Maurer/Timm Quail Ridge UCD Student Endowment Order Books here Original Poems and Thoughts website Email Frank here: frankmaurer41@gmail.com

Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

Search for:   All Poems   Topics   Titles   Help

Aging

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.

A Chat with my Ophthalmologist, Car'mine opus 141

I am turning 82 next month, with a pending driver test renewal!
The written test, I may master with some practice and brain work,
But my eyes are basically immutable--not easily 'fixed'.
One eye is perfect for distance, the other for reading.
I asked how I might pass with one 'bad eye'.
I am so worried I may fail and be permanently banished from the roads.
Car'mine said, 'Please, you have a goldmine.
There are many who drive with only one good eye!'
I was stunned and my depressed thoughts were suddenly elevated.
'What you have just uttered has unleashed me to euphoria!'

My senior worries are much lessened
And I have now a chance to remain
As a functioning member of society with transportation.
A while longer! I am so grateful for your words.

Thank you.

Flying VII. A Trip to Fort Collins, Colorado opus 144

Landing in Fort Collins, we each went our own way, Agreeing on the return time to the airport, for our return flight. The conference for the American Society of Mammalogists, Was a wonder for me, with so many professionals of the same ilk. I was even approached by a very nice older gay mammalogist whom I gently deferred! The return flight was lovely and uneventful.

An Afterthought: Our flight to Fort Collins occurred in the late 1960's with the rest of life filling in between. About October 2020, I received an email from a Murray Colbo, Asking if I was the 'Frank' who flew him to Fort Collins for a conference! I said yes, and he identified himself and how well he remembered our trip. He has spent his career studying various freshwater environments and their aquatic invertebrates.

He related that in all his study grants he always requested a helicopter and pilot To enable him to collect specimens in very out of the way aquatic habitats. He emphasized how important the helicopters with good pilots were for his research. On one grant, he explained, the pilot assigned to his research Frankly frightened him with his flying style--not great confidence! He related that he would not continue with that research project, Unless he got a more skillful pilot. One was granted and he went on with his work.

After a pause, I timidly asked how he rated my flying during our flight. He unhesitantly replied, 'Oh you were skillful and competent! Can you imagine how a warm feeling developed in my chest? It was such a joy to hear his evaluation for a skill I had worked so hard to achieve. This is what makes the blow of growing older, a softer landing for the End!

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!

Voice Changes opus 157

The voice depends mostly on the tautness and length of the vocal cords
And how tightly they contract as the air from the lungs hits them.
The voice of a child is high because the larynx is small,
The vocal cords being short, thin, and tight.
At birth the vocal cords (or folds) of both boys and girls measure about 2 millimeters long.
Those of girls grow 0.4 mm per year, while those of boys grow 0.7 mm.
Finally, girls' vocal folds reach 10 mm, while boys' are 16 mm,
Producing the lower or deeper voice of males.
With puberty, the larynx grows, the vocal cords lengthen and thicken,
Thus causing the voice of both males and females to deepen.
The further 'culprit' in boys is the additional flush of testosterone.
The female voice remains relatively higher, as explained, because of shorter cords.

As adults age, vocal cords become thinner,
The cartilage of the larynx becomes harder and less flexible,
Causing the alteration of the voice.
Thus the pitch of the voice changes with age:
Often rendering it to be higher in older men and lower in older women.
Additionally, the musculature of an elder's larynx
May weaken or cause a quavering quality called vocal tremors.
The voice may be further changed with a stooped posture
Or the lessening of lung capacity,
Thus reducing the air flow through the larynx, furthering voice alteration.

This is why older men with a remaining rich, robust voice,
Often cause remarks from others as to how young they sound!
Radio material.

The Menstruating Man opus 165

An incision was made in my rear
To reach a gut emergency, resulting from aging!
After two colostomies and the passing of much time,
I have survived! Actually am alive!

The remnants of that mad escapade
Is an unhealed fissure, oozing fluid--
Sometimes with blood and sometimes clear.
After deciding it was best to let it ooze
And not, at my age of 81, to operate once again,
I have a pad with a careful change when needed.

