the older generation,
Who could occasionally be boosted by a 'futurist' shot in the arm,
And to the younger, who need to calm themselves,
By living sometimes in the comforting, occasional 'Now'.

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.

Nora opus 225

On this day, seven years ago at 0115 AM, my wife of 31 years passed.
This was a dynamic marriage with ups and downs--with most of the former.
As with all long term relationships,
The memories become more poignant as time passes.
We met when Nora stopped by to purchase a Wood Duck,
One of many species of wild ducks which I raised on my farm.
She always joked that she came to buy a duck
And left with the duck and a share in half a llama!

As time passed, our experiences became more profound,
Commencing with matching our new kitchen colors
With soft orange-yellow hues of a very studied sunset.
We continually worked together to manage our farm,
Working with chicken and turkey harvesting,
To netting catfish, using our 100 foot seine-nets,
To gathering vegetables from our one acre chemical-free garden,
To raising orphaned emu chicks in our living room!

Nora was a world expert linguist in the Breton language.
She guided me through her conference trips to Scotland and Ireland,
Where I found my own genealogical genetic roots.
Her use of continual elevated vocabulary raised my speaking abilities.

Her encouragement and support for our Quail Ridge land trust was incalculable.
Together, we raised six million dollars and purchased about 2000 acres!
This area is now part of the UCD Natural Reserve System;
Many thought its success would be absolutely impossible--not so!
Beyond this, a Student Endowment is now in a very active, continual place.
Nora and I never had children, but she always nurtured my two boys.

Her end was finalized with a merciless plague of cancer
Which raged throughout her body--she worried most about losing her special mind.
This disease ended the life of a most talented person--
Such knowledge and love was lost to the world forever,
Except through all those remaining who knew her
And continually recount her productive and giving life.

(Also on this day in Texas 60 years ago, JF Kennedy was assassinated.)

Nature AND Nurture opus 229

We receive our ontology,
Phylogenetically, through our parents.

We are what we eat.

We become what we behold.

So much to learn, so little time.

Grief Unveiled opus 242

I have experienced grief several times during my 82 years--
A brother John, was only 20, a victim of a hunting shooting,
Where the unknown shooter shot in the air with no backing;
A father, his age at only 57, worn out from childhood rheumatic fever,
Which manifested its final blow from a weakened heart,
After testing high altitude breathing equipment during WW II;
A wife, Maggi, driving exam results from the University
To me in the field for proofreading and correction,
When her topheavy Land Rover overturned on a washboard dirt road--
The collision gently broke her neck, leaving no bodily mark;
A dearly beloved grandson, died in a terribly horrible car crash,
The horror shared with two companion boy friends, also dead;
A wife of 31 years, who died with a body riddled with cancer--
A great loss for me and her surrounding world.

I have never cried or became angry,
But rather have created a hand created marker,
Or created an endowment for students in our names together,
Or written narratives extolling their contributions to us all.
This type of grief behavior has been labelled as instrumental grief.
Intuitive grief is shown through emotion,
Such as crying, anger or outright emotional behavior.
I have, until I learned about these differences,
Thought I had not properly grieved.
It is a relief to now understand that I am not 'cold hearted',
And that many other fellow Homo sapiens, similarly grieve.

Okto Mom--A Devoted Mother opus 248

Okto Mom has been sitting on a rock outcrop,
Guarding her clutch of eggs for four years!
Once she started brooding her developing offspring,
She remained still, eating nothing.
Over the years, she became emaciated,
Her color fading further and further to a complete paleness
In spite of that, she warded off, especially prowling crabs,
Constantly perusing the area for an opening.
After the four years--the longest incubation
Known for any creature--
The hatchlings scampered out of their encasements
And moved away in all directions,
While she succumbed to the awaiting scavengers.
Such devotion--to be noted--
And a demise to be recorded and eulogised.

