On the Cape

Though some New Yorkers find it odd
To take vacation on Cape Cod
Due to miles in such profusion,
I don't jive with that conclusion.

Yes, it's hours away to reach
And you can find a closer beach,
But it's unique in all its charms,
Embracing guests with open arms.

The stately homes of weathered gray
Gaze out on ocean, sound and bay;
And oh, that chowder! Ah, that fish!
Yum, that ice cream! All delish!

Wander in the cutesy stores.
Gather shells on sandy shores.
Watch the frolic of the seals,
Fighting seagulls for their meals.

Listen to the waves that crash,
A sound to savor and rehash.
Those who seek a true escape
Should look no further than the Cape.

P.S. Here's a helpful tip
To travelers who plan this trip:
If Cape Cod figures in your plans,
Just beware of Red Sox fans!

The Hardware Store

The hardware store's a dying breed
As big box stores invade.
They used to have just what you'd need,
Each item U.S. made.

But now they face a growing threat
'Cause though they're down the block,
Most people hit their cars to get
A wider choice of stock.

You need a hammer and some nails,
A spatula or strainer,
Home Depot's got it - never fails;
To most, it's a no-brainer.

The old and dusty hardware store,
Which passed from dad to son,
Might rate a look-around before
The day there will be none.

Barbecued Swan

Bored with burgers, ribs or chicken?
Want a treat to feast upon?
I can recommend you sample
Breast of Windsor Castle swan.

There are two hundred to choose from - 
Better make that one-nine-nine;
For it seems somebody caught one
And decided he would dine.

There's a law against such killing - 
It was once considered treason -
'Cause these swans are all protected;
They're the Queen's, of course, the reason.

Even if they weren't royal,
They don't seem to fit the bill
Of creature you would marinate
And toss upon the grill.

There's been no official comment
On this swan, whose life was wasted,
But Elizabeth, like all of us,
Must wonder how it tasted.

A Cheerful Poem

It’s time to write a cheerful poem,
Of sunshine and the sea
To banish all the gloom that seems
To swirl inside of me.

The sky is blue and filled with kites.
The flowers nod their heads;
And Mother Nature’s sewing,
Using iridescent threads.

As children race along the shore,
Their sticky faces gleam
And everything’s as perfect as
A Margarita dream.

For readers need a happy poem
That’s filled with joy and hope
And then they can return to life
With lots of cause to mope.

Lurking

Dementia genes may lurk inside
But since there is no cure,
I wonder what’s the benefit
Of finding out for sure.

Would knowing change the way you live
And spur some foreign travel?
Or would it plunge you to the depths
Where fear makes minds unravel?

Perhaps you’d contact long-lost friends
To help provide support;
Or take up brand-new hobbies
So that pesky plaque you’d thwart.

Quite possibly, you’d join a club
For Alzheimer potentials;
Or start a journal or a blog
Confirming your credentials.

If something’s hiding in my brain
Prepared to drag me low,
My overwhelming wish for now
Is I don’t want to know.

Erased

I write my poems in pencil,
An eraser close at hand,
An older version of “Delete”
To follow my command.

With one quick rub, or maybe two,
The words just disappear;
A ghostly hint remains beneath,
A first draft souvenir.

I like those subtle tracings
Which remind me, looking back,
How rare it is to nail a thought,
Above all, at first crack.

It’s much the same in life, for though
Apologies are made,
The hurt that caused their utterance
Is just a lighter shade.

For if you look quite carefully,
You’ll get a little taste
Of feelings that were first to flow,
Not totally erased.

My Dad

He drank too much at parties
And his antics roused the crowd.
His pitching arm was famous
And a strikeout made him proud.

He worked too many hours
Selling kids’ and ladies’ shoes;
Then he watched a game on Sunday
When one beer would make him snooze.

When waking him, you had to poke
Then jump out of the way;
In sleep, he was in World War II,
With enemies at bay.

The slightest thing would make him gag –
From blood down to a worm.
A baby spitting up would be
Enough to make him squirm.

He hated being late and so
Was early as could be.
I smile at this, for just as well,
This is describing me.

Apologies were not his thing
But if he’d blown his stack,
A visit to my room to chat
Would get us back on track.

He dreamed of his retirement
In Florida some day,
Convinced he’d win the lottery
He so much loved to play.

