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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Friendship

Goli opus 11

How joyous it was watching you photograph
A few of our fellow creatures (dragonflies!).
I identified so much that you were I,
As you patiently crouched and waited
For your subject to present itself
In a perfect manner (with music!).

Please consider using your photos
With your future daycare children.
They would be delighted
To know you took the photos
And to hear your explanations of nature.

(Consult me for any nature questions you seek!)

Your devoted and caring friend,
Frank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Text to Andy, a Former Student, now older and more mature opus 54

Hello. Thank you for the BLT and Aubrey's cake,
Which I will continue to enjoy today!

Also a meaningful time with each other.
Our evening together demonstrates
How people can interact,
Using emotion and the power of thought
To manifest our 'humanness'.
F.

Frank the Milkman opus 61

Twice a week, Frank, the milkman, would back his truck into our long driveway.
Bottles would clink and an array of milk would appear.
Used bottles were exchanged and off he would go.

One day, Frank asked my mother if I might ride with him on his route.
I had shown interest as a young boy and was thus rewarded.
What a wonderful trip through my neighborhood in a MILK TRUCK!
I will always remember how Frank, the milkman,
Had fulfilled a little boy's dream--
To ride and deliver things in a milk truck!

After Talking with my Friend, Jay opus 97

The first glance, the first attraction,
The first lightning bolt through the heart.
That is how human love often manifests itself.
If attraction continues, wonderful synergetic energy can emerge.

Then time passes and often those attracted become bored;
Lessening the magic and the co-activity.
Minds wander and new stimuli obtain.
This is the moment when decisive decisions must be made.
Does one rekindle the original passion,
Or move on to a new dangerous or unknown cycle?

It will all result from thought, determination, and the balance of emotions,
To continue the years together or sever all for a possible new existence.

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."

My Dear Friend Bob. An Ode to Robert Duca opus 140

My dear friend Bob, I got to know
By fishing a pamphlet out of a Post Office trash bin.
He was a developer, advertising his wares--but he was an enlightened Democrat.
He built hundreds of houses--but he was a Humanist.
He carefully cleared lands for communities--but he was a Liberal.
He gently competed with Nature--but he cared for Sage-grouse.

Bob has a beautiful complex personality
And he is able to communicate with almost anyone
To get his points or thoughts across to reach his ends.
Bob has helped me to save thousands of acres for wildlife,
Shifting 'developing' properties elsewhere, in order to leave open space.

People ask, 'You work with a DEVELOPER?'
YES. He is balanced and enlightened and I would trade him for no one!

Thank you, Bob.

Mary Stoots. A Serendipitous Friend opus 145

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

Happy Birthday (23 July) to Eric, 20 Year Old Son of Jessie and Ana Soto opus 150

Enclosed in this little bag are some turkey feathers,
Exhibiting their wonderful iridescence.
As you move them back and forth in the sun, to enhance their colors,
Remember to always be aware of those very small
And seemingly insignificant 'things' in life,
And thus, they will truly, completely fulfill
The depth and meaning of all your life.

Jessie Soto opus 154

Jessie came into my life from a 'Neighbors' ad,
Written by Paul to give me a boost to find some help.
I have worked with many on my farm--mostly students,
But Jessie, a 54 year old Postal Worker,
Looking for extra employment,
Came, saying he wanted work
And had some pastoral (as well as postal!) experience.
Well, 'Let's give it a try and see where we go'.

Is it possible that one could have found such a treasure?
He arrives early, works seamlessly, and leaves with a smile.
Will my bubble burst? Is he really as genuine
As I have always tried to be my entire life?
Jessie, I am pleased and will endeavour to keep this dream going.

Kim from Montana opus 215

And then there was Kim, who came out of the absolute blue.
An email stating she was coming from Montana,
Wishing to meet me for a brief moment as she passed through.
She was a development officer for Vital Ground,
A land trust working on, especially Montana bear habitat.
Why me I asked--"I have sent only a dollar now and then."
She said, "I wanted to know who this dollar donor was--
Did some research, read some poems."
And her mind somehow concluded I was A Renaissance Man!

She arrived to visit for a brief hour,
Promised coffee in hand from Starbucks.
What a magical few minutes with a counterpart,
Who had to leave ever too soon to meet with real donors!
How nice it would be to stay in touch
And experience a moment of magic now and again.