Christmas Alone opus 251

I have always been sheltered by family to have companionship.
Now I am old and the youth are off on their own.
They do not realize how much they are now needed.
I wait for a moment to interact,
But in the meantime I have many wonderful memories
Which sustain me in thought to have continuous life.
So many memories of candlelight and the scent of an evergreen.
The future will eventually continue without me,
Although with a choice, I would love to see what might yet unfold!

Two Possibilities opus 265

Headstones

    If the dates show
    the husband died
    shortly after the wife--

    first Gladys then Harry,
    Betty followed by Tim--

    the cause is often
    gradual starvation
    and not a broken heart.

So wrote Billy Collins
And I added:

And if the sequence occurs opposite--
Harry then Gladys,
Tim followed by Betty--

The cause is often sadness,
With no one to feed,
Or relief that the meat and
Potatoes man is gone
And she can now delve
Into more interesting recipes.

(Billy Collins, Musical Tables, 2022.)

A True Philosopher opus 311

One can best be a true philosopher
Only at the conclusion of one's life
When there is sufficient material
To vent the truth.

Aging in the Darkness of Night opus 317

I awake in the center of the darkness of night--
Pondering on the tragedy of growing old and separate, juxtaposed
With my continual joy to be able to contemplate new accomplishments.
As I die and be no more, which will be in the majority of my thought?
Does it actually really matter in any way?
A living being has only one 'advantage',
And that is the ability to contemplate the past, the present, and the future,
So, it comes down to the illusions in that aging and slowly dying mind.

Trapped by Age opus 325

When one is young, all things are possible:
To run, to dance, to explore, to attract, to make love.
As time passes, abilities are decreased, but in the mind,
Nothing changes--
The older one, still desires to run, to dance,
To explore, to attract, to make love.
The body's slower abilities, no matter how one tries,
Immures the bodily spirit
Towards that inevitable eternal freedom.

A Deadline or the Ultimate End? opus 328

I was negotiating with a colleague in Wyoming
About various time constraints
In order to finalize a conservation agreement.
Certain deadlines were raised
That we might reach a successful result.
I finally stated that with my age
And the unknown, relatively soon, inevitable end,
I was not able to work with mundane deadlines any more,
But rather, the absolute deadline of my very being.
Every thought and action, with this mindset,
Makes all things precious and meaningful,
Concluding in the best, timely way that one is able.

A Pastoral (Bucolic) Sunday Visit opus 350

(An invitation for a Visit to my Ophthalmologist.)

Hello dear Carmine et al.

The weather will be marvelous tomorrow and I am free
To interact with my fellow Homo sapiens.
Please come, the two of you, and enjoy some time together.
You all will be here on Terra Firma in perpetuity,
But I may have just the 'blink of an eye' remaining!
(No medical talk tomorrow--just praising that of having the visual ability
To swoon with the exquisite sights all around us,
Some of which I will humbly interpret for you.)

Seriously, I will relate to no hospital superior
That you have entered my territory--neither mental nor geographic.
It would give me such pleasure to spend a few moments with you
In the freedom of my territory, which I have defended
And made productive for the nation and the world.

I invite you as your devoted and steadfast patient.

Frank

Butterfly Massacre opus 400

I reside in the Central Valley of California.
I have lived on my smallish (37 acre) farm since 1978--46 years!
At my age one contemplates one's death more than when a teenager.
Being a biologist, I also think about the death of other creatures.
Chatting with my wonderful farm helper,
I asked him why all the butterflies were moving en masse,
Being pulverized (as he also drove) by the speeding autos?
He wasn't sure, but finally, together, we came up with 'migration'.
Yes, many species of lepidoptera migrate besides Monarchs.
The predominant shifting species at present is the lovely Sulphur--
Moving to new local feeding grounds to ensure more future caterpillars!
The beautiful yellow (Sulphur), black-tipped flyers
Move across the more open roads for easier flight
And are sadly meeting their own holocaust.
We think of the roadkill of larger creatures: deer, rabbits, raccoons,
But insects such as butterflies and Honey Bees
Are slaughtered every year--
The butterflies as they migrate
And the foraging Honey Bees,
Innocently traversing from their human-made hives.
1925 was the beginning of road ecology science
And we humans, because of our vehicles,
Have invested millions in the prevention of creature annihilation--
Tunnels, wildlife bridges, speed limits, warning signs--
But the Class Insecta individuals remain ever in peril.

