Ruby

When I was young, my class was filled
With Lindas, Donnas, Sues.
Our parents mostly stuck to names
Quite common when they’d choose.

But each few years the choices change
And certain names just stick,
Becoming those that moms and dads
Will very likely pick.

The latest female moniker
I’ve heard, to my surprise, 
Is Ruby and I’ve heard it thrice
And so I theorize…

That other gems might make the scene
Like Topaz, Jade or Pearl,
A glittering selection for
A brand-new baby girl.

To-Do List

I make a list and check things off
As soon as they’re completed,
So everything’s accomplished
And there’s nothing that’s repeated.

There was a time when items
Would stay lodged inside my head
But as my brain cells disappear,
I write things down instead.

A pencil and a paper’s all
I need to stay on track.
Of the chores on the to-do list,
There will never be a lack.

At the Central Park Zoo

While watching the zookeeper feed
The penguins was pleasing, indeed.
      A simple technique –
      One fish for each beak
Seemed to work without witnessing greed.

The turtles and ducks were fed, too,
By a pond that’s a part of the zoo.
     A big bowl filled with grain
     Nestled on their terrain
But they weren’t the eaters on view.

For two pigeons were chomping away
And to add to that urban display
     Into this habitat
     Crawled the skeeviest rat
Who decided he might as well stay.

Just a typical day in the park
Where all creatures once housed in the ark
     Coexist and live free
     To a certain degree,
Though I wish some would stay in the dark!

Going to a Wedding

Going to a wedding -
We will watch them tie the knot.
It’s nice to know that younger folk 
Still give this thing a shot.

I’ll get myself all gussied up
(That word is proof I’m old),
Although I’m not the dress-up type
Most times, if truth be told.

The ceremony’s out of doors,
A garden the location
And then we’ll head inside to dine
And dance in celebration.

Originally weathermen
Predicted it would rain.
The sun decided otherwise,
The worries all in vain.

I’m sure it will be lovely
But the main thing that I think
Is, with all the preparation,
It’s all over in a blink.

Pre-Holiday Roads

Friday night, the end of May,
Before the Monday holiday,
Was once a nightmare if one dared
To drive; you had to be prepared

For hours and hours of stop and go.
Your trip would be both long and slow,
But some years back there was a change,
A difference that I still find strange.

Vacationers en masse decided
By the rules, they'd not be guided,
So they hooky-played and split
On Thursday, caring not a whit

About their job or boss or class;
Just one day off - they'd get a pass.
And so, for me, my Friday trip
Was quick and easy - zip, zip, zip!

Futon Farewell

Farewell to our futon.
Oh, my gratitude runs deep 
For all the years you've given us
Or guests the gift of sleep.

Yes, you were tough to open
And a bigger pain to close.
You also scratched our wall up,
But that's just the way it goes.

You have surely served your purpose 
Though by now you're past your prime
Which is why it's adios, man;
For all things there comes a time.

Soon there'll be a brand-new sofa
In that newly vacant space 
But you'll be in futon heaven,
Which should be a saving grace.

Rainout

Had tickets for the Yankee game
But it has been postponed.
Relentless rain was forecast
Where the stadium is zoned.

The make-up date they gave us
Is the third week in September,
So we will have another shot –
If only we remember!

Rhubarb

My husband bought a little treat,
A favorite thing I love to eat.
We rarely see this anywhere
So take advantage when it’s there.

I never ate this in my youth
For what’s inside, to tell the truth,
Is something that did not compute –
It seemed more veggie than a fruit.

I’m talkin’ rhubarb, as in pie,
With strawberries to satisfy
My taste buds, waiting to explode;
Of course, this will be a la mode.

If you have never sampled this,
You’ve missing out on certain bliss
But if my tastes you do refute,
We’ll have a rhubarb (a dispute)!

Evil Losers

A terrorist’s a criminal and also a fanatic
Who gets his kicks by killing and creating quite a panic.
His hatred makes him dangerous but fear’s his only goal
And crowded places let him play a tragic leading role.

Our president, in his attempts to be a tough accuser,
Must think he sounds impressive with the label “evil loser”
But loser is an epithet from junior high school days
And such a term deserves derision, though he’d longed for praise.

The world will turn to leaders in a horrible event
In hopes that their response will calm things down and thus prevent
More dread and malice from their ranks, with words that will inspire,
Yet “loser” is the best to which our ruler can aspire.

At the Ball Game

Went to a ball game; sat in the stands
With my husband, my kids and of course, with the grands.
The weather did dazzle, there was a soft breeze;
Delightful to have weekend outings like these.

The pitchers, the catchers, the swing of the bat,
The sun beating down on the brim of my hat.
My grandson beside me, absorbing the scene;
His sister enjoying the change of routine.

The popcorn, the pretzels, the sodas, the fries;
The choo-choo train ride as an added surprise.
The day was a joy, for the national sport
Was a hit for us all, I am glad to report.

Missing

Missing’s what the poster said;
A photo was attached
But there a man was posed instead
Of someone’s house pet snatched.

His name is Joel, his hair is gray;
He’s 70 plus 1.
Last seen by friends the other day,
More recently by none.

A black Adidas track suit
Was the outfit he was wearing.
Perhaps he walked a new route,
Think his friends, concerned and caring.

Not knowing more, I wonder
If senility’s a factor.
Confusion pulls one under
And is known as a distractor.

But there’s another theory
Maybe no one wants to hear.
Of his life, Joel may be weary
And just wants to disappear.

He might be on a cruise ship
Sippin’ whiskey on a chaise,
Glad to leave it all behind him
To begin a brand new phase.