Music To My Ears, IV. Further Later Years; Turkey (now Turkiye) opus 234

Because of the economy and available academic jobs available,
I looked abroad and, since I had met Bryant and Betsy Harrell
On Nantucket Island, while I was trapping voles, researching for my Ph.D.,
And he had taken on a new deanship job at Robert College in Istanbul, Turkiye,
(Later to become Bogazici Universitesi),
He offered me a position in the biology department.
I accepted and moved to Turkiye and a new life.
As I and Maggi, my first late wife (killed in an auto accident later in Africa),
Drove through Germany, then Greece, and entered Turkiye,
I tuned the radio to a local station--it was like going to Mars.
I knew several languages, but I recognized not a word being broadcast.
As I said later, it was as though my tongue were removed from my mouth!
We settled into an apartment in Cucuk Bebek, an Istanbul suburb on the Bosphorus.
(See my 'Poems and Thoughts' on swimming the Bosphorus.)

After getting acquainted with my Constantinople Greek department head,
An elderly woman who soon died of cancer--
And I, having an appendicitis and a hospital stay,
I commenced through all that to learn much of my beginning Turkish.
(I actually learned from my Turkish ambulance driver how to count, 1 to 10.)
I discovered some fellow musicians and we befriended each other.
I soon had a leave for visa work and was in Saltzburg, Austria.
We went to an instrument maker and purchased an old 18th century 'cello.
Of course I had to learn the new instrument and its fingering.
Returning 'home' and with much practising, I approached Tom, a violinist,
His wife, Laura, violist, David, a pianist, and a flautist.
We started practising at an apartment in the shadows of the Rumeli Hisar,
A fortress constructed by Ahmet the Conqueror,
Who eventually conquered Constantinople and then all of Turkiye.
We practised every Friday evening from 5 to 11 with a 'gifted' dinner, lasting an hour.
We got quite good together and experienced marvelous evenings.
 I later came down with TB and was confined for many weeks in basic apartment isolation.
During that time I learned Esperanto, wrote, read, and learned the 12 tone system of music
Created by Schönberg, who migrated from Russia to Los Angeles, USA!
(When moving to California, I visited his 'reconstructed' studio at UCLA..)

I composed, in my isolation, two pieces for flute and cello, the scores of which
I later discussed with Karel Husa at Cornell on one of my home leaves.
These two works I performed in the Harrell's
Huge living room overlooking the Bosphorus,with many local colleagues in the audience.
It was a step forward in yet another musical dimension.
The Harrell's were gracious hosts and all went perfectly.
I finally returned to California for yet another life,
My music basically hibernating from thereon,
With so many new agricultural changes pending,
Also, creating the Environmental Education Farm Foundation, a non profit,
As well as the Quail Ridge Wilderness Conservancy land trust,
Music was still all around me, but now played by others.
Each piece they play still yields some memory from my past life.

Supper in My House! (An email.) opus 235

(I had friends who delivered a meal to me, when I was not feeling well,
instead of attending a restaurant together, as originally planned.)

It was almost as romantic and fun,
Having my imbibition and mastication
Accompanied by little notes and menus as I ate,
Compared to a noisy restaurant.

Of course you were there with your informative
Post-it Note epistles, informing and instructing along the way.
Perhaps the 'conversation' was a little one-sided, though.

Thanks,  F.

An Email to a Jewish Friend opus 238

I just can't talk about all this horror.
It might have been predicted,
Which really makes it even more tragic
And just terrible for both sides.
It is tearing our country apart,
Including the challenge to the
Traditional 'free speech' in our places of learning--
Even your Harvard is crumbling.

I am overwhelmed with pain.

F.

A Maple Syrup Thank You opus 241

Ah, dear woman,
With liquid sweetness
Flowing into my widened mouth,
You are sweetening ME,
So that greater remuneration
Will flow into your company's coffers.

Many thanks for the
Thickened juices of Acer saccharum.

(An email sent to Monique, whose New England
company sent me maple syrup as a thank you gift.)