The Afterlife opus 428

Humans, having the ability to contemplate the future,
Have struggled for millennia to comprehend
The seeming finality of the end of life, named death.
To compromise the anxiety and fear that the state of death manifests,
Many rituals and beliefs and philosophies have arisen in history:
Burning the body, leaving it to be consumed and decay, interning it in
the earth;
(Many Muslims bury down and to the side; other groups bury straight down)
If of status, wrapping it as a preserved mummy,
Or embalmed forever on view in a mausoleum.
Along with all this are serious beliefs, clinching what may occur.
No matter what conditions humans will face,
The question of death and what new world may unfold will be perpetually with us.

Several Modern Sources for Instant Death opus 432

We are living now in a world where the unknown moment of instant death
Is completely possible, leading to nervousness, fear, weariness,
And sometimes just plain defiance.

Russia has continually bombed the Ukrainian people;
They never know where the unjust explosives will land.
But in spite of all this, the brave people have become weary but defiant.

Israel is retaliating from a cruel Hamas attack,
But now the innocent Gaza population is herded and bombed; herded and bombed--
To the extreme that the 'eye for an eye' has reached an unequal tipping point.

Now, suddenly, in Lebanon 37 are dead and thousands maimed from pager
explosions.
Two children near the pagers are amongst the dead.
Israel has admitted (at least to the US) that they are behind this
possible war crime.
After a second day of random explosions, the Lebanese population is in turmoil.

How can we all stand by, helplessly, and witness such heinous acts?
The 21st century began with such positiveness and now look at us.

Sally Sobottka, My Friend opus 444

Sally Sobottka appeared in my life sometime in the 80's,
Attending a Quail Ridge land trust fund raising dinner on the Reserve.
She expressed her strong devotion towards environmental needs
And within months she became a Quail Ridge board member.
For many years, she worked to further the land trust's efforts
To reach out, manifesting education, stewardship, and preservation.

On Thursday, 10 October, Sally quietly passed away amongst her family.
She and I had, in later years, often chatted on the phone,
Since neither one of us was very mobile.
To the end, Sally continually expressed her love and devotion for QR
And reminisced about her times walking amongst its wonderful flora.
She shall be missed--were there more of her ilk.

Frank

A Health Nut, Falling? opus 469

So, we are soon, to perhaps again, have a Kennedy in government,
Chosen to lead the US Department of Health and Human Services,
But so different from his family history. His concept of medicine is bizarre.
An opponent of vaccines, wrongly accusing them of unhealth.
In the past, Benjamin Franklin lost a beloved son,
When he decided not to innoculate the boy for smallpox.
He lamented that decision for the rest of his life.

How many will needlessly die, following this intended appointment folly?
After many deaths, will humanity once again right itself?
Why are we, admittedly a restless species, so ready
To be so dismissive of our moderately sane medical legacy?

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.

Needless Killing opus 483

My thoughts suddenly flew back to the morning
When I was six--my mother insisted that they care for my rabbits,
On a winter morning when I always took care of my pets.
On coming home from school I witnessed
The scattered white hair over the ground--
My favorites, butchered by two neighbor Boxer dogs.

So, yesterday evening, as I walked out to urge my two hens
Back into their safe shelter for the protected night's sojourn,
There were leaves all over the area near their pen--
No. The leaves were feathers near two dead bodies.
I had raised these two from their tiny beginnings.
They grew and manifested into regularly ovulating adults;
So many eggs consumed each day, with extras offered as gifts.

It was only two hens, but it really put a hole in our lives.
The sack of feed was only half used--
The remainder went to supplement the three emu.
The morning routine to check water and food suddenly ended.
The evening no longer was a time
To guide them into their safe cat carrier shelter--
The dog(?) villain had beaten me by an hour to urge them to safety.