My father was a funny guy.
He’s thirty-two years gone;
But in my heart, his handsome face
Forever will smile on.

Hitchcockian

A thousand blackbirds in the sky,
Or, that's the way it seemed,
Alit on branches, strangely still,
Like something I had dreamed.

They swooped and covered every tree,
Converging quick, en masse;
Just watching them brought on a chill
That wouldn't quickly pass.

For anyone who's seen "The Birds"
Could never quite forget
The fear that Hitchcock did instill,
Which hasn't left me yet.

Like shadows brought to life, they sat
For just a brief reprieve;
Then all at once, no peep or trill,
They flapped their wings to leave.

Who knows the reason whence they came
Or what was their intent;
But Hitchcock's motive filled the bill
So I'm relieved they went.

Messiah

A court required parents
To amend their baby’s name.
He can’t be called Messiah
For to some, it might inflame.

Messiah’s age is seven months;
He lives in Tennessee.
I guess for savior wannabes,
It’s not the place to be.

The laws are different state to state,
So parents should take heed –
If your state rejects Messiah,
It’s a miracle you’ll need.

Lightning

Saw a bolt of lightning
Streaking jagged down the sky,
A warning that a thunderstorm
Just might be passing by.

It looked both cool and scary
As it flashed to our surprise
And disappeared so quickly
We could doubt our very eyes.

There’s nothing else quite like it
Which can wake us with a jolt
Than the perfect zigzag contour
Of a mighty lightning bolt.

Wearing White

Check your closets and your drawers;
Summer's end is almost here.
Labor Day’s the signal
Certain clothes must disappear.

For we know the custom dictates
That this holiday’s approach
Means that if you’re still in flip-flops,
You’ll be viewed with some reproach.

And whoever wrote the rule book
Felt that he or she was right
When declaring after Labor Day,
No one should dress in white.

When you choose tomorrow’s outfit,
Pick white shorts or pants and shoes,
For the days are numbered when those clothes
Are ones you’re free to choose.

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you
If you give in to caprice;
Flaunting white September second
Will bring on the fashion police!

Forty-Two Years

A friend of a friend has a husband who left;
He quit after forty-two years.
His wife is a wreck – she’s distraught and bereft
And is drowning in buckets of tears.

To make it all worse, she has problems with health
So will struggle to be on her own,
As fate, like a robber with devious stealth,
Has made off with the life she has known.

A marriage needs partners where both are content
Or resentment will bubble below,
But forty-two years surely must represent
Times with harmony’s ebb and its flow.

No matter what changed, it is always so sad
When a union like that comes apart;
For someone is losing the life that she had,
While she nurses a pulverized heart.

Pavlovian

When Pavlov was ringing a bell,
Some saliva his dogs would expel.
   And just like that drool
   I’m a Words with Friends fool,
For its music makes me want to spell.

Minor League

In a minor league stadium,
A minor league team
Plays minor league baseball
With minor league steam.

The tickets were cheap
And they gave away shirts.
The snack bar sells beer,
Dippin’ dots for desserts.

The players try hard
In a minor league way.
They hope to the majors
They’ll make it some day.

So this minor league poet
Feels very at home
As I jot down the words
Of this minor league poem.

Project Runway

Hear the challenge; make a sketch.
Take a trip to Mood.
In the workroom, get a taste
Of someone’s attitude.

Drape your garment; start to stitch.
Wait for Tim’s advice.
Get those seams and zippers straight;
Sometimes sew them twice.

Fit your models; then consult
For make-up and for hair.
Race against the clock as you
So desperately prepare.

Then the runway show begins,
As models preen and strut.
Feel so proud, ‘til Nina’s frown
Just kicks you in the gut.

Zac and Heidi and a guest
Dole negatives or praise.
Someone hears “Auf Wiedersehen,”
That dreaded farewell phrase.

Take a breath, you’ve made it through,
But there’s no time for crowing;
Win or lose, you’re on TV –
Thank goodness, you learned sewing!

Free Sample

The sign grabbed my attention;
It was bold as it could get.
The question that it asked was,
“Have you had your breakfast yet?”

Some volunteers were handing out
Free yogurts on the street.
I’m sure, to some, this would appear
To be a tempting treat.

But many people shook their heads,
Despite it being free;
Among those who refused the offer,
One of them was me.

I hadn’t had my breakfast yet
But there was no debating,
For I was headed home and knew
My bagel was there waiting.