A Moment from the Past opus 243

Once again, I was in line in the pet store with more 'lizard-crickets'.
A pleasant young lady pulled back with a full cart of product.
She smiled as I said, "Thank you."
I paid and was walking out as she passed by me.
I said, "So you told me you have rabbits."
Then asking if she had chickens
To graze the droppings from the cages above.
"No," she said, stopping to talk.
"Did you have children in the Davis schools?"
I said yes and named my two boys, Pierre and Basil.
"Oh, I went to school with Basil!"
She gave me her name as Sevgi.
Rummaging through my mind for languages,
I said, not quite sure which language to grab onto,
"That means love!"  "Yes it is Turkish."
"Of course," I responded. She smiled that I had understood.
(I did live in Turkiye for some years.)
Her sparkling eyes prompted me to invite her
And her family to my farm.
We said goodbye, I, feeling a nice warmth of internationalism.
Travel in and learning about other cultures
Does add a further dimension to one's depth.

To Don, My Brother-in-Law opus 263

(A silly little verse to amuse him in his confinement.)

So you request sipping some vodka with tea,
Which you say must be imbibed together with me.
We have a long history of ups and downs together,
So we have much to chew on--and not just the weather.
It is nice to have revived our former involvement
And thus allow us ensemble, to fade into the firmament.

Where does Prejudice End? opus 288

I have held this in for many decades.

I was raised a progressive Protestant
(I am now, as you may have read, a Humanist),
In Newton Massachusetts as a Congregationalist,
A church resulting from the competition with the Prebyterians
Where the 'Congregation' regulates and governs itself.
I rang the huge church bell for services (now automated!);
I led the young people's group to reach out to others--
We shared meetings with both Catholics and Jews.
(I now realize that Muslims were not at all present then in my life.)
I was a tolerant, open-minded young person.

I played music (see previous poems) in school orchestras
And met many other young musicians.
I was in a jazz band led by a Catholic trumpet player.
Because of his 'loudness' (like Mozart who detested the trumpet),
I moved to another trio with a Jewish leader.
When the trumpet player asked, "Why did you go to 'that group'?",
I answered, "Because they are better musicians."
I was open and accepting of people who came into my life.

In High School, I became good friends
With Eddy Fineberg, a French Horn player.
I had a 'tour' with him through his kitchen,
Where he explained that if I ever came to dinner,
(to which, I was never invited),
I could not eat off his 'Kosher cutlery'.
Later, when I was talking with his intellectual sister,
His mother cleared everyone out and began to admonish me
That I was not to interact with her daughter again,
Because my 'people' (ancestors) had ravaged Jerusalem
And contributed to the Jewish downfall--
I was personally thunderstruck and devastated.
On the one hand, I understand just what was going on,
But on the other, as a young person, it was difficult
To bear the pain and the feeling of near betrayal.

Fifty years later while chatting at a High School reunion,
Another fellow student said he had gone through the same situation.

I have lived knowing an Armenian High School girlfriend,
The people of whom had suffered in their own genocide.
My first playmate was a black first grader, in an all-white school--
His name I even remember--Billy Meritt.
I have lived with Blacks where I taught in Southern Africa.
I have taught with the last of the Constantinople Greeks in Turkey.
I have worked in the Civil Rights Movement.
I have also realized that ALL groups have their prejudices.
In that light I try always to remain open.
I have realized too, that some groups
Get more 'publicity' than so many others.

We should all feel the guilt for our subconscious dislikes
And realize that every group, with very few exceptions,
No matter what seems evident,
Has just as many prejudices as any other.
I believe this is why our beautiful blue planet
Is so very divided (with its human populations) amongst itself.

A Delayed Tale opus 300

Well, I waited for over an hour for my 1:40 PM appointment yesterday,
With my dear oncologist of the last 17 years, Dr. Alali.
When I first met him, for our appointment after I began to mend,
I suddenly blurted out, "You have a third, middle incisor!"
He was originally from Iran and I, having lived in Turkiye,
Had a great deal of cultural overlap with this gentle man.
He reacted appropriately, with soft surprise that I had noticed such a thing.
I explained I was a biologist and that I observed a full gamut of phenomena.
Over the years, we have had many wonderful 'extra medical' discussions.