What to do now?
I pondered a bit; then, determined, I dry plucked them,
Carefully gutted each wounded corps, saving the giblets,
And gently placed their remains in the fridge.
At least now those bodies I had so carefully fed,
Will become part of my body as their eggs had for so many months.
To me this is a superior conclusion, rather than, demanded by sentimentality,
To just bury them in the ground or, worse,
To simply heave them into the mindless trash.

Prayer of a Viking opus 498

Oh, dear Odin, if it is the moment to be passed to you,
Please take me only with my weapon in hand,
And that it shall be swift, with little lingering.
The pain bothers me not, it is only
The wasted time, before I am able to face you
And melt into your compassion
And justice over your jurisdiction.

(Written by a modern, fantasizing Viking.)

A Quick Thought to a Swiss Friend Late at Night opus 518

An active, restless, so far, night time
With many thoughts of my days in der Schweiz.
May I burst from my aging cocoon
To return once again?
I am but bound to my life here--
Not so bad on the whole;
And more or less at peace.
So it is, wisely, at the end.

Seta opus 529

A Bach flute concerto plays on the air.
My first love was Seta, a flautist in high school.
Our first date was meeting and playing music at her home.
I knew her parents well; her mother,
An Armenian, soft-spoken woman;
Her father, a very short Armenian artist
At the Rhode Island School of Design.
I remember when he showed me
His plastered juxtaposition of egg cartons;
Beautifully conjoined to create an optical illusion.

Seta and I met at a 50th Reunion for Newton High School.
She had aged, but was soft and conversant.
Dementia hit and her son took her off to California.
I was never able to converse with her again.
The magic of early youth, lost at the end
In silence and an unfulfillment of words.

The Fate of Two Sons opus 530

The recent incident in Venezuelan waters reminded me
Of my Antioch Co-op job (1963) at a whale processing plant in California.
I was hired as a Federal employee to collect samples
From whales taken in that Pacific area, during the closedown
Of the last USA whaling station near Point Richmond.
(During that time, my brother, John, 20 years old,
Had been shot in the back by a hunter, perhaps miles away,
Who fired in the air, with no backing to shield the bullet's trajectory.
There was no sound as he dropped to the ground.)

Filmed by his father, a son with his packraft
Was taken into the mouth of a whale!
"I saw blue and white; I felt slime against my face and smelled the bad breath."
"I was released and I and my rubber boat were again on the surface!"
Father and son had been paddling to a nearby island to explore.
When asked if they would attempt to venture there again,
They both agreed they would definitely try once more.
The Humpback Whale could not have been able to swallow him,
He being spared because of the whale's narrow throat.
If one were swallowed (only possible by a Sperm Whale),
The acids in the four stomachs and lack of air would have been fatal.

My brother was lost and this young man was wonderfully spared.

Dealing With Death opus 557

Death is a life phenomenon which all creatures face cognizantly or not.
Of course there are those that recognize this new state.
It is well known that elephants clearly react to death
By touching with their collective trunks, reaching out.
Even later encounters with the decomposed body
Elicit fondling the now cleaned bones.
Mother porpoises are known to 'carry' their deceased offspring
For many days or weeks; one female did so for up to 100 days.
Mother chimps and bonobos hold dead infants for days.
These two groups are known to touch, attempt play,
And gaze deeply into the eyes of a passed companion.
Humans deal culturally differently, but profoundly with their dead.
The Irish have wakes and Hispanics often gather in a parlour.
There is some good archeological evidence that Neanderthals
Had some sort of recognition of death.
From so long ago, it is often difficult to discern actual fact,
But revealed hyena and raven tarsals near an infant's disinterned body,
Or an isolated lithic near an adult's corpse,
Finding no other similar lithic at all nearby,
Indicate that there must have been some thought applied.
We will never know whether there was singing, or other vocalizations,
Or if possibly, even tears were shed for a downed comrad.
But judging from chimp and bonobo behavior around their dead,
And, of course, knowing our own feelings and behavior,
It is quite certain our kindred Neanderthal went through
Much the same agony and heartache.
Nearing that life stage, I myself, as many,
Premeditate my own demise with wonder and trepidation.

