The Hamlet Quest
1947
From the book, Growing Up In Healdsburg, Don and Shirley are now writing with Don's sister, Elizabeth, and brother, Bob.

Little did Miss Long know when she hammered her English students over the head with Shakespeare, her influence would trigger an unintended event. It was the summer of 1947 and I had just finished my sophomore year in high school.  When someone discovered that Lawrence Olivier was to play Hamlet at the Curren Theater, it was our chance to see a master of the stage in person.
    The Pierce boys managed to secure their family Studebaker for the trip. All of the gang wanted to go but only one vehicle was available. The car held six, but we squeezed in seven. Shirley would have made eight and to her lifelong chagrin, she remained at home. Dick was the driver and Alberta was his date. Hap, Roger, and I squeezed into the back seat with Margy sitting on my lap.
    Lawrence Olivier made Hamlet come alive that night and our emotions rode high when we left the theater. We approached the Bridge on the way home and Rob and Hap, who had no female distraction, discussed in great detail the various features of the Golden Gate Bridge. Rob exclaimed,  “Hap, look at that tower. I heard it is about 750 feet to the water from up there. Imagine the view from the top......You know, it wouldn’t be all that hard to climb up the cable.”
    Hap replied with more than casual interest because he loved to climb. “Well ......... I guess it would be quite a sight.”
    After we passed the toll gate, Dick,  decided to call their bluff. and pulled over to the edge of the road, “OK it’s all yours.” 
    Rob leaped out, “Come on, Hap.  Dick, meet us on the other side of the bridge.” Hap extracted himself from the back seat and the two of them disappeared into the low hanging fog that shrouded the Golden Gate Bridge.
    Dick muttered, “They’re just going to walk across the bridge.” We drove to the other side where we parked the car and waited. Dick and Alberta conversed quietly in the front seat, and I flirted with Margy in the back. Roger was asleep in his corner. After  an hour and a half, some of us began to get uneasy. Roger woke up and in an almost inaudible voice whispered “It shouldn't take that long to walk over the bridge.”
    The deep resonance of a motorcycle splintered the silence. A leather booted patrolman, sauntered over to the car and stomped his foot on the running board. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he growled: “ What are you kids doing here? Can’t you find a better place to park?” 
Dick replied tentatively: “Well, officer, we’re just waiting for two of our friends who are walking across the bridge.”
    The patrolman replied.: “I just came over the bridge and there are no walkers on it. We  discourage pedestrians at night.” 
    That statement frightened us and Roger whimpered from the back seat: “They said something about climbing to the top of the tower.” 
    The officer’s foot dropped to the ground, and his cigarette fell from his mouth, “Oh my God . .... You kids wait right here until I come back. Don’t move.”  and he roared off. 
    About ten minutes later an exhausted Rob and Hap appeared through the mist and dragged themselves into the car.  We didn’t wait for the patrolman to return. Dick simply stepped on the starter, gunned the motor and said, “Let’s get outta here.”
    “Where have you guys been ? Didn’t the cop see you on the bridge? What took you so long ?”. Roger looked at his older brother, “Did you really climb all the way to the top? “
    Rob held up his red and blistered hands and let out a sigh, “You..... should..... have ..... seen the view. ”

Gorse, of Course

We cultivate our favorite shrubs
With horse manure, and seed.
Some, because we like their looks 
Others we grow for need.

Those nasty plants we do not like,
We dub a noxious weed.
Warily, we watch them grow,
And try to slow their speed. 

A spreading flower called pampas grass
And stubborn Scottish broom 
With waving plumes and yellow hue
Our ocean vista’s gone from view.

But worst of course, is gorgeous Gorse.
Cows don’t like it, nor does horse.
Farming neighbors rave and rant.
Even goats eschew that plant.

 Not friend with needle, nor with spine.
It grows like hell, when sun doth shine.
It covers fields takes over land.
It even grows on dirtless sand.

They brought in weevil, mite, and spider. 
Each year it spreads further, wider.
Seeds survive for years in ground.
Another method must be found.