I now see what my human female counterparts endure,
The only female primate who bleeds when not potentially pregnant.
I just bleed or ooze whenever, with never a pregnancy in sight!
But finally, as a feminist, I must now consciously endure
My perennial menstruation and be reminded
That all mammals are basically, genetically female!
(Don't forget those two X's!)

Reconciliation or (just) Recognition? opus 228

Three generations sat together at Thanksgiving,
Discussing, in part, their problems with communication.
The oldest one, who spoke well,
And did not grow up with electronic communication,
Actually apologized for having been so stubborn
To resist the new electronic mode of talking.
The middle generation liked the apology,
But offered no compromise.
The youngest of the generations,
Admitted he just did not use email and will not talk
With the oldest generation's attempt
Of at least trying to pass on something to him!
From the elder's viewpoint, minimally,
He only made a truce of emotion,
And gained no true compromise from the other two;
Hardly reconciliation and perhaps just recognition.

Humans are the only animal who evolutionarily
Can speak and have a complex, written language.
Will this marvelous genetic ability languish--unused--
And mutate back to vocal grunts and silence,
Augmented by spurts of electricity?

Obsolete Hormones? opus 250

Testosterone evolved to give males
The ability for aggression to protect.
Estrogen gave females the desire to create new life.
In our modern world unneeded Testosterone
Results in male rapes, murders, and male prison terms.
In our modern world Estrogen has generated desire for a birth,
Except when a 45 year old wants a child
And later realizes that the 20 year old offspring
Is overwhelming the aging mother!

To My Dermatologist, Christie Carroll, et al opus 273

I would like to take a moment
To thank you for the several times
You have salvaged my aging life.
This is why I feel I am obligated
To give back as best I can
To my wonderful society and all it has given me.
When I am no longer to be productive--
However that might be interpreted--
I ask only that our citizens remember
The attempts I have made
To augment our environment in all its forms.
I truly wish I could live longer
To have the time to pay back what I justly owe.

Our Elders. To the Young Ones Around Me opus 289

An aware elder has been around for a long while,
And, being aware, most likely has acquired a good deal of knowledge.
If an elder conveys some observation or thought to one, younger,
A good path for the young one to follow is listen, thank, then contemplate,
And act, if it seems appropriate to heed those words.
Politely, take it or not, after some thought,
But do maintain the elder in your circle of knowledge sources;
Never break the tie nor be angry, annoyed, or abusive in word or thought,
For there just might be the occasion when that elder's words,
Will be invaluable in your successful progress forward--
No cost. No obligation!

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.

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!'

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.

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!

Changes opus 373

As we grow and evolve through life,
The child becomes the young adult,
And this develops into the man or woman.
As this manifests, a previous stage is not erased,
But augmented with experience and wisdom.
If one is fortunate, the wonderful previous
Childlike characters potentially now in adulthood
Still peek through to soften
The harsher challenges and realities of later life.

A Greeting for my Eye Doctor opus 391

Ah, I have crawled over the ridge,
Seeking a life-giving watery oasis,
Ending my pain of thirst--

Now you enter into my presence
To relieve the pain of rogue lashes
Agonizingly plaguing the globe of my eye,
Lying beneath my bony supraorbital ridge.

Friday Night! (An 83-year-old's Perspective) opus 409

A long day today with chores and calls.
Just finished shopping in town--all on electricity (plug-in hybrid!).
Now I am back home and spacing out.
Thinking about what Friday nights used to be--rushing here and there--
For pleasure or some sort of entertainment.
Now, at 83 this month (!), I am content to relax and think:
Of my children and grandchildren and our future--
Just picked up a book 'The Heat Will Kill You First' (Goodell).
My house is 82 degrees at 1800 Hours and AC is not on.
Ready tonight to do a letter or two--
More fundraising for my Quail Ridge Student Endowment.
Small tortoises ready to be brought back into the living room--
Raccoons out there at night!
Two hens guided into their little coop for protection.
TV news coming on--Kamala--a Boudican Celtic Queen!
Mail to sift through, sending out small donations here and there.
Had squid for lunch--perhaps now just an egg with a sip of Sake?
I am moderately content--wish for more family contact.
Oh, I just received in the mail a 'Sitting Liberty' 1860, 50 cent piece,
Retrieved from the famous SS Republic shipwreck (1865)--
I am enamoured with the history of our coins.
I used to put a tooth under my pillow, anticipating a dollar.
'Dollar' comes from our first using money from the Netherlands
Before our own mints produced 'homegrown' coins!
(Dutch 'Daalder' comes from the original German 'Thaler'.)

