The Written Word

If I couldn’t read, I’d be lost indeed
For each day a hefty share
Of my hours awake I spend, no mistake,
On my couch or reading chair.

I will read the news and may, too, peruse
A subscription magazine
But a novel's where, if it’s penned with care,
All life’s worries won’t intervene.

When I leave my lair, I do not despair
For I travel with what I need.
On a bus or train, I need not refrain;
With some skimming I may proceed.

If my eyesight failed, I would be derailed
For to listen, I couldn’t condone
‘Cause my soul is stirred by the written word,
Which is something I always have known.

Finery

The trees are sporting finery
I've not seen in a year,
In just the nick of time before
The month of May is here.

They aren't fully decked out yet;
Accoutrements await,
But slowly they're preparing
As if going on a date.

Their branches draped in color now,
They preen and bide their time
'Til filled with fruit and flowers
They'll be fully in their prime.

The Life I Lead

The life I lead would likely be
A life you would not choose.
In fact, if there could be a switch,
You flatly would refuse.

Yet I would say the same for yours,
No disrespect intended;
Though maybe I’d consider
Certain aspects recommended.

The way we choose to spend our days
Defines just who we are.
We may extend our comfort zones
Though rarely very far.

Missing Out

I heard I missed a lovely day –
It had been planned for weeks –
But life is filled with ups and downs;
We can’t reach all the peaks.

The unexpected sometimes
Interferes with our intent,
Preventing our participation
In a set event.

The thing to do is shrug it off;
It wasn’t meant to be,
Though disappointment is
To be expected, guarantee.

There will be other happy times
In which we’ll play a part,
For only on occasion
Do we tip the apple cart.

In Bed

I’m never one to loll in bed
Unless I’m feeling sick.
A couch or chair would always be
My lounge or reading pick.

At times I’ll do a sofa sprawl
When glued to the TV
But only when I’m ailing is
The bed the place for me.

Of late, a virus and a cold
Have dropped in unannounced
So here I am in bed, my normal
Lounging spots renounced.

Having a Cold

When a cold is the thing that you’ve got
You may cough or may sneeze quite a lot
            And the gunk that will issue
            To each crumpled tissue
Seems harmless but really it’s not!

Sleep

When sick germs creep,
It's time to sleep
Or else a yawn
Will greet the dawn...

The Seder

We covered all the bases –
Told the story, though in brief.
With a toddler and an infant,
It brought everyone relief.

Moses, Pharaoh, matzoh,
Dipping veggies, drinking wine,
Taking turns with the Haggadah,
Festive meal on which to dine.

Every Seder’s slightly different
As my memories attest,
But with grandkids at the table,
This one ranks up with the best.

The Death of Prince

The Queen lives on but Prince is dead;
It’s shocking, I suppose.
We shouldn’t be surprised, though,
‘Cause that’s just the way it goes.

For Death may claim whichever soul
He feels like taking down
And even purple rain won’t help
When he stalks into town.

And yet, it’s sad to think about
The world devoid of Prince.
There isn’t anybody else
Quite like him – ‘fore or since.

Another icon bites the dust;
This news is getting old.
At least his music cannot die;
In that, we are consoled.

The Queen Turns 90

Happy Birthday to the Queen!
A royal celebration
Will be the order of the day
Within the British nation.

From fireworks and gun salutes
To Parliamentary praise,
Her subjects will commemorate
With glorious displays.

As for the Queen, she’ll take a walk
Then spend the day at home
Paying just as much attention
To the hoopla as this poem.

Shank Bone

The Seder meal approaches;
A shank bone is required.
In years gone by, the butcher smiled
Whenever I inquired.

I hardly know him, but these bones
Are tossed when meat is cut
And so he’d give me one for free;
Today I got one – but…

It’s nestled now in Styrofoam
And shrink-wrapped – very nice,
Until I noticed something else –
A ticket with a price!

It cost $1.23.
That’s not a lot of cash,
But it’s so weird to pay for what’s
Intended for the trash!

Primary Vote

I went today to vote
In New York’s Primary election,
Where one will be the winner
And the other face rejection.

My husband voted early
And I know which way he went
So the scanning of my ballot
Made the truth quite evident:

We had nullified each other.
Thus, the outcome is the same
As if neither of us voted;
But just one of us can claim

That we opted for the winner.
Though our choices we’d defend,
He or she who picked the loser
Likely will not hear the end!