They’ve tried removal sometimes with fire.
But that damn plant is made of wire.
Herbicides won’t work, nor will toil.
Perhaps we’d better change the soil.

Brought here by Scots. We curse their ghost.
But since that day, it’s ruled this coast. 
In native land, a dirt-cheap fence,
Why didn't it stay and not come hence ?

---

I Don’t Listen 
So Fast Anymore

I don’t listen so fast anymore.
When the committee meets, its vigor is high.
It seems to be in constant uproar.
Syllables fly like swallows in sky.

When the committee meets, its vigor is high.
I hear the words but how they roll.
Syllables fly like swallows in  sky.
I understand the topic, I know the goal.

I hear the words but how they roll.
Sounds flit through the air yon and hither.
I understand the topic, I know the goal,
Furiously, rapidly, like ducks in a dither.

Sounds flit through the air yon and hither.
It’s not important to win the race,
Furiously, rapidly, like ducks in a dither.
We’ll still get there no matter the pace.

I can see the eagle soar, I can stand the lion roar,
But chaos is hard to ignore.
With committee meeting in constant uproar,
I don’t listen so fast any more.

---

Land of Goshen

Land of Goshen, Land of Honey,
Where indeed has gone the money ?
Land of plenty with boundless wealth
We’ve used our funds on bombers stealth.

Schools go wanting and so do streets.
They need missiles. Improve those fleets !
We spend for guns and budgets soar.
Sums are huge. They ask for more

Greenbacks fly like birds in flight.
They flutter, flit, swoop out of sight. 
Administration spends when account is flush.
Save those dollars ? What is the rush ? 

Let’s mortgage country. Children will pay 
This entire nation is led astray.
The massive debt with interest like glue,
What will we do when it comes due ?

They consume with zeal, waste with zest.
Resources squandered on Iraqi quest.
This won’t come easy. Indeed it’s hard
We must take away that credit card.

---

Those Damn Stickers

Those stickers on fruit, they won’t go away.
Now and forever, they are with you to stay. 
Apples they rot. Oranges decay.
But stickers on fruit, they won’t go away. 

They stick on like barnacle, limpet, or leech
On grapefruit, apple, banana, or peach. 
Like nightmare adverse, we’re stuck with this curse.
But stickers on meat, that could be worse.

You can’t pick them out when garbage gets old.
They’re smelly and slimy and covered with mold.
The skins they dissolve and to compost evolve.
Like mystery arcane, those damn stickers remain. 

Though fruit is long gone, the stickers hang on 
Not on outside of bin, but on each fruit within.
It’s not that they’re there. It’s how they are made,
From some plastic stuff, that just won’t degrade.

Those damn fruit vendors with habits perverse,
As bad as they are, they still could be worse.

They could put them on grapes.

Passion

Children puzzle, and then they wonder
What the dickens is that thunder 
Both in the day and in the night
When bedroom door is closed so tight?

What goes on behind that door?
What is the answer, I implore?
Are those noises things that parents do?
Or is it something strange and new ?

In teen age years there’s little doubt
One surely knows what life’s about.
Quietly, and please don’t shout,
It’s time for us to try it out.

Those youthful days in rumble seat,
T’was not much sex but lots of heat.
We catered to an ancient urge, 
Awaking sexually on very verge.

In married life with children running round,
We make time when opportunity is found.
Close that door, if we are able
Use the bed, perhaps the couch, or even under table

We’re paying mortgage, making money.
We’re much too busy, “not now, honey.”
Cooking, cleaning, changing diaper,
Soon “later dear” will pay the piper.

In early life from day to day
We don’t let things get in the way.
But years march on in all our seasons
We seek excuses, find our reasons.

Time will tell as bods get older,
That drooping hip, a sagging shoulder,
Days go by and sometimes weeks,
Plumbing’s the same but now it leaks.

We look askance, we glance, admire
It’s hard to find that youthful fire. 
What once was firm when at its peak
Now unstarched desire, Resolve is weak.

Life can be callous, the journey long.
It’s easy to make decisions wrong.
We count the minutes mid stress and strife.
One must find time for joys of life.