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March 12, 2016

When much could yet be said and done,
With November flocks you fled and flew;
(The pity Time can’t be outrun)
Gold memories, Mom, will not be you.

In the mist, the duel of joy and strife,
And secrets that I knew not of;
The struggles proved your love of life,
And gave to me a life of love.

Thoughts of you can soothe–or swirl
About my mind and heart, Sweet Girl…
But look! A new day has begun,
You’ll always be my morning sun.

–for Kathi Assar, on the death of her mother,
Kathleen Niemer.

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Who’s this of shaggy head and fearless brow,
With backbone and the posture still of youth,
(Not like a willow that will bend or bow)
Who long has sought the path that leads to truth?

On hearing wiggle words of evil hissed,
(By philosophs who hide behind their lies)
He stands and faces monsters in the mist,
With ugly creeds whose grins and guile disguise.

Marxists cease to promise Paradise,
Kant’s witchdoctors lurch toward distant shade,
Where dreary dogmas reek of sacrifice:
Rackauskas has unmasked their foul charade.

The thinker can’t escape adversity,
His wisdom won’t be stricken from the chart;
In fleeting hours he fights for liberty;
In blood the love of freedom holds his heart.

October 2015
Related stanza for an e-mail to the Group:

If shaman chants assuage the tyrant’s lust,
Or mystics lure the innocent–so what?
A leader may appear that men can trust,
Someone to hoist the flag–or maybe not…
Clouds of darkness loom–we cannot wait;
No perfect moment beckons to begin,
Oyez! Only ”never” is too late,
With geezer wisdom we can fight and win.

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She surely was the Golden Girl,
With sparkling duds and hair aswirl;
With her long legs and dancing feet,
She felt the distant drummer’s beat.

In concert hall or dim canteen,
Her song and laugh would steal the scene;
Hushed house or to raucous roar,
She’d traipse and tap across the floor.

The fandango and the samba,
The can-can or the reel,
The cha-cha or the mamba,
Her moves with toe and heel,

The tango and the conga,
The salsa or the shake,
Her body’s lissome shimmy
Would keep the men awake.

Not one to wait for things “just right,”
For her ‘twas always opening night,
For her no dreams of “The Ideal,”
Which oft’, she knew, obscures the real;

She never cast a backwards glance
When it was time to sing and dance:
Props misplaced, the script unclear,
The piano tinny, the pay austere;

The director sloshed, cue cards gone,
The show, says she, will still go on.
Kathleen will watch the setting sun
At peace away from dance hall din,

When the goddess gig is nearly done,
She’ll not ask what might have been;
Instead, with a last twirl and twist,
She’ll laugh and dance into the mist;

We’ll smile a bit, and we will cry,
The curtain’s down, Sweet Girl.
Good-bye.
Oh, to have lived a life so bold,
With precious memories left to hold;

Not blaming fate, or cursing cost
Of wasted years and youth we lost.
Congregations shout, “Encore!”
Kneeling, as they pray for more;

The tragedy of vanity:
To trick or cheat reality;
Existence is a one-shot deal,
Not a rehearsal, no appeal.

Dreamers travel in a trance
And never find each day’s romance;
They pine for heaven and sing the blues,
(The dancer has no time to lose).

To be (she asks) just to survive?
Awaken now to thrill and thrive!
Shake a leg, escape your cage,
Ready or not, step on the stage.

“Curtain’s up!” (we hear Kathleen)
Footlights beckon, don’t hide unseen;
Audience seated, it wants to know
Who you are in your solo show.

Every morn the spotlight sun
Focuses on “Number One”
When you choose to take a chance
And hit the boards and start your dance.

Your drama is unique and new,
Only you can be like you;
You are, says she, who you are:
The Star.

This poem is to the memory of Kathleen Neimer, the mother of my friend Kathi Assar, Ph.D. Kathleen died on November 9, 2015. A great lady. She was a former Vaudeville dancer and lover of life.

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Farhang

His face content enough for now:
No frowns upon the furrowed brow,
No tears of sorrow or regret,
And from his mouth no curse or threat.

Memories of a homeland lost,
What the heart-ache? What the cost?
The past looms darkly like a morass,
A crumbled world, like broken glass;

Injustice reaches like a snare,
When faith was futile and fate unfair.
Slipping the bonds of yesterday,
Into the Tucson night he’ll stray,

And gaze at stars for sights sublime,
Like ghostly galaxies that spin and race
Toward the blurry edge of Time,
To a place that has no place;

Finding riddles for us to chase:
What can be outside of space?
A cosmos finite–but how so?
–Answers that we cannot know.

(Certainty may be his aim,
Casting shadows is his game.)
Mysteries that we can’t avoid:
Matter uncreated, undestroyed;

(Churchmen ask us to pretend
That existence has an end)
Enough!

Such airy puzzles he’ll postpone,
And return to his lair in the nano-zone,
To ponder the wispy fringe of matter,
Where established laws of nature scatter;
Where quarks and pions whirl and whiz,
(Yet are the perch of all that is?)

A chaotic realm we cannot see,
The eerie foundation of reality.
Where one must think outside the box
And everything’s a paradox;

(The scholar sifts the facts from fiction,
Yet likes to play with contradiction.)
A backward glance at the rosy dawn,
With hungry heart, he hurries on;

His quest for knowledge just begun,
He snoops for truth, below, above,
And grasps how ruthless the fleeting sun,
How little time to learn and love.

A spirit free–a man of the mind,
A friend like this you’ll seldom find.

Written for Christmas 2015, this poem is about Frank (Farhang) Shadman, scientist and friend, who adds to the lives of all who know him.

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A REJOINDER
At first it was vague,
A false warning of harm,
But as events now unfold
It deserves an alarm!!

Here comes a bad story
Of how things in our town
Were made to happen illegally
By our King The Clown.

It’s gone on long enough,
We can’t stand no mo’;
The Mariner is wondering
When it’s his time to show.

Yes, The Clown has done stuff
And he’ll do still more;
No one seems to stop him;
We may send in the Corps.

Who did this fine piece?
I want to thank him;
Who could it be
But our good friend Jim!!

–Frank Hayes, Patriot

To Jim from Frank Hayes

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