Poetical Commentary: Third Edition

By Frank Seinsheimer III

In his third edition of Poetical Commentary, Frank Seinsheimer III, MD, continues his thoughtful reflections on this weird, wonderful, and at times, wearisome world we inhabit. He covers his experience as a grandparent, travels to Third World countries, choices made in life, aging, ones fantasy life, anxiety, friendship, love, and the importance of our memories in determining who we really are. He hopes that somewhere in this book, you will find some nuggets of commentary that will speak to you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503562929

Frank Seinsheimer III

Frank Seinsheimer III, MD, is a graduate of Walnut Hills High School, Yale University, and Harvard Medical School. He trained in general surgery at the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital, in orthopedic surgery at the Harvard Combined Orthopedic Residency Program at the Massachusetts General Hospital, and in hand surgery at the Thomas Jefferson University Hospital. He currently practices orthopedic surgery and hand surgery in Montgomery County, Maryland. He has trained for many years in martial arts and holds black belts in Tae Kwon Do, aikido, and jujitsu. He has written two books. One, Unarmed Defense Against Weapons, is a real-world approach to defense against weapon attacks. With approximately 140 pages of text and over 600 photographs, this book offers comprehensive coverage of the subject. Specific training exercises are also included. Frank Seinsheimer III, MD, is an observer of life, the universe, and everything. His other book, Poetical Commentary, contains some of his commentary regarding these observations. Although some of the commentary rhymes, he considers himself more a commentator and less a poet. It seems just chance that much of his commentary rhymes.

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Copyright © 2015 by Frank Seinsheimer III M.D.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015906178

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-6294-3

               Softcover        978-1-5035-6293-6

               eBook             978-1-5035-6292-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/22/2015

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CONTENTS

POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN 2011 AND APRIL 2015

Memories

That Yellowed Wood

The Chitterings; The Whisperings

Seasons

The Splendor in the Grass

A Backyard; California; Summer 2012

On the Steps of a Church; Peru; Summer 1998

A Beach; Normandy; D-Day Plus One

A Bridge; Istanbul; Summer 1972

The Odds of Pleasure; The Pleasure of Odds

Binary Star

I Wish To Beg The Favor

I Wish

I Find Comfort by the Fire

If Only

My Curator

A Simple Potter

What’s Your Name?

Travelling Companion

POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN JUNE 2009 AND 2011

The Wastelands Of My Mind

Experiences of Love

Oh, I Scarcely Knew Of Lilacs

What Can You Do?

The Color White

Guruian Thoughts

Hues and Colors

Faces in the Night

Reflections on Howard Zinn, the 490th Bombardment Group and the Napalm Bombing of Royan, France in April, 1945

Exonerated?

POEMS WRITTEN BEFORE JUNE 2009

Nine Eleven

Rosa

A Vision Of You Sleeping

Thermopolyean: Arma Virique Cano

Why Have All The Flowers Gone

Gibberwishy

Burned In A Church

Thoughts On Viewing The Moikami Japanese Gardens And The Tigers In Japanese Art Exhibit February 8. 2008

A Song Of Isaac

Aliens

Global Warming

Is Anyone Out There Listening?

Plastic Perfection

Sins Of Omission

Flower Arranging On The Battlefields Of Life

Is Altruism Saintly?

Apology Accepted

Us And Them

Role Models

Who Am I 2

Essence Of Adolescence

To An Athlete Dying Old

Who Am I Redux

Gardeners

Sweetbitter

Thinking Of Paul

Tess

The Human Evolved Chimpanzee

Amazing Grace

Self Aware Computers

How Many?

Golf

Regarding The Oldest Profession

Walking Point

Have You The Ring?

Marys

Odio Et Amo: Redux Et Multiplico

Third Party Liability

Trusted Advisors

Pornography

Spermatozoa

The Evening News

Firs And Spruce

Quintessential

Above The Covers

The Joys Of Conjugality

The Way Of The Warrior

Poems Written Between 2011 and April 2015

Memories

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so many, many memories

sifting through my sieve of time

eluting from my life’s chromatograph

of fear and doubt and sublime

which memories stay and linger

which vanish in a flash

which self deceive, dissemble

which are clear

which are true

which last

some memories are like wisps of mist

adrift in the evening chill

you think they’re there

you sniff the air

you hear a whippoorwill

then suddenly you lose the scent

lost in your vaporous mist

you spin

you turn

you ache

you yearn

adrift in your miasmal sea

your compass spins

your searchlight dims

you’re as alone as alone can be

like a Sunday morn

when sleeping late

as you drowse and browse your past

like those dreams you muse

you might have dreamt

in the neverwhere of night

in the neverwhen

of the neverwho

as you wake with shuddering fright

and then there are those memories

of warmth

of love

of thrill

as a face

a touch

a brushing kiss

from many long agos

drifts into your consciousness

as you lie amidst the throes

of bitterness

of wasted time

of mistreatment, pure and raw

of stupidity

of callousness

of your soul, shredded into slaw

gingerly you grasp the tendrils

of hope

of warmth

of care

wondering, how much to risk

wondering, how much you dare

so, gently, oh, so gently

you tease at memory’s knot

trying to unravel the meanings

of your past you near forgot

pulling in your memory’s mirror

magnifying your face

examining your moles and warts

searching for a trace

a trace of love and meaning

a trace of true self worth

a trace of what in life is good

a trace of happiness and mirth

a trace that allows you to face the world

and then to face yourself

some memories are better buried deep

coated with caustic lime

abandoned on an abyssal plain

deep sixed for all time

some memories

uplift and thrill

they satisfy and sate

others are the other kind

they serve your head on a plate

oh, I sift and browse my memories

of these many long agos

pawing through my dusty tomes

striving for equipoise

in some long forgotten used bookstore

down an unremarkable dusty lane

whose catalog is incomplete

with pages water stained

oh, I search for sense and meaning

trying to determine what’s what

trying to decrypt my ancient runes

before I catch the Alzheimer rot

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That Yellowed Wood

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often have I lingered

near the entrance of a room

a mayfly trapped between parallel mirrors

in the infinity of my doom

I view the endless hallways

with their myriad of doors

arborizing paths of possibles

on life’s eerily alien shores

the interior of the room invites

promising Faustian feast

Soma tabs to sate the mind

oblivion of fermented yeast

let us enter and explore the room

opening mind and heart

being a Henry Morgan Stanley

plumbing for darkness’ heart

let us enter and explore the room

suffused with an aureate light

playing life’s game of black and white stones

entrapped in life’s endless ko fight

let us enter and explore the room

cradling crystal goblet wine

searching for one honest man

in the swirling sands of our time

let us probe the nooks and crannies

peeling back the hubris of face

cataloguing the false and true

so each has its proper place

shall we recline upon a wicker settee

drowsing as the daylight dims

striving to center on our balance beam of life

forever hammering in shims

alternatively we may turn away

selecting a path unpaved

molding and shaping our sculpture of life

free form, eccentric, unlathed

having turned aside in that yellowed wood

shall I forge on my way all alone

shall I seek a companion to join in this search

have I any mistakes to atone

it seems some paths are for one all alone

with others requiring two

these paths may merge, intertwine, intersect

please, allow me to trek them with you

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The Chitterings; The Whisperings

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the chitterings; the whisperings

I seem to think they’re there

the murmuring susurrations

tickle riffling through my hair

creatures of my ’magination

watching, lurking in their shrouds

as I lay here, staked out, naked

unprotected from the crowds

terror of their tungsten talons

razor ripping through my skein

of fragile rationalizations

so essential to my being