So much for thoughts--see how an experienced old man's mind works?

When All Have Departed opus 424

All have departed from my 83rd party.
It is gently and deadly quiet--
So much so that my tinnitus
Is suddenly dominating my auditory spectrum.

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.

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?"

Alex Salmond (Former Scottish Prime Minister) opus 442

So many around me are passing on their mortal coil.
This, of course, is because of my age of 83.
I just learned of the passing of Scottish Alex Salmond, 69,
Who fought politically so fervently for Scottish Independence.
I met Alex in San Francisco, while he reached out to California
To increase Scottish trade with the world's 6th largest economic entity.
Alex loved horse racing, so our meeting occurred at a Bay Area race track--
Including kilts, talk of Scottish history, scotch,
And a display of my hand-carved stones.
There, I made a presentation of a small stone carving,
Depicting a knot overlaid by the Scottish thistle.

Days later, Upon Salmond's return to Scotland,
I received a wonderful, much treasured thank you note, from Alex,
Expressing his warm thanks, praising my ancient carving methods.
Alex Salmond will truly be a part of Scotland's continual attempts
To be once again an independent nation-state,
And I am so proud to have known him.

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

Time Slowed to Almost a Standstill opus 445

The Greenland shark may reach an age of up to 500 years,
Now recognized as the longest living vertebrate animal.
They grow as little as a few centimeters per year, up to five meters,
Reaching four meters and sexual maturity at 150 years old.
Because of the excessive fishing before WWII,
There appears to be no sexually active adults living.
The sampling so far has found only sub-adults,
Implying that it will be another 100 years
Before the population might start reproducing once again!
This is a severe example of how human activity
Can negatively affect another creature's well being
And a reminder of the delicate balance required
To sustain such incredible life forms.

The Longevity Bottleneck Hypothesis opus 447

For a long time now, humans have sought a longer life span.
Some slow progress has been accomplished.
There may be, however, something in our deeper past
That has caused our lack of accumulated years.
The name for this has been dubbed the 'Longevity Bottleneck Hypothesis'.
Because dinosaurs found the newly evolved mammals to be quite tasty,
The predation on these small, fuzzy creatures gradually increased.
For more than 100 million years dinosaurs were the dominant predator,
While mammals were usually small, nocturnal, and short-lived.
Thus dinosaurs 'forced' mammals through predation to lose or inactivate
Genes and pathways associated with long life.
In other words, rapid reproduction was more adaptive for survival!
Remember, this is an hypothesis,
(A scientific theory has to be proven from many valid hypotheses),
So it is not accepted by all, but just like the efforts to reactivate the dinosaur tail
In a chicken, reactivation of our 'longevity genes' might result in a similar consequence:
Are we really accomplishing beneficial outcomes--creating little 'chicken dinosaurs',
Or perhaps worse, thousands of really old people who may lack productivity?

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.)

To My Two Sons opus 503

I am trying to be a very good Grandfather
For your sons (or nephews),
To make up for any inadequacies,
While being your parent.
I have a few years to fulfill this pledge.
Bear with me.

Love, Your Dad.

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!"

My Dear Childhood Friend, Frances Brown opus 516

Ah, Frances Brown. She was a friend of my parents,
But I was also included by her in our own friendship.
She had a deep chortle for a woman--early smoking?
She always had a nice middle-aged scent.
And she always paid attention to me when we were together.
She was the church secretary and wrote the chosen verse
In my new bible--'The man who builds his house on a rock...'
Her printing was impeccable and solid.

