Ushering in the Year

Another year has hit the dust,
So celebrate – of course you must,
With champagne toast in fancy clothes
Or couch-bound home, in sweet repose.

The brand-new year will come to pass
No matter where you raise your glass.
So here’s to all who’ll make the scene
To usher in 2 - 0 - 16!

A Zoo Date

The seals were way too noisy;
The snakes were fast asleep,
The turtles kind of boring
And the bison they could keep.

The tiger was a hit and so
Were rhinos and giraffes
And riding on the carousel
Made smiles turn into laughs.

Flamingos caught attention
And some other birds as well
But crocodiles, unmoving,
Though enormous, didn’t sell.

The monkeys jumped too wildly;
The deer did not impress,
Yet lunch in the café we would
Consider a success.

A zoo date spent with Henry*
On a gloomy afternoon,
Though exhausting, makes me hope
For more just like it, very soon.

*my two-year old grandson

Marking the Calendar

Every year I do the same –
The calendar gets marked
With birthdays and important dates
To help my brain get sparked.

I sometimes add occasions
For new friends or someone’s birth,
As sending cards is what I do,
For all that it is worth.

Yet this year there are certain dates,
Where names I’ve always penned,
That will be blank because I’ve lost
A relative and friend.

The August 1^st box used to be
Where Marilyn I’d write,
But now she’s buried six feet down,
Which never will feel right.

The need to write Aunt Helen’s name,
November 12^th, did end,
For age lay claim and that’s a card
That I’ll no longer send.

That’s just the way it goes, I guess,
But now it’s got me thinking
That every year I should expect
My list to keep on shrinking.

Jazzing up the Shower

If you have a shower
There is one thing that is certain –
You either have a door of glass
Or else you have a curtain.

The curtains may be see-through
Or designed to be opaque,
Available in such array
A choice is tough to make.

My current one’s a cityscape
With buildings reaching high,
But much more colorful than those
That daily I pass by.

It brightens up the bathroom and
Brings out in me a smile,
Even though the time I’m there is
Just a little while.

A dash of whimsy cheers me up
And makes my spirits flower,
So why not help things out a bit
By jazzing up the shower?

Bell Bottoms

In the 60's, dungarees
(Not jeans, if you recall)
Were worn with big wide flaring bells 
And floor-length they would fall.

My favorite pair were cut real low,
Hip-hugging and skin-tight.
A fringy belt of suede made sure
My clothes looked out-of-sight.

The bottoms grazed the ground and thus
Would rip and slightly shred.
I added some embroidery;
You'd notice that instead.

Today my jeans are from the Gap
And though they're kinda flared,
They're nothing like the ones I wore
When hippie fashions fared.

But I'm no longer who I was
Back then, so young and free,
When my embroidered bells announced
The me I hoped to be.

Peacefully

Obituaries like to say
About how someone died:
"Peacefully at home" and yet,
I wonder if they've lied.

Just once I'd like to see in print
That So-and-So passed on
While kicking up the biggest fuss
Until his strength was gone.

When Dylan Thomas wrote, "Do not
Go gentle," what he meant
Was not to peacefully succumb.
(I wonder how he went.)

I hope that when my time arrives
I throw a major fit
And that my husband tells the truth
If he posts an obit.

A Quiet Day

A quiet day is Christmas,
When many take a break
From working, shopping, stressing;
Not relaxing’s a mistake.

Just hanging ‘round the house is great
Or visiting with friends.
No matter if you celebrate,
You reap the dividends.

The leading-up-to frenzy’s gone;
The gifts have been exchanged
And plans for year-end parties
Have been settled and arranged.

I live within the city,
Where quiet’s not the norm,
But on this day I like to watch
My neighborhood transform.

Stymied by Soup

I posted a poem on the Soup*
But my smiley face turned to a droop
            For instead of one post
            There were 30 (at most);
Guess the site made a really big bloop.

In trying my best to delete
(For who needs to see poems that repeat?)
            There was some kind of glitch
            And “Delete” made a switch
So my poem list is now incomplete.

They deleted three months of my work
All the comments, too (such a sweet perk!).
            I complained to the Team
            Those who reign there supreme
But the answer seemed typed with a smirk:

“If Delete was the button you hit,
Though by accident or if legit,
            All your poems have been lost;”
            But I feel double-crossed
For no wrong-doing did they admit.

Though a reason, at least, would be nice,
"Sorry" just doesn't serve to suffice;
            Seems the people in charge
            Sent a message writ large:
If you need our help, better think twice!