Deal Breaker

An online date inquired,
Via text, of my good friend,
If she indulged in what’s become
An up-and-coming trend.

He had to know, he claimed,
‘Cause her retort could break the deal,
If she had shaved “down there,”
Which would diminish her appeal.

To say this question threw her
Is to minimize the truth,
For how could someone better prove
That he is so uncouth?

My friend has crossed him off her list
For how he did behave,
Preventing what might have become
An awfully close shave!

Licking a Stamp

We used to lick our postage stamps
To stick them on a letter;
But now the stamps do self-adhere,
Yet does that make life better?

And that’s how Vanya’s rant begins
In Chris Durang’s new play*
Which I feel very privileged
To have watched and loved today.

The character bemoans the fact
That life has changed so much;
Today we need technology
Like weakness needs a crutch.

And though life seems much easier,
It comes at quite a cost.
The things that once connected us
Have somehow all been lost.

The younger generation
Can’t remember stamps we licked;
And the old days being better
They would surely contradict.

*”Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike”

On the Ferry

To the ferry, people flock;
The ride is smooth and free.
Despite the gloomy weather,
It’s the perfect place to be.

Out the window, fog and haze;
Raindrop pattern splatters.
People barely give a glance –
Transport all that matters.

Lady Liberty appears,
Torch held high in greeting;
Tourists take a snapshot,
Their attention sharp but fleeting.

Friends will meet me when we dock
To schmooze and have a meal.
Getting there by boat, not car,
Just adds to the appeal.

And then I’ll take the ferry back;
No traffic and no stress.
A lovely spot to read or think
Or write a poem, I guess.

The Spanish Scoop

A town in Spain had had enough
With dog poop in the parks.
The owners would be punished
For their pets who left their marks.

So volunteers with eagle eyes
Approached offending walkers,
Without revealing that they worked
As pooper-scooper stalkers.

With friendly chitchat they found out
The puppy’s name and breed;
To ascertain addresses,
Those were all the facts they’d need.

Then when the master walked away,
That poop was scooped and boxed
And mailed right to the owner,
Who was soon to be outfoxed.

The parcels, labeled “lost and found”
Bore an official seal.
Recipients had no idea
Just what they would reveal.

I wish I could have seen the look
On every owner’s face
When he or she discovered
Such a pedigreed disgrace.

So hats off to the Spanish
As these lowlifes they pursue,
Giving every city sullier
A gift of doggie doo!

Birthday Cake

Maybe you like chocolate,
With the icing smooth as silk
Or shortcake filled with strawberries
To serve with ice-cold milk.

You might select a carrot cake
With yummy cream cheese frosting
Or mocha or red velvet –
All the choices are exhausting!

It’s possible that you would choose
An ice cream filled confection;
A pie or tart would be, to some,
Their number one selection.

Whatever one is served to you,
With candles all aglow,
Will be just perfect on your day
To make a wish and blow.

So happy birthday! Hope your cake
Fulfills your appetite.
A birthday comes but once a year,
So take a giant bite!

Parrotnapping

A parrot named Cuca was grabbed by a thief;
The owner was very dejected.
When he was recovered, it was a relief;
A birdnapping creep was suspected.

For Cuca was trained and he knew how to speak;
Each morning he gave a reminder
To take all her meds, for her pressure was weak.
As a help, he was really behind her.

To kidnap a pet is both lowlife and mean,
For a pet’s the best friend you can find;
But I hope that that bird, without getting obscene,
Gave that thief quite a piece of his mind!

On the Balcony

You’re lucky in the city
If a balcony is yours.
How nice, with just a step, to feel
The air and be outdoors.

And so, to share a drink or two,
A woman on a date,
Suggested that they sit outside,
Where atmosphere’d await.

She hopped up on the rail to sit.
Her date expressed some fear;
But she assured him it was safe –
And that’s the last he’d hear.

For as the railing cracked, she fell
From seventeen floors high.
How awful for her new companion,
Witnessing her die.

Be careful what you wish for
Is what I have often heard.
My hunger for a balcony,
For now, has been deferred.

Longevity

My uncle’s almost ninety;
My aunt is eighty-five.
My father would be in-between
If he were still alive.

But he died thirty years ago,
Which only goes to show
Genetics isn’t all that counts
When it’s your time to go.