One adventure we had was a snowy trip to the Boston Symphony.
My father was dubious because of the weather,
But she laughed it off and said that her 'Bug' would make it fine.
It did make it fine, having a wonderful concert.
Afterwards I joined Frances and her husband, Morrie,
At their home for an 'overnight' and breakfast.
I remember the guest room and the fresh smelling sheets.

I always enjoyed, as a young one, intelligent adults.
Frances taught me about the 'older generation'
And that they had much to offer in their wisdom.
Frances is long gone, but I will never forget
Our comradely interaction and her kindness,
Helping me to grow into the adult stage of my life.

A Last Stage opus 517

Two days into a five-day rain spree.
No rain for all of January--a dry time.
But now all has suddenly changed--
Dark skies, cold wind, and a leaky ceiling to boot!
My days now--especially these presently are so different
From my past, busy and very productive life.
Sometimes it is hard to fill my hours,
But of course that is not really true;
I tend to my Betta fish, and feed lizards,
Check email, finish the mail returns, and have a bite;
Organize farm duties with Jessie, my 'man',
Then write what is in my head--
Juxtaposed with needed calls to help save my planet.
Evening comes and I can't bother anyone--too late for a call.
Such a different life from what I formerly had--
Farming, markets, fishing (with seines), flower harvest,
Educational boat cruises, and walks at Quail Ridge,
Constant fundraising, and creating an ever-new brochure.
How many more things, I might be able to recount.
My mind spins as I were at 40, but my body slows.
It is a dilemma I must absolutely get through,
But it is uncomfortable to be at all impaired.
I must make the best of things and do the best
That my weakening body allows.
I must stay in good spirits, not to turn off
My younger interactees.
I am full of life, but know that the end is slowly pending.

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.

It is Saturday opus 531

Hey! It is Saturday!
Which is just like Wednesday.
Which is just like Friday.
Which is just like Monday.
Which is just like Thursday.
Which is just like Tuesday
Which is just like Sunday.

There comes a time in life,
When an imaginary day of 'freedom'
Is no better than any of the rest.
Are you at that time in your life?
You will know when it arrives.

A Fortunate Old Man opus 546

I have many memories of 'good' and 'bad':
It is all relative.
I have reasonable health.
I have warm or cool shelter--
Depends on the season.
I have nourishment--
Recycled, roadkill, entomophagous, or deluxe.
I have activities to keep my mind astute--
Conservation efforts, writing, fundraising,
Discourse with those who wish to engage;
Tending and feeding my animals--
From fish (Bettas), to bird (emu),
To reptile (Bearded Lizards), to mammal (Angus calf):
I have them all--my constant companions.
I have occasional friendly visitors
Who gift me bits of wonderful food
And to some, in return, I donate some remuneration
For various student and conservation causes;
But, most profoundly, my two boys (men),
Who check in on me, converse with me, help me,
And keep my faculties honed to sharpness.
It could be far worse.

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!

A Moment in an Elevator on the Second Floor opus 582

I was exiting from my Ophthalmologist exam;
Entered the nearby elevator and pressed the button.
Nothing. No up nor down. My mind started to calculate:
Would I be abandoned here for hours?
I had heard of such--those marooned in these up and down devices.
My mind calmly covered the possibilities.
Checking, I then looked up at the elevator indicator--
A red number '2'.
What had I done to cause such?
I am on '2', wishing to descend to '1'.
But the indicator says '2'.
OMG--'The wrong button was pressed?'
Humbly, I pressed '1' and low and behold, I descended!
Amused and relieved, I exited onto '1' with additional relief
And a joyous feeling, walking out into the afternoon sun!

Puking Carbon opus 585

When I was younger,
I travelled wantonly everywhere--
And at a whim, but with good intentions;
Spreading carbon waste everywhere.

Now that I am (very) older,
I am relieved that I am
More tied to my bed and the toilet,
So that my mostly non-vital travelling
Will not add to the horrible carbon pollution
That may eventually take us all down--
Oh, that is, except for the plant world!
(Or the cockroaches,
Which have survived enumerable changes,
Cohabiting perhaps
With the horseshoe crabs and trilobites!)

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.