*PoetrySoup, a poetry site

Rainy Night Ruminations

On a night like tonight
When the rain falls in sheets
And puddles wreak havoc
When crossing the streets,

I think of events
Planned a long time ago
To be held on this date
When few people may show.

And the brave ones who do
Will be soaked to the skin
But at least they’ll be thrilled
When they finally come in.

I am grateful to be
Very cozy and dry
With no need to go out
And the rain gods defy.

It’s the luck of the draw
Some can curl up inside
But I feel for the hostess,
Tonight, or the bride.

Non-Christmas

Meeting friends on Christmas Day;
The holiday’s not ours.
But what to do? The weatherman’s
Predicting messy showers.

Choices aren’t many – stores
And restaurants are shut.
Shows and most museums, too;
We might be in a rut.

Once the zoo was open
Every day, they liked to boast,
But now they’re closed on Christmas
And that promise turned to toast.

The movie theaters run their films,
Some diners open, too,
So we can catch a flick and eat
Or else what we can do…

Is buy some food and stay at home
And have our friends come here,
To sit and schmooze and thus indulge
In our non-Christmas cheer.

Solstice

Today’s the winter solstice,
Shortest day of all the year;
Of course, that does assume you’re in
The Northern hemisphere.

To those Down Under, it’s reversed
So you have lots of light
And fewer hours to partake
In what you do at night.

Tomorrow days start lengthening
Up north, a welcome fact,
But in the Southern hemisphere,
The opposite’s a’tracked.

Antidote

When life’s fangs lash out and strike me
Very little will console,
But I’m lucky there’s an antidote
To heal my aching soul.

It’s not found in any bottle
Yet I’m positively sure
That my most delicious grandson
Is most powerfully a cure.

For one sweetly uttered “Nana!”
Lifts me instantly above
All the stress and pain and worry
With an undiluted love.

Wish that I could fill a flagon
I could dangle from my neck,
There to soothe my sagging spirit
When I’m feeling like a wreck.

For a single drop of Henry’s
What I need to stay afloat
When some unexpected rapids
Try their best to sink my boat.

Vacancies

Much of what I’ve learned resides
An inch or two below
The fortress of retrieval where
My mind is loath to go.

I peer into its murky depths
Where shadows prowl and lurk
But hauling out a word or phrase
Is really too much work.

What used to like to hide and seek
Around the tip of tongue
Has plunged way down to join the crew
It knew when I was young.

As age lays claim to knowledge
That I labored to attain,
The vacancies are mounting
In the creases of my brain.

Old News

I'm always behind in the papers,
So news that I read isn't new;
By the time I get up to a story,
There aren't more leads to pursue.

I learn about theories and hunches
From experts and others involved,
But then on the radio broadcast,
I find out the case has been solved.

From sporting events up to shootings,
My knowledge is two weeks behind.
When friends wonder why I still bother
With old news, I say I don't mind.

The articles still hold my interest.
The info's still there to take in.
If I had to read today's paper,
I don't know where I would begin!

Holiday Gifts

Holiday gifts are a pain in the neck.
By the time you’re done shopping, you feel like a wreck.
It’s hard to decide what each person should get
And you’ll miss the mark often, on that I would bet.

And what of the people who’ve helped you all year,
Expecting rewards as the holidays near -
The doormen and barbers, the nursing home aides,
The nannies and mailmen, the helpers and maids?

Would gift cards be welcome? A scarf or a sweater?
I think most would say that some cash would be better.
Then how much do you give? You don’t want to look cheap
But in this day and age, pockets don’t go so deep.

At last you are finished – the presents all wrapped,
The envelopes sealed – all your energy sapped.
You give out the gifts with the wish for good cheer,
So grateful it’s over – at least for a year!

Parts of Me

A part of me’s a parent.
A part of me’s a wife.
A part of me’s a nana,
All essential to my life.

A part of me’s a sister,
A cousin, niece and friend
And sometimes all these pieces
Seem to overlap and blend.

A part of me’s a poet;
Another part just reads.
A part of me finds travel
Is an outlet that she needs.

The parts all lace together
Tight enough to guarantee
That losing even one of them
Would be like losing me.

At the 9/11 Memorial

The wind kicked up the water
Causing droplets from the spray
To land gently on the names engraved
As part of the display.

As the tourists snapped their selfies
And the fountain waters gushed,
I remembered when the city
Was so somber, sad and hushed.

Now the Freedom Tower rises;
The Museum offers tours.
People come to pay respects and then
They leave to shop the stores.

