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    Just Some Memories
    Just Some Memories
    Just Some Memories
    Ebook232 pages1 hour

    Just Some Memories

    By Hilton Mollenhauer

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    About this ebook

    What is it that others say?

    You are old, and you are blessed.

    Your life has been long,

    at least in years.

    But as I grow old,

    I see life as things I missed

    and need yet to do.

    It is not as long as once I thought.

    What does one think about when he retires and looks back on life?

    In a thoughtful compilation of poems and remembrances, Hilton Mollenhauer poetically explores his life, thoughts, and many memories. His diverse verse includes reflections on God, death, the gifts of nature, the pains of age, and the gentle words of a sophist. Included are short notes and introspective perspectives on life overall as well as the potential challenges we all may face at one time or another in today’s world.

    Just Some Memories is a collection of poetry and other writings that record one man’s life and thoughts as he reflects on his diverse experiences.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchway Publishing
    Release dateSep 3, 2020
    ISBN9781480892934
    Just Some Memories
    Author

    Hilton Mollenhauer

    Dr. Mollenhauer was born in Yorktown, Texas, in 1924, but he moved to and grew up in San Antonio. He spent two years in San Antonio Junior College before moving to Austin, Texas, to continue his education at the University of Texas. His schooling continued for some years finally, resulting in a doctoral degree in electrical engineering. But as explained in the next paragraph, this is not the profession that Dr. Mollenhauer pursued. During his later years at the University of Texas, Hilton worked for the graduate dean, who was a biologist working on several research projects using plant cells as his experimental subject. To support this research, the dean had purchased an electron microscope, a machine capable of magnifying his experimental tissue samples many, many times more than was possible with a light microscope. The dean needed someone to operate the machine and analyze his samples, so he hired Hilton, who was familiar with and was already using this kind of microscope. The end of the story? Not quite. It turned out that Hilton liked this kind of work better than electrical engineering and pursued it until he retired in 1992. After retirement, Hilton spent time continuing his lifetime hobby of photography and adding to his love of writing both short stories and poems. Many of his poems are coupled with photographs, but the ones given here are just poems (i.e., no photographs). Although many of the poems are personal, the subjects are common and may fit into some aspects of the reader’s background.

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      Book preview

      Just Some Memories - Hilton Mollenhauer

      One Wheel

      A wheelbarrow has only one wheel,

      and this makes it easy to push.

      But it tends to lean over ever so far

      and is likely to fall on its tosh. 61176.png

      A Cloud Sculpture

      I admire the paintings

      that the Lord doth make.

      His easel, the sky,

      and His paint, little drops of water

      rendered brilliant by the great

      fire that lights and warms our earth.

      I don’t think that we,

      the lowly creatures of earth,

      can do as well. 61176.png

      Life

      Much of life we do not see—

      not because it isn’t there,

      but because we seldom

      seriously look. 61176.png

      Is it Possible

      Is it possible for one within the church

      to meet God’s demands for the preservation of earth?

      Likely not, if one looks back and sees the stage that man has set,

      and on which those who are yet to come must act,

      and who will, in turn, set yet another stage,

      and on and on to the end of time as we know it.

      At least this is as it seems when looking at the aches that plague humankind

      in which man, as God’s creation, has set himself above his brothers

      and nigh destroyed the home that God has given.

      Is this not what might be foretold since we have been given much

      and have returned little?

      With an earth that will become too small to feed and house

      even half of God’s creatures now living,

      and with more creatures yet to come in ever increasing numbers

      until the land must surely burst

      and doom all those who have brought this to bear.

      Is this not as many have foretold?

      Have we not, in our doings, sown the seeds that will,

      in not too many years,

      cause us all to wail and seek God’s help?

      Have we not, out of wanton ignorance and lust for things tangible,

      sown the seeds that tender our demise?

      All this has been foretold

      and is being foretold daily, yet we will not listen.

      It was not forgone that all of this should be so

      because we could have known, and have known, what was foretold

      and now is near inevitable.