Are Audio Books a Form of Reading? opus 608

The ability to read is an important aspect of human life.
The debate has begun as to whether audio books count as reading.
According to an NPR-Ipsos poll,
40% of adults felt such books were not a form of reading:
This poll was comprised of men 65 years old and older,
And those with no four-year college degree.
But what does science say? No significant difference,
Between reading, or listening to, or doing both.
The information retained was basically the same!
HOWEVER, school-aged students did worse when utilizing audio alone.
In other words, they comprehended, understood, and recalled less than readers.
So, when one is learning to read, one needs the actual experience of reading!

The Momentum of Speech opus 612

I have been struggling doing business on the phone,
Especially with young women.
Because they talk so fast, it is difficult to follow at times.
The scuttlebutt is that Gen-Zers talk faster than Millenials,
Because of the former being exclusively exposed
To the ever-expanding, all-consuming, social media.
Also, scientists record that greater numbers of women
Are using a growly, creaky, 'annoying' speech pattern now named 'vocal fry'.
But why, in general, are people speaking faster now?
One study implies that listeners find fast-talkers more persuasive.
Slow speakers can be assumed to be less intelligent or competent,
While very fast talkers might be seen as less truthful or less kindhearted.
In a competitive society, people might hurry their words for fear of being interrupted.
A bustling, competitive or clamorous school environment might reinforce rapid speech;
A child or older student learns to speak hastily to be heard.
If we interrupt each other in society, rapid speech becomes a survival skill.

Social dynamics in our high pressured society
May have a great influence on women's speech:
Women are taking a greater role in the workplace,
Competing with men, who some surveys show, talk faster,
So it is natural that young women compete back by also speaking faster.
The other factor, along with this, is that sexes mimic each other
And just like cultural mimicry with an accent,
Speed might also be imitated so that one better fits in with peers.
High pressure workplaces require quick information delivery.
Fear of interruption in that workplace causes a rush to finish thoughts.
And if there is emotional intensity involved,
This might lead to uncontrolled rapid speech.

At any rate in my nearly 84 years listening to others speak,
I definitely notice an increase in speaking velocity,
Especially in young women, who are definitely
Dominating the telephone answering services.
This is not prejudice, but merely an old guy observing his fellows.

Hope is the Enemy of Courage opus 613

At age 19 while attending Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio
A very intellectually stimulating academic institution,
I came across a book, 'Faith of a Heretic',
Written by a Yale Philosophy Professor, Walter Kaufman, in 1959.
The subject included not to hope, but to get in and do it.
My whole life seems to have followed that philosophy.

As a child I wanted to build a treehouse 30 feet high in an oak.
And I did so.
As a 10-year-old, I had a 'nature club' for 'younger' kids!
It went well, considering my tender age.
I wished to continue my father's abandoned large vegetable garden.
And I did so with my little brother.
I wanted to have a large pond for my huge carp and snapping turtles.
And I dug it.
I wanted to earn a PhD at Cornell.
And I earned it!
During my teaching job in Africa, I wanted to learn beekeeping with the aggressive African bee.
And I carefully learned the art.
I wished, back in the US, to start a polyculture educational farm; the Environmental Education Farm Foundation.
And, laboriously, I managed and did so.
I decided I must save California wildlife land and created the Quail Ridge Conservancy (Land Trust).
And it, with lots of effort, manifested itself, eventually becoming part of UC Davis.
I learned of the languishing of the creation of legislation for a California State Grass.
And after four years it was passed.
I worked in Wyoming to protect 7,000 acres of wildlife acreage.
And after 20 years,it was accomplished.
I learned I was a Pict of Scotland and established myself as a stone carver.
Lots of effort and work to do so!
After Nora, my late wife passed, I decided to create and manage a UCD Student Endowment.
And, believe it or not, it is functioning.
I wished then to create a 'Poems and Thoughts' website for my children to remember my life.
And now it consists of 580 plus poems for their, and others' thinking.

What I am saying is that the old philosopher's words were always there for me to manifest;
From childhood to near death, I have attempted to meet the challenge of my passions.
My advice to the next generation is to do such--
Never demur in your true passions and accomplish what you desire and must do. May it be good.