EPILOGUE {It is clear that as with most hominin groups,
Cannibalism is a practice sometimes evidenced among them.
Among Neanderthal butchered bones, tool cut marks are evidenced
On both remains of animals, as well as on their own kind.
There is much contemplation as to reasons for this.
Dealing with their trauma might have included the depositing of bodies,
Taking them apart and reconstituting the raw components
Back to life with consumption, bones used as tools, or by marking them.
Cut marks on the face and skull may indicate the recognition of another.
Was the common practice of taking apart hunted carcasses,
Transposed into a grieving process involving familiar butchery,
Including cannibalism, as acts of intimacy and not violation?
Catholics in Western society have special relics for viewing,
And even more, in Eucharist, bread and wine are
Consumed as the body of Jesus, inside the mouths of the faithful!
They say this is not about death, but life.
Perhaps this was also true for Neanderthals.}

How Might a Hindu Take the Story of Easter? opus 569

I sort of pulled this out of a hat, randomly contemplating the subject.
I actually found sites which answered my question precisely!
Some sites went into great detail about the transformation of Jesus' body,
While others posed the almost impossibility of reaching eternal life--
Compared to Christianity--a somewhat biased account,
Through multiple reincarnations in the caste system.
The article I am citing stays on the positive side,
Not dragging in the negatives, looking at the positive similarities.
Do read this and ponder further on the subject:
'Exploring the Intersections of Easter and Hinduism--Celebrating Unity in Diversity'.
If you are religious or a Humanist as I am,
You will see nice, positive overlaps, for what it is.
Enjoy.

22 April 2025--Earth Day opus 570

Pope Francis died on the morning of 21 April,
Just after Easter and the day before Earth Day.
He was a leader who completely understood
The slow, steady change and demise of our world
In relation to human, animal, and plant life as well as
To those who can no longer conduct profitable farming,
Nor to those who are potential refugees of violence and armed entities.

The pope will be buried in a simple wooden coffin,
Among others who were the poor of Rome, Italy.
Now the question is, who will be chosen for that next leader?
In addition, it would be nice if more unified attention would be given
To the contributions of the Dalai Lama and leaders
Of the Jewish, Muslim, and other major religions.
The dominance of the magnificence of the papacy
Must be juxtaposed with the theology of other religious leaders.
That would be to the good of our diverse populations.

(Note: Today, 25 May 2025, we may have just that,
Partly by means of a new American pope,
Who seems to be already including many others.)

Heaven And Earth opus 572

With the pope's serious illness,
It is perplexing to observe and contemplate
Terrestrial, empirical medical procedure,
Mingled with heavenly outreach-supplications.

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.

Another View of Death opus 642

A man was walking in a field with his daughter.
The two came upon the carcass of a mouse.
The father, seeing this as an opportunity to discuss death,
Begins to talk with his daughter.
The young child notices the masses of ants covering the mouse body.
The father realizes that the subject must now include decomposition,
And gently urges the girl to come away.
Walking a 'ways from the body, the girl turns back to the mouse.
She continues to watch the ants moving over and in the corps,
And turns to her father, "Look how these ants love this mouse!"
The yet untutored mind of a child, 
Often yields an unexpected, creative conclusion.

(This account reminds me of the two previous observations I made
about Rowan (g-son) and the opossum body found in our field.)