A Poetic Send-Off

I take my poems, in three month spurts,
And bind them in a book.
There’s just one copy, meant for me;
They rarely get a look.

A new one came today and it
Is number twenty-six,
A fine collection of my rhymes
If someone needs a fix.

Though all my writing’s on the web,
I like the solid heft
Of what will be my legacy
When nothing else is left.

And at my funeral, I’d like
No eulogies – instead,
Assorted poems from in these books
To be succinctly read.

They capture all within my life
That makes the world make sense
And really, every writer loves
A captive audience!

Saved by a Book

Being sick is such a drag.
Your spirits sag, the hours lag;
But if you have the perfect book,*
Your bed becomes a cozy nook.

The pages turn, the chapters fly.
You’ll wonder why, as time goes by,
You can’t indulge in such delight
When you are feeling quite all right.

Alas, you’ve reached the dread “The End.”
You must pretend you’re on the mend.
Tomorrow looms with hours to kill
And no new book to fill the bill.

*All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

Care Package

A stomach virus laid me out,
My husband down as well
And then we were surprised to hear
Somebody ring the bell.

Two bags delivered to our door
With Gatorade and soup,
Saltines and even Alka-Seltzer,
Quite a sickbed group.

Our son arranged to save the day
With Amazon – the Prime –
To help recuperation
And give fodder for my rhyme!

Planting Some Seeds

There's a reason that parents of toddlers,
For the most part, are often quite young
'Cause the energy that they require
Is the stuff of which odes should be sung.

In a whirlwind of never-stop motion,
They explore, they absorb and they learn;
Though it's wonderful getting to join them,
To our younger selves we can't return.

So a grandparent lovingly caters
To a grandchild's wants and his needs
Hoping somehow, despite the exhaustion,
The attention is planting some seeds.

For with nurture and caring devotion,
There will blossom a link that will keep,
Which is worth all the time and the effort;
Though it sure makes one yearn for some sleep!

My Phone's Passe

My phone's passe and so it's slow
Which is annoying, as things go,
But even worse, the weather's wrong;
It gives me temps that don't belong.

My husband's phone says 39.
The radio agrees; not mine.
It told me 61 all day
And on that number it will stay.

My data storage has no room.
I can't take pictures - you'd assume
That it would be a cinch to fix
But yet, I'm stuck with no new pics.

I guess I'll cave and make the switch
And hope the new one has no glitch,
With speed that leaves mine in the dust
And weather I at least can trust.

Before the Show Begins

Cell phones not quite silenced;
Playbills get perused.
Bathroom needs attended to;
Latecomers excused.

Cough drops start unwrapping;
Jackets drape on laps.
Hands relax anticipating
Lots of fervent claps.

Watches are consulted;
Ushers stroll the aisles.
Tourists glance around to note
The New York City styles.

Lights at last are dimming;
Conversations cease.
Finally, it’s time to let
The actors say their piece.

The Friendly Fruit Man

The friendly fruit man smiled at me,
His usual routine,
Despite the dripping drizzle
Dampening the morning scene.

A dozen other vendors
Stood impassive, getting wet,
But not the friendly fruit man –
He’s not missed a smile yet.

I wonder at his happy moods –
His day is very long,
With hours spent upon his feet
And, though I could be wrong,

He likely travels from afar
To reach his special spot,
A corner near the hospital,
To sell the fruit he’s got.

So many folks, including me,
Find reasons to complain,
But not the friendly fruit man,
Smiling even in the rain.

A Library Book

I type a title, hit “Reserve;”
My name gets on the list,
A feature of the library
That once did not exist.

I wait a week or two or three
And sometimes even more
But then I get an email
That the book is back in store.

I check it out and have two weeks
To read and bring it back;
Then workers clear my name and they
Replace it in the stack.

Another patron gets a note –
The book has been returned.
The next in line has no idea
Just where it has sojourned.

The cycle will repeat itself
Until the book’s passé
When it will languish on a shelf
Or worse, get thrown away.

From the Stage

Looking at an audience
From up there on the stage,
There is magic that I really can’t explain,
A joy and deep contentment
That the words upon this page
May attempt to show but it will be in vain.