Life continues. We’ve recovered
But we’ll never be the same
For we’ll always be reminded
By the presence of each name.

The Picture in the Prayer Book

Among her dad’s possessions
Was a photo, black and white,
Nestled in a tiny prayer book
That for years stayed out of sight.

In the picture was a family –
Soldier father, wife and son.
Who they were remained a question
Which for answers, there were none.

She showed everyone the image –
All the folks her father knew,
But the mystery just deepened;
She had not a single clue.

Then an out of town vacation
And a pair of older eyes
Did provide an explanation
With a megawatt surprise.

For her dad’s last living sibling
Knew the soldier at one glance.
“Why, your dad’s friend Bernie Bauer!”
That’s my husband’s dad – fat chance!

See, the one who found the photo
Is my close and loving friend
So she texted me the picture
And it’s hard to comprehend

That the stranger in the prayer book
(There since 1945)
Is my husband’s father pictured
The last year he was alive.

In his arms, he holds my husband,
Whom he never got to raise
Though the prayers his friend delivered
Somehow worked their magic ways.

For they led that grown-up baby
To his daughter’s friend to wed,
Joined together like the stitches
Of a supernatural thread.

All those years we’ve been connected,
Way before we even met,
Bound by fathers, faith and friendship
And the need to not forget.

I’m a spiritual skeptic
But this really spooked me out
And implanted in my psyche
Just a tiny seed of doubt.

Cop on the Road

Spot a cop car on the road;
Slow down to a crawl.
Watch the other drivers,
Model speed obeyers, all!

Pity the poor sucker
Who refused to slow or stop
As he zoomed right through the radar,
Never noticing the cop.

Though deserving of the ticket
For the speed at which he flew,
You are grateful for his daring -
Better he gets caught than you!

A Candle's Light

Who doesn't love a candle's light?
So softly does it glow
With gentle flickers mimicking
The bulbs when turned down low.

It casts a subtle halo
And creates an atmosphere 
Of cozy warmth while flattering
Whomever may draw near.

Though wax and wick can set the stage
For homey domesticity,
I'm glad we have the option, too,
Of using electricity!

Tired of Being Tired

I am tired of being tired.
Once I used to be among
All the party-loving night birds
In the days when I was young.

How I hate to sit there thinking
(And not boogying instead)
That if I just had my druthers
I’d be home and tucked in bed.

I’m so tired of being tired
But of course, if truth be told,
What the cause of my exhaustion is
That I have gotten old!

To the Happy Couple

I hope your marriage proves to be
As sturdy as an olive tree,
With roots so strong that you will thrive
And keep the joy and love alive.

Your wedding day’s around the bend
So to you both we do extend
Our hopes that you’ll have many years
Of happy times and frothy beers!

What You Wear

It doesn’t matter what you wear
But how you feel while wearin’ it,
‘Cause if it’s what you like, then you will
Grin while you are bearin’ it.

The way that someone walks announces
What she sports is pleasin’.
That sprightly spring within her step
Alerts us to the reason.

And someone draggin’ on his heels
Makes apathy his brother
Until he cares enough to trade
His outfit for another.

I often waver ‘tween the two
And settle for so-whatin’
But in my brand-new hat today,
Believe me – I was struttin’!

On This Date

Today’s the anniversary
Of Lennon’s getting shot,
A date that I remember
Though for reasons that are not
Related in the slightest way
To John or how he died;
It wasn’t for a Beatle that
On this day I once cried.

My father went for surgery,
His heart, on this same date.
“A piece of cake,” we heard
As they prepared to operate.
But something unexpected
Happened while my dad was under;
He slipped into a coma,
Ripping all our lives asunder.

The world shed tears for Lennon
And I might have done so, too,
But I focused on my father,
Hoping somehow he’d pull through.
There would be no happy ending;
In two days my dad was dead
And forever they’re connected,
He and John, within my head.

Evolving

I’ve lost my taste for certain foods
That once I used to crave
And others I resist for health,
Unless I start to cave.

The sweetest treats from youth
Today would fill me with distaste,
So candy corn and cotton candy
Both have been displaced.

A PBJ on Wonder Bread
Right now holds no appeal
And neither does cold cereal,
A once-loved breakfast meal.

No longer do I fill my plate
With lobster, veal or lamb
Though I’m not vegetarian
(In case you think I am).

I guess it’s only natural
That tastes should thus evolve,
But why it happens is a puzzle
We will never solve.

