We mourn the passing of poet/artist Ric Masten, who was born in Carmel, California, in 1929. In his youth he studied art in Paris, France.  Became an oil painter and has had many exhibitions in the United States.  Became a songwriter working for Warner Bros. Records in the late 50s.  In the 70s & 80s was a well known folksinger.  Became interested in poetry and touring extensively over the last thirty five years, reading his poetry in hundreds of colleges and universities in North America, Canada, and England.  He recently began illustrating his poetry with single line drawings which he calls "one-liners." He is a well-known conference theme speaker and is a regular on many television and radio talk shows.  He lives with his poet-wood carver wife Billie Barbara in the Big Sur mountains of California.  He has 17 books to his credit.  His most recent book WORDS & ONE-LINERS features many of the drawings you see here.
Ric succumbed at last to metastases from his prostate cancer, which he had shared - as his teacher and muse – through poetry and unique, one-line drawings over many years.

THE VANISHING SPECIES

Having close encounters with my own children...  

I was born on a planet
almost seventy seven light years from here

an idyllic world
where children grew up
without the threat of nuclear holocaust
or global warming
no instant messaging systems
no black revolutions
gay revolutions
drug revolutions
no woman’s liberation
not even the choice
of taking or not taking the pill

true
the seed of all this was there
but had nothing to do
with my formative years

and now
I find myself come to this harsh place
a kind of space traveler
having close encounters
with my own children

like creatures
from different star systems
we stare at each other
across the void
even our words have different stems

we are aliens in each others midst

but damn it
I am the one saddled with the memory
of that other place
part of a colony
stranded on planet earth
at the beginning of the twenty first century
marooned
with no way to go back
and no time to go on

like a moon being eclipsed
my kind will soon be gone
and in light of the headlines today
the sooner the better
+++

WINESAP

When Snow White is into the apples...  

RSVP — and we do respond don't we?
gussying up for the grand event
the stepsisters
dressing and undressing
the prince breathing into his hand
testing his breath
Rapunzel with her fine-tooth comb
insecurity
working like a worm in a winesap

all that time and attention
all that fuss and bother
that mirror mirror on the wall business all that
just to get past self-doubt
and on to the gala affair
where above the noise and din
someone can shout
come on in
and name your poison!
and we do respond don't we? 

the worm turning here
to quickly demolish the reflected image
that had seemed so important
in the glass
on the outside of the door
the spit and polish dissolving
in the glass on the inside
till Cinderella is out of her shoes
the heir to the throne
puking on the floor
and coming undone before our eyes
Rapunzel
really letting her hair down

and don't think you can avoid
the transformation
by avoiding the drink
in situations such as these
a non-drinker has a drinking problem too

my abstinence
making me appear to you
like a grumpy giant
a bad-tempered troll
my sobriety
taken as a clear reflection on present company
and when Snow White is into the apples
she wants nothing to do with a mirror
+++

Perfect 7-23-08
By Jerraldine Hildreth Masten Hansen
That's me Jerri Ric's oldest daughter

Its just a quiet Wednesday
The 23rd of July
I hit the speed limit on Friday
A new year for me but without you
First the dog died our Sheelah
And then you Dad
Lightning struck
And the fires came
Blackened our landscape
Your funeral pier
It filled my lungs
Dark brown
I was afraid
I kept busy

I pilled your paintings in the car
Stacked between my favorite rugs
Irreplaceable
I carried your ashes
In my purse for weeks
Waiting for today
To put order back
A quiet Wednesday
The smoke is clearing
Today I feel my grief

I empty the car
And hang your paintings
One by one
My memories
The last one hung is my beginning
Bixby beach the year I was born

I am hear... Today
Liked you asked me Dad
To watch your bones
Join in the dance of surf and sand
I think of Joe and Norm

I keep looking up
To the sky
To the bridge
I look ahead
And behind
The long path
I see you
Carrying me piggy back
Through this enchanted forest
You my sturdy steed
I your princess

Today our last walk together
I carry you on my back
Your first born
I have not walked here
In all these years
You have been ill

The path is overgrown
I feel the sting
Of so many nettles
So much is changed
But I still know my way
Arms overhead
I press forward
With one last push
I am through
Out in the light
The beach is PERFECT
Someone has left
A totem of stacked stones
An island in the middle of the stream
A place to leave you in honor

I sit and write
In your favorite sweater and hat
Your bell
Your original hippy bell
Sounds my way
And...hear you are
In sand castles

And 4th of July
Camp outs
And trout fishing
The smell of sea and bacon
Turpentine and linseed oil
The canvases of my life
The happiest times
I can remember

I am growing old now
And I don't know what to do
All these days ahead
Without you
I AM GREAVING

I rub your ash across my feet
And wade into the river
Atop a large flat rock
Are seven stacked stones
I spread you like mortar
Between them
I beat my chest and scream and wail
My tears fill my hands

Then to the oceans edge it spills
You seemed so white
And then
Were swallowed up
And disappeared
Into kelp and foam

I've held some of you back
To leave on the road
And the trail home
Bread crumbs

My fingers are dusted with white powder
I carry you under my nails
And between my toes

The sea seemed so loud when I arrived
Now it whispers
And I am ok
And you are ok
And its time to go home..