A Cancer Progress Report opus 654

I do not talk a lot about my leukemia and skin cancers.
They have dominated my efforts to prolong my life,
But there is so much in my life on which to concentrate,
I guess I just wanted to communicate on the worldly wonders of life
Which surround us each and every day.
By continuing to study on every one of those days,
I have learned and shared the history of the Neanderthal,
Delved into the fascinating science of meteorites,
Tektites, and many impactiles.
One of the latter types is the beautiful Libyan Desert Glass.
By writing my 'Poems and Thoughts' about my life history
And my present reactions to world events and politics,
The writing has kept my mind very active,
And later, will be a gift to my family to read after I am physically gone.
I still run my 37 acre farm, both mentally
And (with help) to some extent, physically.
My conservation work in California as well as in Wyoming
Has allowed me to help the planet in a small way,
But also to be able to continue to reach out to fellow people.
All these activities have kept my mind active and young!
I am 84 and am ready to pass into the next stage of life.
I am unafraid for myself, but am concerned how the world will be managed.

To a Mentor opus 679

Benjamin Franklin died at 84.
I have now reached that same number.
I still have so much to accomplish
To even half equal what that master diplomat
Gave to the world and his fellow persons.
May I be spared for a while.

Natalie Corona, Died While on Duty. 1996-2019 opus 680

What a shocking, needless death which struck us all.
While on a routine call for a car collision in Davis, California,
She was suddenly shot multiple times by an intruding murderer.
This terrible, tortured man then committed suicide.
Natalie was following in her Sheriff-father's footsteps,
To maintain peace and order wherever she would be.
She was only 22 years old: A playful, fun-loving young woman.
She had been patrolling solo for only two brief weeks.
She had become what she had always wanted.
At her graduation and swearing in ceremony
From the Sacramento Police Academy,
Her Sheriff-father had pinned the badge on his daughter, Natalie.
There were many at her memorial candlelight vigil--
It was said, "She was the best of us."
A 'Blue Lives Matter' flag was placed where she had fallen.
Such an absolutely needless death of an aspiring young person,
Being endowed with incredible foresight.
She leaves her parents and three younger sisters behind,
As well as the rest of us who continually ask, "Why?"

Seeking One Who Has Gone opus 705

She has been violently taken from us in her school.
So cruel, so uncaring, so unknowing whom it would affect.
Where does one go to find, even a part of her?
Where does one go to witness once again her youthful accomplishments?
Where does one go to partake and inhale her sweet scent?
Of course the room she rested in, and studied in,
And dreamed of what she might eventually become--
Her castle, her music room, her sleeping chamber.
So many youths have been taken from us all,
By mostly young males, restless, confused,
And spiteful of their lack of accomplishment and success.
Are they allowed to slip past, because of a misinterpretation
Of the Second Amendment, originally written 
To no longer be victims of a possible king?
Have we lost the intent after three centuries of ever modified interpretation
Towards the attempt to maintain freedom--whose ever that is.

To Hold on for Nine Years opus 714

Every holiday she strung lights throughout a room of our home.
Her last season for lights was November 2016.
She died soon thereafter--I left the lights on all that year.
Each year thereafter, the lights remained on in remembrance.
One November, almost to the day, nine years later, 
The lights dimmed to darkness.
The nights now are as deceased as the decorator herself. 

Demise of a Mother-Poet. opus 739

Do we assassinate our poets, so unthinkingly?
And, even more sinisterly, 
Do we eliminate in a second, a mother of three?
If ONE knew the status of ONE'S potential victim,
Would that ONE go through with such a final act?
As a native once said, "Walk in their moccasins."
(Also, must ONE really now deflect investigation to her widow?)
Such a needless loss of a fellow citizen.
We shall remember you, Renee Nicole Good.

Will K Cars be Our New Coffins? opus 742

Having returned from Asia, Trump declared his love for the tiny, economical K car.
Prominent in Japan, would these tiny cars fit into this country's traffic?
Offsetting economics, they are small and slow;
Placed into a rushed society, having many accidents.
A huge trailer-truck attempting to slow suddenly behind a smaller, slower car,
Could most likely result in a catastrophe of a crushed car with its driver.
Our high-speed freeways might introduce a new category of death.
With such decisions, we must consider the adage of water and oil.