Monday, September 1, 2014

Patch of Wild

In the middle of the city,
In the middle of the street,
There are buds in bloom
Where the crossroads meet.

Someone plopped some soil
And some wildflower seed
But with city soot,
Nothing’s guaranteed.

Yet those blossoms bloomed,
Never mind the threats
And those flowers look
Good as Nature gets.

Which just proves the point –
That you really can’t
Know who’ll flourish where –
Be it man or plant.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Daddy Long Legs

When I was a kid
My summers were spent
In the Catskills where
My parents went.

It was country bliss
And a life of ease
But with lots of spiders,
Wasps and bees.

There was one mean boy
And he got his kicks
Playing pranks he pulled
From his bag of tricks.

But the cruelest one,
Which caused gasps and screams,
Really shook me up
And invaded dreams.

He would catch a spider,
The Daddy-kind,
Yanking off its legs,
Leaving one behind.

The discarded legs
He would toss at me;
As the spider flailed,
He would howl with glee.

Though that boy’s long gone
And his fate unknown,
When a spider’s near,
It gets left alone.

Saturday, August 30, 2014


Inside a "rock" that's very fake,
We hid our extra key
And there it sat with real rocks 'round
Beneath a nearby tree.

We've never used it; all the same,
It's comforting to know
It's always there, though sometimes topped
With leaves or rain or snow.

A landscape crew came by last week
To neaten up our land.
Today we saw the work they did
And they deserve a hand.

Except those stones all disappeared,
With mulch piled there instead.
The missing rock with key
Made paranoia rear its head.

They'll break into our house, I thought,
Since often we're away.
Of course they'd recognized
That plastic rock where real ones lay.

But then I got my trusty rake
And moved that mulch around
Until my bogus rock ( with key!),
Surprisingly, I found.

A jump to a conclusion
Often's quite a foolish thing
And isn't worth the stress and worry
That it tends to bring.

Friday, August 29, 2014


Admired some artwork on somebody’s walls
And noticed that tags were attached.
I thought that the gallery’d left on the price,
But an answer was quickly dispatched.

No, those paintings have claimants, so after we’re gone,
Our grandchildren know what they’re getting.
They’ve made their selections so no one will fight –
On that outcome, at least, we are betting.

Though I like the idea and have heard it before,
I had never seen tags on display
And I’d worry that each day I didn’t drop dead,
All my grandkids would mourn the delay.

So perhaps if their choices were part of a will
Or were logged in a ledger or binder,
Then mortality’d keep himself hidden from view
And that art wouldn’t be a reminder.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

At the Track

So here I am in Saratoga,
Quite a lovely place,
But visitors must do their part
And watch the horses race.

The weather was cooperative;
The seats were in the shade.
The thoroughbreds looked just the way
That racers are portrayed.

Such fun it was to place a bet
And root with all my might.
Though winning was the icing,
I enjoyed each single bite.

I love the town of Saratoga - 
Hope that I'll come back;
But if I do, then once again
You'll find me at the track.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

At An Inn

Staying at a Marriott,
You know just what you'll get.
In terms of cleanliness and style,
You have no need to fret.

The same applies to other chains - 
It's comforting to find
The room decor and toiletries
Are what you had in mind.

But when you book a local inn,
It's always a surprise.
Descriptions of your room might clash
With what's before your eyes.

It may be better, may be worse
But one thing is for sure,
It won't resemble any room
You've ever had before.

So play it safe or take a chance
But either way, relax;
When you're away, enjoyment should
Be amped up to the max.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Acrostic Poems

Acrostic poems, when writ in verse,
Cause some who dabble thus to curse.
Relentless rules that cramp one’s style,
Over time, may prove a trial.
Surrendering to failure might
Tempt those where patience’s taken flight.
Ironically, such poems inspire
Challenge-freaks to climb much higher.