Are We Witnessing the Downfall of a Great Democracy? opus 616

So many 'props' for so many are being kicked out from under.
Our democracy, our parks, our research, our meds, our schools,
Our information sources, our relationships with each other.
Such phenomena have rarely been witnessed before.
As an old elder, there are feelings streaming through my bones.

The Tattooer opus 624

Might you comprehend the life of a tattooer?
Well, heesh must be, obviously, an artist,
With an ever steady hand and a flawless eye.
As the needle passes over the flesh,
There are few chances to correct any flaw.
But, beyond the challenges of art,
A tattooer must always bend over hiser work.
The strain of such continual posture,
Slowly challenges proper posture
Along with the strain on the back.
Beware and take heed tattooers,
And know that the cryptic challenge
Is waiting to diminish your productivity.

To Andrew: The Dual Existence of our Saturdays' Time Spans opus 628

Most noble Andrew; It is such as you who nurtures
The human world by caring for another Homo sapiens' offspring,
Plus further caring for that creature which co-evolved with us--
The dog, having evolved by way of human attention from the noble wolf.

While I, in a completely different vein, have spent the day
Toiling to save for conservation, a mere 2660 acres
Of our planet for use by other creatures than just us alone.
Which is more noble, that of the care of a child and dog
Or preserving a mere 2660 acres of the planet's large surface?
Time might tell--a result which neither of us may ever know.
We live with the anticipation that, that for which we exert our energies,
May be manifested to the delight of those angels
Which are only in our mythical heads.

May time Sunday be spared from your Mother's needs,
For us to have a moment of communication under the pine,
 
Juxtaposed by our tiny pond.

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.

A Virtual Farm opus 663

After I got my feet on the ground with my small 37 acre farm,
I decided to do some community service work.
Between Fairfield and Sacramento,
There were about 20 convalescent homes for elders.
For each visit, I would pack several animals and some intriguing objects--
The list included chickens, a lamb, a kitten, a tortoise, a rabbit plus others.
The 'objects' included ostrich and emu eggshells, a small bundle of oats
And a skin pouch from Africa, in which a Bushman or San carried an eggshell canteen--
In other words, an ostrich eggshell used to stash water,
Left for the return trip out of the Kalahari central area.

Well, following one such session, I received a phone call.
The woman speaker said she was the daughter of one of the participants.
The daughter said she had received a call from her mother,
Who said she had just visited a real farm!
The daughter asked me whether or not I had led an actual farm tour.
She said her mother was adamant such a visit had actually occurred.
I had to tell her the truth that her mother had never left her wheelchair,
And we were continually present at the convalescent home.
She laughed and said she had thought so,
But her mother was so absolute that her visit had been real.
(After presenting my African pouch with the ostrich eggshell,
One woman stopped me and asked, "Are you a caveman?")

Relationships 12 October 2025. 1150 Hours opus 676

Dear Marye,

Your email this evening flooded my screen,
As if dark cave waters flowed out into liberating sunlight!
How nice to hear from you and your wise, aging thoughts.
I do thank you for your compliment.
I am truly humbled.
I can no longer walk much distance, so the farm is my realm.
I have detailed pictures in my head about Quail Ridge,
And the Nevada lands, which I will pass on to my boys,
And New Mexico Conservancy (Deer Canyon) which is passed on to a new family,
And the Pennsylvania 10 acres, owned by my great,great uncle now passed on to another family,
And the two great 3000 acre ranches in Wyoming,
Which will be passed on as conservation areas for ranching and wildlife.
I do drive a plug-in hybrid and shop and go to doctors appointments.
I always have in my pocket a meteorite or Libyan Desert Glass or a Neanderthal tool to show them.
My writing--Poetry or whatever it is--takes hours in the day.
I have met a programmer who is as hungry to program as I am to write.
He is organizing my writing which may manifest into several books!
As far as the young lady you are putting forth--
Check to see where she is coming from
And I would be delighted to at least start with phone calls.
As you know, I love talking with my fellow humans.
Please be in touch with another flood of words.
I would love to talk any time you desire and have waited for such.