Now, continuing--Dr. Alali, very late, finally arrived, being the only oncologist on duty.
(I offered to voice a complaint to the administration,
But he answered that things were being rectified.)
Towards the conclusion of our chat and a little examination,
Dr. Alali recollected what he had seen 17 years ago while passing,

As I was lying in the exam room with my then new assistant oncologist.
He told me that he saw a very sick man and he figured in his head,
"That man has six months to live".
I never knew this and it took a moment to comprehend just what that implied!
We smiled together and Alali added that I now looked--cancer-wise--just great.
He said, "I don't always get the timeline correct and when asked,
Must qualify my answer by saying so."
Well, it was profound, especially not knowing his thoughts previously.
I left the room, not really too phased, having gone through so much in my life,
From flying through snowstorms, walking through the Kalahari Desert,
And having been, nearly fatally, attacked twice by very large African elephants!
At any rate, I have 'been given' many extra years--
All the more reason, I wish to give back as much as I am able.

Our relations with world events opus 330

Dear Arthur,
We have known each other, off and on, for many years.
When I was talking with you about insects in the diet,
You became flustered and suggested we only email each other.
(My research determines that at least grasshoppers are acceptable.)
I replied that I would not have such a relationship and we must wait.
We had a pause and then the Gaza crisis occured.
I am heartbroken that this is happening.
As a Jew, I am quite sure you constantly have lived a defensive life.
(You have told me several incidences of such in your life.)
I have therefore stopped communicating to lessen your anguish.
Whenever all this is resolved, we might continue.
I am sure my interpretation of history and events are different from yours--
You have already countered me on such.
No matter what our opinions or interpretations are,
You and I will not change any of the unfolding terrible events.
But, better, to argue or avoid the subject in silence--
Both would be painful and therefore silence is best at present.
There may come a time when this might change.
In the meantime, we must, each in our own way,
Simply suffer during this horrible man-made catastrophe.

Be as well as is possible.  Frank.

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

The Tragic Separation by War opus 352

The two of us were not anywhere near the war,
Raging fiercely and cruelly,
The rightful cause being justified by both sides.
One of us is a devout and practicing believer,
While the other is a Humanist, historian,
Devoted to all life with no god.
They had schooled together, performed music together,
And then lost track for many activity-filled decades.
One chose the military as a doctor (for refuge?) during Vietnam.
The other fiercely opposed the war, declared a pacifistic stand,
Ready to be a 'noncombatant', go to prison, or flee to Canada.

At their fiftieth High School reunion, we met again and even later,
At the capitol of Rhode Island, when the second
Was presenting a hand-carved 'Tartan Stone' to that state.
Communication began once again in earnest,
Until it happened--the Gaza-Israeli War.
Because of our backgrounds, beliefs, philosophies, and life outlook,
Suddenly we were not able to comfortably communicate
And at 80 for both, we were drawn apart,
Much as had occurred in our Civil War,
Where, brother against brother, father against son,
And mother against daughter's husband
Divided once united and steadfast relationships.

Humans, unfortunately, go beyond their fellow creatures
Because they think--creating philosophy, politics, and religion--
All which can divide humans and of which
Other creatures know nothing thereof.

(Ok, you got me on the territory argument, if you wish to diverge.)
(That's another 'Thought' coming out soon!--
'A Mammalian (Human) Territorial Flaw'.)

Bird Talk--Three Thousand Miles Apart opus 357

I was talking on the phone with my friend, Leland.
I was in California, but a former Easterner,
And he was in Pennsylvania, territory I knew well.
When I talk on the phone, I often attempt to visualize
Just what the speaker is doing or where heesh might be.
Leland was walking outdoors amongst his sights and sounds.
Suddenly, I interrupted to query, focusing on a prominent bird call.
Is that a Cardinal I asked? Leland doesn't know birds--let alone calls.
He walked towards the sound--a questionable brownish bird--a sparrow.
No. I urged him to explore further and suddenly
He described a flash of red--perhaps a robin?
Upon closer scrutiny, he declared--"No, all red!"
With that, he declared, "Right, a Cardinal!"
Fun to bird watch from sound only and thus be part of Leland's world.

So Many Choices are Dividing Us opus 365

As our technology continually fragments,
It results in a kaleidoscope of competing means of communication.
How our news is transmitted from many rival sources
As well as what type of means we just 'talk' to each other,
Has divided our society, our politics, our religious groups,
As well as our basic family structure!
'I listen only to this or that--the others are fake.'
'I do not and will not talk with you on such and such a technology--
I use only such and such a means to communicate.'
The old fashioned telephone is now considered slow, intrusive,
And the voice is obsolete!
Faxing, Email, and texting plus others go quickly out of mode and fashion.
With our present many means of learning what is going on (news!),
Or how we just talk with each other,
Has no longer brought us together, but has divided us,
To the point that we just plain refuse to interact,
Merely because of the 'brand' of the means used.
With all this technology, we are being brainwashed
Into separated states of isolation.