Happy Chanukah

Choose a colored candle;
Place it in the hole.
Light a match and say a prayer;
It’s soothing for the soul.

Eat some latkes, get some gifts;
Think about the past.
Some traditions in our lives
Just seem to take and last.

Spin the dreidel; earn some gelt.
With seven nights to go,
This Chanukah may prove to be
The best you’ll ever know.

Zipping By

I wish that things could stay the same
But that's not how it goes.
For many, change is always good
Though I'm not one of those.

I don't adapt too easily
When styles and trends evolve,
Appearing like a puzzle
I don't have the tools to solve.

So I get stuck inside the past
As life goes zipping by
Most times so fast, I can't keep up
And lose the will to try.

Cram in Life

Cram in life as best you can
For no one knows the final plan.
Our days are numbered, as they say,
So take advantage, come what may.

What happens next we’ll never know;
Tonight may be the final blow.
Expecting elsewise is for fools;
We play a game with secret rules.

My Sock's Gone Rogue

My sock’s gone rogue and disappeared
Without a single clue.
His mate is worried sick, but what
Am I supposed to do?

I searched the dryers with no luck,
Unfolded every sheet,
Expecting that my efforts
Wouldn’t hand me a defeat.

I stashed away the matched-up pairs
And left the missing half
Beside the others, like some wheat
That’s separate from the chaff.

The AWOL sock may show up soon,
Exhausted from his spree
And in the drawer, a fine reunion
There will likely be.

But there is just the slightest chance,
Like Earhart in the skies,
He’s vanished – poof! without a trace,
A rebel in disguise.

First Flakes

The first flakes of snow of the season
Came fluttering down from the sky.
They dusted the rooftops and branches of trees,
As silent and soft as a sigh.

The weatherman said not to worry
For surely those snowflakes would melt
Which is why, since the snow wouldn't hinder,
I could show the delight that I felt.

For the first flakes appear just like magic
And provide every child with a thrill
But to some of us, though we're grown-up now,
We can savor that specialness, still.

The Lion

The lion, a zoo-living fellow,
Let loose with a very loud bellow
     But after his roar
     He bellowed no more
And sat there, both regal and mellow.

The jungle was ages ago.
If he thinks of it, we just don't know
     But his roaring's the thing
     That reminds him he's king
And to us, it's all part of the show.

Native Son

When cities lay claim
To those who gain fame,
They hope they'll attract lots of tourists;
But often their game
Gets flak or gets blame
From historians (most of them purists).

For no way everyone
Is a true native son
Though it's briefly where he once resided;
But when hype has begun,
Fans will certainly run
To the places the guidebooks have guided.

Still, of course I will bite
And I'll visit the site
Where a writer or artist created
And I'll smile in delight
Though it doesn't seem right
Since his other homes' fame might have faded.

Momentarily

The train is stopped and they announce
That we will be delayed
And momentarily we'll move;
We're stuck here, I'm afraid.

But "momentarily" is vague.
Exactly, what's it mean?
A minute, half an hour
Or some number in between?

The passengers start tapping feet
But no one says a word.
Compared to rants or raves, I guess,
The silence is preferred.

Then suddenly, ten minutes in,
The train begins to move
And builds up speed quite quickly,
Like there's something it must prove.

We're prisoners when we commute
And we must serve our time, 
A perfect opportunity
To write a little rhyme.

Walking Tour

When in a strange city
And everything's new, 
A walking tour is
Such a great thing to do.

Your guide will be local
And so he will know
All the ups and the downs
And the places to go.

In certain cool cities
Such tours may be free
Which, in this day and age
You'd think - how can this be?

But today in Chicago,
I took such a tour.
If you're clueless with newness,
Then this is the cure!

To Travel

To travel has ups and has downs.
It’s great to explore other towns
            But having to pack
            Can cause an attack
Of nerves, thus resulting in frowns.

The airport’s a place of such stress
The agents seem out to oppress.
            It’s needed, I’m sure
            To make things secure
But anxiety makes you a mess.

Yet getting to someplace that’s new,
Despite all the prep’s put you through
            Is sure to delight
            And being there might
Just reward you with joy that’s your due.

Minis

Mini products in the stores
Are lined up on the shelves,
All looking quite adorable
Beside their grown-up selves.

From salty snacks in little bags
To sweets of every type,
The smaller versions feed into
The “less is healthy” hype.

And sweet potato pie must have
Those marshmallows called “mini,”
‘Cause big ones melted on the top
Might make us less than skinny.

I used to dress in mini-skirts
When fashion deemed it wise.
At least these mini edibles
Look better than my thighs!

