.......
A homeless shelter in Wasilla Alaska
received this gift of a player piano recently.
.......
In 1955
.......
As Birds Are Fitted to the Boughs
As birds are fitted to the boughs
That blossom on the tree
And whisper
when the south wind blows—
So was my love to me.
And still she
blossoms in my mind
And whispers softly, though
The clouds are fitted to
the wind,
The wind is to the snow.
Summer's
Elegy
Day after day,
day after still day,
The summer has begun to pass away.
Starlings at
twilight fly clustered and call,
And branches bend, and leaves begin to
fall.
The meadow and the orchard grass are mown,
And the meadowlark's
house is cut down.
The little lantern bugs have doused their
fires,
The swallows sit in rows along the wires.
Tangled against the wall in secret bowers,
And cricket
now begins to hum the hours
Remaining to the passion's slow
procession
Down from the high place and the golden session
Wherein the sun
was sacrificed for us.
A failing light, no longer numinous,
Now frames the
long and solemn afternoons
Where butterflies regret their closed
cocoons.
We reach the place unripe, and made to know
As with a sudden
knowledge that we go
Away forever, all hope of return
Cut off, hearing the
crackle of the burn-
ing blade behind us, and the terminal sound
Of apples
dropping on the dry ground.
.......
A Caterpillar on the Desk
Lifting my coffee cup, I notice a caterpillar crawling over my
sheet of ten-cent airmail stamps. The head is black as a Chinese box. Nine soft
accordions follow it around, with a waving motion, like a flabby mountain.
Skinny brushes used to clean pop bottles rise from some of its shoulders. As I
pick up the sheet of stamps, the caterpillar advances around and around the
edge, and I see his feet: three pairs under the head, four spongelike pairs
under the middle body, and two final pairs at the tip, pink as a puppy's hind
legs. As he walks, he rears, six pairs of legs off the stamp, waving around the
air! One of the sponge pairs, and the last two tail pairs, the reserve feet,
hold on anxiously. It is the first of September. The leaf shadows are less
ferocious on the notebook cover. A man accepts his failures more easily-or
perhaps summer's insanity is gone? A man notices ordinary earth, scorned in
July, with affection, as he settles down to his daily work, to use stamps.
.......
Note on Poppy's Passing
.......
Note on Poppy's Passing
(Dee left; sister Donna right)
In matching dresses
undoubtedly made by their mother
the two girls - sisters -
had no thought many years hence
they'd be doing what they just did:
Their father is eulogized and laid to rest
in the Pleasant Valley cemetery
up near the volunteer fahr hall.
Donna gave a memorial talk this time for Poppy
to the assembled Fire Fighters of Pleasant Valley
as she had done many times before.
Older, she has learned well the task of PVFD chaplain
on the job.
In those previous times
- Poppy 'Big John' Means - a fire chief
had listened intently to his daughter Donna
and often said to her in private
when she was finished with a eulogy
"Mighty fine, there, my girl!
I hope you will save some of that for me!"
I am told by her sister Dee
that she did it well, she surely
Delivered The Goods.
[Dee will be back here at the Odd Fellows
sometime today (Saturday) - the Raccoon is out -
after a week of being with the family,
many people strong.]
.......
The Welcome Man
There's a man in the world who is never turned down,
Wherever he chances to stray;
he gets the glad hand in the populous town,
or out where the farmers make hay;
he's greeted with pleasure on deserts of sand,
and deep in the aisles of the woods;
wherever he goes there's the welcoming hand
—he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods.
The failures of life sit around and complain;
the gods haven't treated them well;
they've lost their umbrellas whenever there's rain,
and they haven't their lanterns at night;
men tire of the failures who fill with their sighs
the air of their own neighborhoods;
there's one who is greeted with love-lighted eyes
—he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods.
One fellow is lazy, and watches the clock,
and waits for the whistle to blow;
and one has a hammer, with which he will knock,
and one tells a story of woe;
and one, if requested to travel a mile,
will measure the perches and roods;
but one does his stint with a whistle or smile
—he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods.
One man is afraid that he'll labor too hard—
The world isn't yearning for such;
and one man is always alert, on his guard,
lest he put in a minute too much;
and one has a grouch or a temper that's bad,
and one is a creature of moods;
so it's hey for the joyous and rollicking lad
— for the One Who Delivers the Goods!
Wherever he chances to stray;
he gets the glad hand in the populous town,
or out where the farmers make hay;
he's greeted with pleasure on deserts of sand,
and deep in the aisles of the woods;
wherever he goes there's the welcoming hand
—he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods.
The failures of life sit around and complain;
the gods haven't treated them well;
they've lost their umbrellas whenever there's rain,
and they haven't their lanterns at night;
men tire of the failures who fill with their sighs
the air of their own neighborhoods;
there's one who is greeted with love-lighted eyes
—he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods.
One fellow is lazy, and watches the clock,
and waits for the whistle to blow;
and one has a hammer, with which he will knock,
and one tells a story of woe;
and one, if requested to travel a mile,
will measure the perches and roods;
but one does his stint with a whistle or smile
—he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods.
One man is afraid that he'll labor too hard—
The world isn't yearning for such;
and one man is always alert, on his guard,
lest he put in a minute too much;
and one has a grouch or a temper that's bad,
and one is a creature of moods;
so it's hey for the joyous and rollicking lad
— for the One Who Delivers the Goods!
(Childhood toy - Froggy the Gremlin - of John Means Sr.
now at the Odd Fellows, passed along long ago
to his daughter Denise, who played with it hard)
John Means interment 8-6-14
Pleasant Valley MD Cemetery
Photo from his grandson Justin Geiman on FB
Pleasant Valley MD Cemetery
Photo from his grandson Justin Geiman on FB