Designing Bandages alla Betsy Ross opus 377

I was with my wound women at the hospital,
Designing bandages to cover various wounds
Derived from several cancer operations.
I volunteered to shape and fit these wound covers,
To be long lasting in spite of bodily movements,
Thus maintaining their protection.
Elyse, the LVN, allowed me to participate
And seemed to be impressed with my work,
Suggesting that I replace her as the 'wound lady',
When she was next on her few days off!
What a nice compliment for me--
Her words were the catalyst which harbored up so many memories
Of my past cutting, snipping and binding together with thread,
My past delving into the world of Betsy Ross.
The clincher to all this was when Britta, her boss and my wound guru,
Smiled approvingly to make it all believable!

Coming to Terms with Hell opus 398

I was six years old and freely moved through my neighborhood.
My basic territory was one block long.
My address was 301 Lake Avenue, Newton Highlands.
Across the street below the opposite houses, ran the old steam engine line--
Later to be converted to cleaner electric MTA street cars!
Out of my house and to the right all the way, almost to Walnut Avenue,
I met one day a playmate named Sparky.
We were on the sidewalk, greeted each other,
When suddenly Sparky came out with, "You are going to Hell!"
I was young, confused, and didn't know what to do.
Well, of course. a six year old goes back to his mother.
What was said to reassure me remains in clouded history,
But I have somehow survived eight decades!

Perhaps Sparky's declaration got me to think--
I heard church bells a year later and asked to attend Sunday School;
Went on through high school and early college days,
Deeply exploring and partaking in religious thought;
But after meeting sophisticated biology and evolutionary theory,
I did and have now evolved in philosophy towards a benevolent Humanist--
And unless there is a great change in mindset,
I shall meet the next stage of life in mental comfort.
Thank you Sparky?

Norumbega ('Belonging to Norway') -- The Site of Vinland? opus 426

My father (and mother) loved to go fishing,
So he took us all (mother, John, Susan, and me),
To the Charles River (named after Charles I in 1614--
Charles was only a prince then, but explorer, John Smith
Had expectations for the lad--who later lost his head--
And then came the wicked Cromwell and thereafter,
The exiled , enlightened son, Charles II.)
(This is why the new British king is Charles III!)
Lots of history where I grew up--
I shall attempt to control my being an historiaphile!

At any rate, we often fished near a 40 foot fieldstone tower,
Built (1889) to pay homage to the supposed Vinland--
A Viking fort and settlement (1000 AD) started by Leif Erikson.
As children (and once as a returning adult) we, now I,
Often climbed the spiral staircase.
The Tower still quietly stands surrounded by comforting trees.
The fishing usually produced a sunfish or bluegill--occasionally a catfish.
Our family also enjoyed, at other times,
Norumbega Park's amusements across the river.

Later, in High School (Newtonville), I took classical double bass lessons
At the Newton Music School in one of the eleven 'Newtons'.
Our 'final exam' was the School's public outreach,
Performing Edvard Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, op. 16.
This was my first public performance with a large audience
And it was played in the very famous Totem Pole Ballroom at the Park.
(The Park itself survived from 1897 to 1963--the Ballroom, from 1930 to 1963.)

This Ballroom was to come twice again in my life,
When my first love Seta Derhohannesian, a senior,
Invited me to the Newton High prom,
Followed by Susan White, who accompanied me for my second senior prom.

Years later, for my 50th High School reunion, I returned to the Park,
But now (2008), I stayed in the Radisson Hotel now on the beloved Park's site.
The hotel's position was near the two bear cages I remember from childhood.
That year, while there, I looked up Seta and spent some lovely
innocent time with her.
We talked birds, as she was just starting some serious birdwatching--
I remember, hearing for the first time, in my hometown, Newton,
A Cardinal's vocalization--they have shifted north resulting from the
Climate Crisis!

The Park was a focal point--not planned-- throughout my life.
It was called one of the many 'trolley parks' from the 1890's,
Where many parks were created for business at the end of a trolley line.
This park at that time, and little known to me, had been declared
New England's finest amusement park--including the Totem Pole Ballroom
Which heard the music of Miller and Dorsey echoing through its walls.
I truly have lived a life surrounded by wonderful history,
Which has obviously nurtured my mental ontogeny!