The Fine Print

Had a coupon, browsed the shelves
For longer than I’d planned
To find an item worthy of
The discount in my hand.

At last, when something caught my eye,
I joined the line to pay,
With just a few ahead of me –
Quite lucky, I would say.

The cashier gave my phone a glance,
The coupon on the screen,
And pointed out, in tiny print,
The dates I hadn’t seen.

“The pre-Black Friday sale begins
Tomorrow, not today.
You still want this?” he questioned
As I meekly said okay.

I felt like such a sucker
Rushing there to save a buck
When the writer of the fine print
Knew that I’d be out of luck.

Holiday Frenzy

Everyplace is crowded
As the holiday draws nigh
And frenzied shoppers roam the aisles
To buy, buy, buy, buy, buy.

Another side dish for the feast?
Some extra beer or wine?
A brand-new tablecloth?
(Although the old one still looks fine.)

A jazzy outfit so they’ll feel
Both festive and in style?
Perhaps some decorations
To make guests take note and smile?

The cashiers ring up purchases;
The buyers leave the store
But rarely head straight home because
They have to shop some more!

This November Feast

My friend makes everything from scratch
For her Thanksgiving meal
And all of it delectable
With savory appeal.

Her table’s filled with choices
From the soup to the desserts,
Though no one quite appreciates
The effort she exerts.

I’ve often been a guest of hers
And it was such a treat
To know that every bite would be
The best thing you could eat.

This holiday we’ll be at home.
The soup came ready-made;
The pies and corn bread also
Baked at Fairway,* I’m afraid.

My husband will prepare the rest.
His cooking is ambitious
And though it won’t be Susan’s,
It will also be delicious.

Of course at this November feast
The food is not what counts,
Despite the fact that we’ll devour
Copious amounts.

If you’re in luck, then family
And friends will join the ranks
Of all the people sitting down
Together to give thanks.

*a local supermarket

My Husband Wants Chicken

Certain holidays have foods
You cannot do without,
Like turkey on Thanksgiving
‘Cause that’s what it’s all about.

A vegetarian might try
To substitute tofu
Or any other recipes
For which I have no clue.

But otherwise, there’s no excuse
To do without the bird.
Just contemplating such a thing
Is patently absurd.

For the stuffing, yams and other sides
Without the proper fowl
Would cause all the guests (including me!)
To holler “Foul!” and scowl.

For My Age

I had a bone density test;
My skeletal health was assessed.
            I got the report;
            The numbers support
That my bone mass has slightly regressed.

Expected results for my age
Match the info I read on the page.
            They gave me a tip –
            I could fracture my hip
But most likely will not, by their gauge.

Though the mirror assures me I’m old,
It’s still shocking in print to behold
            That my bones are less dense,
            A direct consequence
Of the number of years I’ve been doled.

Alarming

My son lives in the suburbs
And his house has an alarm,
A common feature which, when used,
Works better than a charm.

Yet break-ins sometimes happen
When these said alarms aren't set.
The owners may slack off a bit
Or out and out forget.

It's slightly sad, to me, to think
That some can sink so low
They'd rob somebody's house;
To the alarmless ones they go.

I'm sure that break-ins are among
The crimes that are recurrent
But in the city, doormen beat alarms
As a deterrent.

Naptime

What can be done when the kids take a nap?
Clean up just a few of the toys;
Then load up the dishes, provided you don't
Make a whole lot of wake 'em up noise.

Catch up on your reading (the paper or book)
And work on the crossword a bit.
Answer an email or talk on the phone
Or stare off into space as you sit.

Of course, if you're somewhat obsessive, like me,
You can rein in your thoughts as they roam.
Find your notebook and pencil and maybe, voila!
If you're lucky, you'll finish your poem!

Julia

You’d know her by her crazy socks
And ever-present smile.
Her patience and encouragement
Defined her teaching style.

“I’ll never be allowed in Quilters’ Heaven,”
She would jest,
But anyone who’d seen her work
Was bound to be impressed.

She always asked us if we’d seen
Some show on BBC –
A movie from the 40’s
Or some type of mystery.

We never had, but she had hope
That one of us would catch
The latest Sherlock Holmes portrayed,
Of course, by Cumberbatch.

My home is filled with projects
That, if honest, I’d report,
Never would have been completed
But for Julia’s support.

She was more than just a teacher
For our lives she did enrich
And I’ll bet she’s up there watching us
Make every single stitch.

*my quilting teacher, whom I very much miss