      Thus, we have set about with knowledge of our actions

      to destroy God’s world.

      We knew but did not act, in fact could not act,

      because the sacrifices that would have been required,

      we could not do. 61176.png

      The Old Flower

      It’s a weed, you say.

      But of course.

      Still, it is born in the same sense as are we.

      It grows and has a life, as do we.

      And when it is old, and its job is done,

      it dies, as befalls us all.

      We say it is a weed—and of course it is.

      But then, in someone else’s world,

      we may be weeds as well. 61176.png

      Alone

      It is cold tonight, and wet.

      Tomorrow, my tomatoes, just planted,

      will be dead.

      Our cats are inside, warm and content

      as only cats can be.

      For cats, time is only now.

      Mother is in bed, although it is yet quite early.

      She is old, as we all will be too soon.

      She cannot walk, stand, or sit without help.

      Barbara is at church,

      at choir practice, in preparation

      for our Easter music.

      I am at home with the cats,

      but not as content as they,

      trying to understand what is and why.

      It is cold outside, and wet.

      But a new day will come,

      and all will look different

      yet remain the same. 61176.png

      I Wish Now that I Could

      My father died yesterday,

      and we will lay him near his home,

      the place where his children were born

      and loved until they could do for themselves.

      I will visit and talk from time to time,

      although I am not sure he can hear,

      but I hope that he may

      as there are things I need to tell him.

      Dad did not share his problems with me.

      Perhaps he could not.

      Perhaps I was too young to understand.

      Perhaps I did not care.

      But time has passed, and I do care,

      but I don’t believe I did when I was young.

      After all, I had everything I wanted,

      and so there was no need to care.

      But how does one learn to care and love?

      Perhaps we could be taught to love,

      if only we were smart enough to know the way.

      But I don’t think so.

      There can be no love without sacrifice,

      nor can there be love if a payment is required.

      One does what needs be done,

      and that must be sufficient unto itself.

      Dad understood, but still, I should have told him

      of the love I can only now understand.

      I should have helped when I knew he needed me.

      But I didn’t, and I wish now that I had.

      But as Jesus said let the dead bury the dead,

      and perhaps that is the way it must be.

      We cannot undo what has been done

      but can hope that those we touch will understand. 61176.png

      Just a Buzzard

      One day past as I looked out,

      I saw this buzzard way on high.

      His mission was—I just don’t know.

      A search for food, but way up there?

      But then I thought it’s his clear choice,

      and mine is just to look. 61176.png

      An Old, Old Tree

      A beautiful tree,

      old and damaged

      but still struggling

      to stay alive.

      And in a way,

      aren’t we all like the tree,

      old and damaged

      but still struggling

      to stay alive? 61176.png

      Anyone

      Almost anyone will become a thief

      if this is the only way one can survive. 61176.png

      It Is Not as Easy as It Used to Be

      to mow the lawn

      and tend the garden

      to keep the house,

      which needs repairs

      to rise from bed

      without the pains of age

      to fix the car

      and keep it waxed

      to drive all day

      as once I could

      to hear the sounds

      as I could not long ago

      to see the sights,

      as all should see

      to see friends leave

      and never return

      but worst of all,

      to lose the ones I love 61176.png

      Spindly Weed

      I know not what this old weed was,

      but it had grace and beauty all.

      Yet down it went, as all weeds do,

      in my green yard

      of clean green grass. 61176.png

      The Old Store

      As I look back before I was,

      I see a store named just for me.

      Could it be? I just don’t know.

      I wasn’t there, I just was not.

      But then I thought, and all came clear,

      it must have been my father’s store.

      A hardware store, I once was told,

      in a town of not great size;

      but

      in Texas, it had to be.

      I then went back to see for sure,

      to the town where it had stood.

      But the streets were wide

      and the stores all new,

      and

      my father’s store was now all gone.

      I know not where the old store went,

      but it must be where my father

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