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 Superfluous Opinion opus 458

I received a donation to our student endowment
With calligraphy very bold, plain, but attractive.
I assumed that the male donor's wife was the writer--
This was of course with the assumption
That this was a 'woman's craft'.
I thus questioned him concerning his wife's contribution.
Oh no! He had been a draftsman
And thus his accomplished writing style.

How wrong a superfluous opinion can be.

My Verbal Rambles with Regan of Texas opus 466

Hello, Regan, It is the middle of the night and my mind still races.
For the stores, prohibiting those distinguished guests with bare feet,
Just sew some of your own moccasins for your shopping experience.
COMPROMISE WITH TRIVIAL MATTERS, BUT STILL WIN.
Glad Ms. Caroll is mending.
Just had part of my head amputated for cancer.
Had a jovial time with the surgeon. We know each other well.
I have used guns on the farm now and then--rats!
(I hunted one deer with a bow for three years and succeeded--THAT is sport.)
My brother, 20 years old, was shot in the back from a long distance,
So no sound was heard--he just dropped next to his hunting partner.
I opposed the Vietnam war and was vindicated
When MacNamara stated before he died that it was a 'wrongful' war.
I have historical schizophrenia with guns and war.
What fun we could have discussing over a good ale!
I would even go barefoot to be accepted in your presence in that bar,
If you so insisted, and of course if they even let us in.

I am alone for Thanksgiving, so I am planning a simple repast
Of Taters, Nips, some good Scotch, and of course Haggis.
Are you familiar with such?--with the ignorant, a bad reputation,
But so delicious--no different than a wurst or a humble 'hotdog'.
All include, historically, everything left on the floor and walls. . . .
And we eat that stuff at our national pastime. . . .
So why does everyone dump on Haggis???
Damn, it would be nice to have a good face to face with you.
And in between chats, I would help you wrangle up some Fallows
For shipment to some rich Texan rancher with 12 oil wells!
(We need those rich extravagant ones to keep us peasants in business.)

Be so well!!  Frank.

Email to Doris, a Former German Farm Student Intern opus 473

Hello! Yes Ceilidh (Kay-lee). I knew right away what you meant.
You mean to say you were in Edinburgh and didn't just try Haggis?
Of course the English have a superior attitude towards the Scots--
(Just read a Scottish history which I find very demeaning and angering).
It is no mystery that they put their noses up concerning Haggis.
(I explain its contents in my latest poems.)
(I do understand why a vegetarian would balk at Haggis,
But no excuses, a vegetarian version does exist.)
Haggis has a nice, different taste and with Taters and Nips
And good Scotch (technically not whiskey), it is delicious.
All cultures, generally, have a way to consume more 'marginal' types of meat--
Just consider your Wurst and North American 'hotdogs'.
As with Mexican menudo (soup with intestines) and buche
(Fried intestine, often found in burritos, substituting lengua or carne),
I delight in the multiple textures and tastes which all this gives our palates!
I always have and always will continually experiment in all things reasonable.
No one has ever caught me complaining about any food (not including
monkey brain!!!)
That is why a cook loves to produce for me--no complaints. (Suggestions, yes.)

Well, once again you have been a catalyst for another verbal roll.
Canned Haggis just arrived in the mail, ready for Thanksgiving--
(Here, Thanksgiving is always on the last Thursday in November).

Be lovely and well, Frank.

Reaching Out to Those 'Others' opus 488

Many radio programs I have been listening to during this holiday season,
Ask that we try to reach out 'to the other side'.
Well, it took hold, so I texted my quick Holiday greetings
To both my closer friends, but also to those I have for several
reasons lost touch.
It is difficult to reach out to people who are adamant and unyielding.
I am truly in a quandary, but I shall send more 'innocuous' messages
And see if anything softens in our interactions.

Avalie is Coming to Visit opus 490

I have a colleague who announced he has a daughter, named Avalie,
Who had heard stories from him about me as a biologist
And wanted to talk with me
About biology, with which she has become very passionate.
I am very pleased and wait for her visit with anticipation.