Since we don’t know the future
(And I think it’s good we can’t),
I hope that in longevity,
I’m closer to my aunt!

Prolific

Not everyone’s prolific;
Being so might be a curse.
To some, it’s quite terrific
But to others, the reverse.

For those who mass produce their wares
Perhaps are just obsessed;
And holding back a bit impairs
Their mojo, so they’re stressed.

A poet or a painter
Churning endless words or scenes
May find talent growing fainter,
‘Til incentive intervenes.

But the converse may transpire,
For the adage clearly states
Practice often takes us higher
Than a blue moon generates.

So to those who are prolific
(I’m included in that bunch),
I conclude (not scientific)
We should all be pleased as punch!

Having a Guest

We do not have a guest room,
Though we’re waiting for a guest;
And even if we had one,
I don’t think she’d be impressed.

Our visitor’s low-maintenance;
She has no strong demands.
The lack of guest-room privacy
We know she understands.

What’s utmost in importance
Is the chance for her to schmooze.*
She could have stayed in a hotel,
But that’s not what she’d choose.
                                       

We try to make it comfortable,
Despite our lack of space.
A sofa bed is where she’ll sleep,
But here’s the saving grace:

At least she knows she’s welcome here.
Our arms are open wide;
And everything she really needs
We’re happy to provide.

It’s not the Ritz, so luxury
Is what we surely lack,
But somehow it must be okay,
‘Cause she keeps coming back!

*to converse, chat, catch up

Eyelash

You can make a wish when all
Your birthday candles blow.
Shooting stars and wishes are
Another way to go.

A coin tossed in a fountain
Or a wishbone split in two
Are other means that people have
To make a dream come true.

Many, though, are not aware
An eyelash is equipped
To intercept a wish, as well,
As soon as it has slipped.

A famous Seinfeld episode
Portrayed an eyelash war
Where Kramer’s buddy FDR
Kept eyelash-pulling score.

An eyelash wish, however,
Even used with overkill,
Stands the same chance as the others
To come true – and that is nil!

Some Smiles

Some smiles appear begrudging,
With the lips a zippered slit,
As if somebody were judging
If they’d part a little bit.

Some smiles seem quite ironic,
Slightly turned up at the ends
And though possibly demonic,
Still, some happiness extends.

Certain smiles are full of mischief
And it’s mirth they do convey,
Like when cookies bake, one bliss whiff
Tells us joy is on the way.

Other smiles are shy and quiet,
Not quite certain if they’ll stick,
But if someone else will buy it,
That will often do the trick.

But the best are smiles so sunny
That they light up someone’s face.
Those are worth much more than money
And not easy to replace.

You can always gauge a smile
By the eyes, the lips, the teeth
And determine what the message is
That’s hiding underneath.

Cable Conflict

When I was young, on our TV,
The channels numbered seven:
2, 4, 5 and 7, 9, 13
And, oh, 11.

The picture was in black and white,
Past midnight, we saw snow;
But no one ever did complain –
For what else did we know?

Of course, we watched our shows for free
‘Til cable came along;
And paying for what once was gratis
Always felt so wrong.

Yet pay we did, for entertainment
Seemed like what we’d need;
But now some stations have been yanked
Because of someone’s greed.

I can’t determine who’s at fault –
Time-Warner? CBS?
But take my shows away and I
Am feeling some distress.

This conflict must resolve right now.
One side has got to bend;
For I can’t live unless I know
How Dexter’s going to end!

Last Night I Dreamt

Last night I dreamt I wrote a poem
And it was all complete
But then, by accident, I hit
The key that said “Delete.”

I tried, in vain, to reconstruct
The words I’d deftly chosen,
But all my efforts were for naught;
My brain was blank or frozen.

I knew it was a masterpiece,
The best I’d ever written
And every reader, every judge
Would surely have been smitten.

When I awoke, I wondered
If my dream, perhaps, were true;
But since this poem is all that’s left,
That’s quite an ample clue.

If...

If everyone were sugar sweet
And people got along…
If teams would play and not compete
And all were hale and strong…

If soldiers didn’t have to fight
And crime was in the past…
If no one felt the slightest slight
And love would always last…

If every day were sunny
And there never was a cloud…
If everyone had money
And no whining was allowed…

The world would be a different place
From that which we know well,
A tonic for the human race
And tedious as hell!