For only those who try it
Will appreciate the thrill
That performing brings to those who take the leap
And that feeling’s one to treasure
So I hope I always will;
It’s a memory that I intend to keep.

Within Somebody's Head

You never know what's going on
Within somebody's head.
We follow clues but often
So much more is left unsaid.

Though body language gives off hints
We never can be certain
That what's presented matches with
The truth behind the curtain.

What's on display for folks to see
Has passed an inner censor
So often we are left with fluff;
Reality is denser.

And sometimes when facades are cracked
The view might make us queasy.
We therefore rarely dig too deep;
The effort's never easy.

By Yourself

Henry wants to do things
“By yourself," as he will say,
Asserting independence
Every step along the way.

At two years old (well, plus a half)
He’ll heartily rebuff
All offers of assistance
(And you cannot call his bluff).

It’s fascinating watching
As he comes into his own,
With aspects of himself that will
Remain when he is grown.

But now, as an observer,
I can give him what he needs –
The space to do things “by yourself”
In hope that he succeeds.

Ladies' Night

On Ladies' Night, there was
A little discount on the drinks,
A custom quite old-fashioned
And surprising, too, methinks.

Who wouldn't like the bill reduced
When going out to eat?
A savings of some buckeroos
Is always kind of sweet.

But Ladies' Night in modern times
Just sounds so not P.C.
It harkens back to times before
So-called equality.

The purpose then (and maybe now)
Was getting women soused
So men would have the chance (they hoped)
To get a gal unbloused.

My dinner with a girlfriend
Got me two bucks off my beer,
With not a man in sight
To give a glance or, much less, leer.

Service Workers

Service workers used to be
A smiling, helpful lot,
With personalities to match
The jobs that they had got.

But that was then and I have found
That things are different now,
Although my age may color
My perspective, I’ll allow.

The cashier, waitress, airline clerk
Will barely spare a glance
And when I ask a question,
They just look at me askance.

The hotel staff, museum guides,
Employees in a store
All used to be so friendly
But not always anymore.

I wonder why this change occurred
And if most folks agree;
If not, perhaps the problem lies
Within my spouse and me.

Collard Greens

It's hard to find good collard greens
Where I live in New York.
You'll rarely find them hanging
Off a New York restaurant fork.

But I'm in Carolina now
So everywhere you look,
Some barbecue is being prepped
To very slowly cook.

Tonight I got to sample some
And you know what that means -
Along with my pulled pork there was
A heap of collard greens.

I savored every bite because
Tomorrow I'll be home.
The only collards there will be
Those mentioned in my poem.

The Biltmore House

The Biltmore House gardens are lush
And the rooms so ornate you must gush
     But with 43 loos
     That the guests got to use
I would wager the owners were flush!

Birthdays Away

Each year, if I can help it,
On my birthday I'm away
In a place I've never been before
To celebrate the day.

So today I am in Asheville,
A delightful mountain town,
Filled with arts and crafts and sunshine -
Not a place to sport a frown.

Spent the morning at the Biltmore,
A magnificent estate,
Where the gardens were in bloom,
Which I did not anticipate.

Had an ice cream lunch and wandered
Through some galleries and stores
Stocked with furniture and earrings.
(Beats my back home daily chores!)

Wrapped the day up with a dinner
More delicious than could be
With a candle as reminder
That this day was meant for me.

Plus, I got my birthday greetings
From my children and the grands
And my husband's here beside me,
Which the perfect day demands.

My spring chicken days have vanished
As more wrinkles do appear;
Still, I hope that I can celebrate
Some other place next year.

New Shoes

I slipped them on my feet
And flashed a Cinderella smile.
They fit like they were made for me
And ditto for the style.

I packed my old shoes in the box,
The new ones feeling great;
The cashier gave a warning,
But I didn't hesitate.

'Cause once I wore them out the door,
They couldn't be returned;
In all my years of living, though, 
One lesson I have learned...

When something's perfect in a store,
You do not pass it by
And so the owner of some
Very cool new shoes am I!

April Fools

A local business sent out mail
Which said, "We're all for Trump!"
I questioned if a nod from them
Would give a welcome bump.

But underneath the banner cry
The note said, "April Fools!
However, there's free shipping
When you order by the rules."

I chuckled at this little prank
But wondered if that poke
Would be perceived by Donald fans
As just a little joke.