I did ask her father what Avalie actually meant
And he replied she was named after a beautiful mare,
When she started her life in Kwazulu, Africa.
(She is as profound an African as her father.)
What a beautiful name--
Of Latin, British, German, Hebrew, and Persian origins.
Avalie is a modern variant of the classic name Ava.
Ava may have originated from the Latin 'Avis',
Meaning 'bird' or 'life' or 'living'.
Ava is often linked to the Hebrew name 'Hava', meaning 'life',
And the Persian Ava, meaning 'voice' and 'sound' or 'strength' and 'desire'.
Also Avalie has Scandinavian origins: 'Ava' for 'ruler' and 'lie' for
protection.
The latter name evokes a sense of power, confidence, and charisma.

Well, this is a result of some of my research,
Concerning this unusual and beautifully meaningful name.
This young woman, backed by such a plethora of nominal meanings,
Can only go upwards in life, with her studies and future profession.

A Saturday Morning Spass opus 491

I collect Neanderthal stone tools of various ilks.
I received, in the mail from France,
A chalcedony stone scraper
Which, with its pie-shaped 'sliver' and color,
Looked almost like the real thing!
Jessie, my helper, arrived to work,
Waiting for our planning chat.
I presented him with the cut 'pie piece'
On a plate accompanied with a fork.
He said, "Thank you', grabbed the fork
And 'cut' into the stone.
Of course, he realized it was a rock
And giggled with joy.
We all need more such experiences
To lighten our often mundane lives.

The Racing Fillies. The Passing By of the Daughters opus 501

The two young mares race south,
Past the one old stallion having their scent,
Remembering them as young fillies;
Strong in their father's eye.

Now they graze and race as they wish,
Across the prairies of the world,
Learning, but not yet in their youth,
Knowing exactly where they may stable.
The stallion has whifted them on their pass,
And has missed their presence, but
Knows they will produce well for themselves
And the world.

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.

Flowers for Marty opus 538

My friend of many years, Marty, was chatting with a participant about me
At a Quail Ridge Reserve ceremony honoring my work in conservation.
Along the way, Marty was asked how he had originally met me,
Marty outlined a few interesting characteristics,
Explained where he had met me with one outstanding point--
I was the only male who, during all his life,
Had actually presented to him a large bundle of flowers!
(He didn't mention that I raised thousands of narcissus and daffodils
Which I sold in several Farmers Markets,
And also spontaneously handed them out to all sexes, as I chose!)
Now the secret is out.

A Note to Harriet opus 603

From our core values, we create our purpose.
Has one's life been sometimes a empty hole of basic meaninglessness?
Are you concerned about things around you which may cause spiritual unease?
With a drive of life, difficult tasks become fearless and almost effortless.
Be with fellow humans who know more than you,
And always know, when things are too much to realistically bear,
Modify the effort, but do not necessarily give up.
Activity, no matter how small, maintains our will to live
And basically keeps us alive, so that our purpose remains alive.

Another Dream Remembered opus 604

Once again, I came out of a vivid dream, most of which I recounted:
I was in a grassy suburb with nearby buildings.
She--an Indian Asian looking lovely woman--just appeared.
We walked closely and talked together. I felt wanted and at ease.
Until then, I explained, why I had not held her hand--
I wanted to be sure, before exhibiting such in public.
I gently kissed her neck and felt her soft arm.
Then, she left to do something--I know not what.
I walked up and down over grassy hills nearby.
She did not return.

As I woke, I realized the 'She' was Seta, my first high school love.
Upon further thought,
Because of the smaller nose than that of Seta's (she was Armenian),
This must have also been Nora, my late wife.
Both of these women have been indelible,
But have, indeed, forever left my life.

Relationships opus 660

Hello G,

I have thought about your text.
I am not totally sure about your pondering,
Concerning your inability to respond (to me).
But so, you understand that you might have no concern with me--
On my part I do attempt to keep a 'silent' relationship alive,
By occasionally sending a 'hello' or 'I am still here'.
You should know I lost one wife in a terrible car accident in Africa
And a second from an agonizing cancer death.
In such cases, one always wonders
Whether or not one could have done more or said more.
I guess in my situation now, I just feel I must be sure,
That if separation of some sort occurs, at least the 'other' knows
I was not trying to kill a relationship through silence,
And that I was reaching out, caring for that relationship.
You see, I must psychologically still be assuring myself,
That I could have done or said more.
Thanks, Frank.