Yours, Frank.

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.

The Frightening New Adolescent Brain opus 721

The human brain silently rewires itself 
At ages 9, 32, 66, and 83, as seen from MRI data.
The first stage of early brain development
Is as one would think, the childhood stage, coming first,
And which transitions to the adolescent phase,
Lasting until the age of about 32 (not 20!).
This age shows neural efficiency rising and peaking at 32.
This age also marks the strongest rewiring shift of a lifespan.
The brain, then, does not change steadily over time,
But shifts through distinct eras, 
Which influence learning, vulnerability and resilience.
It is adulthood from 32, (becoming a 'true adult'),
To 66 that is the long period of structural stability.
At 66, early aging starts, with the weakening of white matter.
The changes in 'white matter' (nerve fiber bundles),
Are the communication network.
Late aging occurs at 83, 
When long-distance neural connections weaken.
The startling point here, at least for me is, are we marrying,
Starting our professions, making career decisions and so on,
While we are still in the newly defined adolescent stage?
Does this imply that criminal prosecutions, for instance, must be modified,
To consider the still-maturing brain, later than we suspected at 20?
As this knowledge becomes more commonly understood,
Our society might view criminal punishment in a whole new light--
As well, perhaps, of other implications for our maturing and aging brain.

The Rearranged Tearoom opus 724

As a child, my father frustratingly delayed buying a TV.
I had to go to Woody Kaplin's house to watch Howdy Doody!
It didn't occur to me at such a young age,
How 'organizing' TV was, once in one's life.
This became absolutely clear when I started working in Turkiye.
I often, after teaching, would frequent a tearoom to socialize.
There was no TV in Turkiye when I taught there in 1969.
All the tables and chairs were arranged randomly, as one would expect.
Actually, I never really even contemplated such arrangements.
I completed my teaching job there and moved on.
Many years later, about 2000, my old boss and his wife
Invited me and Nora, my wife, for a Turkish reunion.
We arrived and thoroughly enjoyed visiting old friends and haunts.
One mid-day we went to see a then quiet, old, familiar tearoom.
When I entered, I felt immediately something was strange--even wrong.
All the chairs around the tables were facing one way!
My gaze went in the direction of the chairs and one wall.
What was there, but a television set, sitting quietly on a shelf.
This was new for me in this country and a bit of a shock.
I could feel the loss of visitation, conversation, and gaming,
Feeling the starkness and dominance of this machine.
Coming from 'another world', I could understand,
But was saddened by what I knew was a loss of innocence.
All these devices are taking over the time and minds 
Of both our children and adults.

The Depression of an Elder opus 744

After a longer interval than usual, as we spoke together,
Marianne, my Swiss German speaker somehow came up with 'Trost'.
Her children were off to ski in Switzerland
And she was depressed not to be there with them.
At 83, she was basically unable to travel so far.
I attempted to comfort her as best I might.
"Your children--you have raised and nurtured them,
And now they are on their own, for better or worse."
"You were the bow and they, the arrows, 
And they are discovering their new goals and targets."
"The bow, by definition, remains at the starting place,"
So the word 'Trost' came up to her, 
But she could not remember its definition.
Together, we derived the meaning and found it most appropriate,
In that she longed for solace, comfort, or 'Trost'.
As we age, we are not able to follow so well.
We are slow and delay things.
Our limbs are weaker and less steady for holding upright.
We do not ask, but wish for 'Trost' from somewhere.
The young are full of themselves and do not understand.
The baby cries and wordlessly attempts to reach out.
The elder cries out, but the young ones continue,
Not hearing nor understanding the human directly beside them.

Viva Flamenco! opus 761

Wonderful sounds of Flamenco fire my ears.
I sit, writing on this Valentine's Day,
Dancing in the memory of being accompanied
By a Swedish-Latvian friend to Spain.
We heard music all around us
And danced in the street, humming those rhythms.
Oh, if this ever-slowing body could move so, once again;
Yet, I am still able to dance and reminisce, thankfully,
In my tranquil, but ceaselessly-cogitating mind.