(G responded with a compassionate, understanding
explanation, concerning her position and situation.)

Leland and Esther. (Wedding 2003) opus 674

Leland Glenna was a wonderful member on my Quail Ridge land trust board.
He was a Sociologist and Researcher at UC Davis along with Esther, a postdoctoral.
They were to be married in May 2003.
There was a Lutheran ceremony, followed by a reception at the Wilson Clarksburg Winery.
The venue at the Winery, near the Sacramento River,
Was modified somewhat by a statement I had made to Leland.
The reception was to be completely outdoors on a Sacramento spring afternoon.

Talking with Leland 22 years later, he declared I had 'saved the day!'
Oh?, forgetting what I had actually done.
Being a farmer, I knew the vagaries of a California Spring day,
And had warned him that in May, it could very well still rain.
"Be careful and have a backup in case of rain!"
The day finally came and, indeed, there was a light (morning) rain during that day.
Leland and Esther had listened to the old farmer/biologist and had an indoor reception..
The moral is, always ask a local peasant about weather,
When planning an outdoor event, involving many guests!

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.

Relationships 27 October 2025. 1716 Hours opus 677

From my perspective, you are the most interesting person I have ever met. I had admired you from the first moment I met you, oh so many years ago.

I have found that I'm just not able to communicate to many of my former friends. Life has changed and most of us have either died or moved on. I am working on being healthy, walking for about 1/2 hour + every day, in addition to working 2 hour every day for my daughter. Following politics is exhausting, mostly because there is nothing any of us can do....Except vote, and support those people who most match our values.

For you, Frank, get yourself out the door and into that magnificent piece of nature you own. Communicate with the bats and bees. Are you a bee-keeper? That is not strenuous, but takes training and commitment. I suspect you've done it in the past, but not sure.

I just purchased Michael McFaul's (another Scot) latest book "Autocrats and Democrats." Just started it, but he's so interesting, being a former Ambassador to Russia. But now he has become quite the expert on Ukraine.

Tis' the end of the summer wine in Iowa. We've had reasonably good weather the past few weeks, but it's all coming to an end. Not sure when the snow will fly, but fly it will, and we'll be frozen out here for 5 more months (although one years, maybe 2010 or 2011 we hardly had any winter at all, and very nice weather, all winter long. I'm ready for another such winter. Most of them are brutal, but then you remember them.

I live 10 minutes from the Amana Colonies (where I ran a Bed and Breakfast "The Prairie Rose" for 10 years). It's such a quaint, humble village, but I still like to go there to get in a constitutional. I can walk all over town and feel safe, and occasionally run into someone I used to know.

Do you drive? I have a Scottish/German/Irish friend in Sacramento, Sharon Young. She was in the Callie Club, but she doesn't drive, and is starting to have serious health issues, mostly falling. She has travelled around the world, studied German for years, and I believe has a degree in Art. I can't get out there much anymore, but I'm wondering if you would like to visit her. She is about your age, and is very interesting. She lives alone, 3 blocks from the Capitol. If this is something you might be interested in, let me know and I'll arrange a meeting.

Anyway, I hope you continue writing. You have so much to offer the world.

Slante, Marye

A Fishy Gift opus 699

Richard, my webmaster, also controls my 'Poetry and Thoughts'.
He asked me to read some of my writings
To his Business Group, meeting once a month.
The gathering occurs at LampPost Pizza to consume pizza and knowledge!
His group provides the vittles and I asked if they had anchovy toppings.
He said he didn't think so and that was the end of that.
Well, the day came, and as I walked in, 
He pushed a can of anchovies into my hand. 
(The fish were from Morocco, the origin of many of my Trilobites!)
I was so touched, he would remember such a little item.
Richard, you are so thoughtful, to remember such a small inquiry.
I now have my pisces to garnish on what I will,  
And I thank you, Richard, for your thoughtfulness.

Christmas, 2025 opus 716

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

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

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

Elaine's text of her partner's cancer.

Waiting for even a quick call from grandson, Jayden.

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

Wondering how my calf is doing in this storm.

Observing my Bettas, gulping air each three minutes.

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

Wondering when I will be tired, so to sleep.

So tormented about politics these days.

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

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

Sipping my water drink, touched with Anise.

Thinking of this 'Thought' I am composing.

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

Still wondering when I will be tired enough to sleep.

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

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.