At the Preakness

At the Preakness, horses race;
The crowd is quite excited.
After winners are declared,
Observers are invited

To witness a tradition
Which, since nineteen hundred nine
Has been special to all racing fans
And cool in its design.

See, atop the Members’ Clubhouse,
A historic weather vane
Of a horse and jockey waits there
For the colors it will claim.

Lawrence Jones, the current painter
(At his job since ‘88)
Climbs a ladder to the cupola
To bring things up to date.

He applies the owner’s colors,
Which the winning jockey’s worn,
On the weather vane to show the world
A champion’s been born.

So today, for Cloud Computing,
(That’s the winning horse’s name)
Red and white have just been painted,
Horse and owner’s claim to fame.

Star Stickers

Some teachers once used stickers
To reward a super grade.
Originally, star-shaped ones
Were all the ones they made.

My grandson's potty-training, too,
Involved those stick-on stars,
Which also were exchangeable
For varied Hot Wheels cars.

His younger sister somehow
Got her hands on quite a few.
Despite her age, she right away
Knew just what she should do.

So now I'm finding, on her chair,
The cabinets, the floor,
A galaxy of shining stars
To jazz up the decor.

When the Fish Bite

My husband met a fisherman
(Or rather fisherlady)
Who gave him some advice
Which sounded obvious, yet weighty.

When hoping for a fish to bite
Your line must be real steady
But patience is the key because
The fish bite when they’re ready.

A true philosopher, she was,
‘Cause it’s the same with living.
Unless we’re ready, there won’t be
Advancement or forgiving.

Though choices dangle every day
Right there for our decision,
So many aren’t equal to
The outcome we envision.

Still, when we’re ready, then we bite,
Our cautiousness forsaken
Yet like the fish, we sometimes find
That we have been mistaken.

Times Square

Times Square was once a sleazy place;
You wouldn’t go alone there.
When darkness fell, you held on or
You’d lose all that you owned there.

Today, though, it’s like Disney World,
With tourists, loud and surging.
There’s not an inch of space unfilled
Since everyone’s converging:

The families from Idaho,
The hawkers giving passes,
The Elmos and the messengers,
The bused-in high school classes…

The lunch-break workers, homeless dudes,
The theater geeks and shoppers,
The food carts, cabbies and the cops
And all the teenyboppers.

I love New York; don’t get me wrong
But oftentimes I wonder
If gentrifying Broadway
Might have been a whopping blunder.

Averse to Change

The pictures on my walls have not
Been changed for many years.
I’m stuck with what I have
Or that’s the way that it appears.

My furniture is old as well;
Things rarely get replaced.
I like the way it looks because
It’s all done to my taste.

My husband wants to chuck it all,
To spiff and modernize,
But I can’t see the end result
That’s there before his eyes.

It’s hard for us to compromise
For I’m averse to change
So upgrades don’t excite me
Which, to many, must sound strange.

I wish that I could bend a bit
And be a little bold
By bringing in a few new things
To mingle with the old.

Our Bodies

The blood that’s coursing through our veins
We see in random drops,
But most of it flows on its paths
Until the day it stops.

The neurons firing in our brains
Send information on,
Accomplishing their duties
‘Til the moment we are gone.

The muscles that each bone sustains
Enable us to move,
Though as we age, they slow things down,
With nothing left to prove.

The organs, set in their domains,
Perform without a pause.
They pump and filter, that despite
The damage that we cause.

Our bodies work through stress and strains
Without our even knowing
And when we die we never pay
The debt to them we’re owing.

On Mothers' Day

Here’s to the mothers who sit there alone –
No flowers, no candy, no calls on the phone.
Here’s to the moms in a hospital bed
Who would rather be anyplace other instead.

Here’s to the soldier moms, hoping for smiles
On a screen or an I-phone, connecting the miles.
Here’s to the mamas locked up in a jail,
Convinced that their cards just got lost in the mail.

Here’s to all mothers and nanas and aunts
United today by just one circumstance –
They have shared in the life of a child in some way
And deserve recognition, somehow, on this day.

The Icer

I needed a cake for a birthday;
I stopped at a fancy food store.
With Mothers’ Day coming tomorrow,
I lucked out with choices galore.

My daughter loves everything chocolate
And one seemed to really just pop –
A mousse-filled creation in layers,
But crowned with a satiny top.

When asked if the cake could, with icing,
Be personalized on the spot,
The counterman grinned with excitement;
I gathered he does this a lot.

With beautifully swirled dainty letters,
How deftly he piped every word,
But before he completed his artwork,
A happenstance strangely occurred.

He’d asked not a word ‘bout my daughter
But finished his icing design
With a musical staff and a clef note
When it’s music that makes her life shine.

How’d you know? was the best I could muster.
He just smiled as he tenderly placed
What he’d lovingly done in a cake box;
It’s just perfect, no matter the taste.

No Nap!

No nap, no nap, no nap, she shouts
With all that she can muster;
At not-yet-2, though she insists,
She's much too young to trust 'er.

I put it off and read some books;
She helps and turns the pages.
I give a warning - just 2 more,
To hope that it assuages.

I pull the shade and pick her up
And in the crib I place her.
I gently shut the door and leave,
So I don't have to face her.

For how she howls! Indignant that
Her wish was not respected;
But in 5 minutes she's asleep,
About what I expected.

A little introduction to
The world, for, like today,
There'll be a million other times
She will not get her way.

Fountain Delight

While out upon my daily walk
I had to stop and simply gawk
At something that looked out of place
In such a busy urban space.

A building that I always pass,
A huge one, made of brick and glass,
Has, in the driveway, lovely plants
And spouting fountain, to enhance.

Occasionally, pigeons land
And in the water, they do stand
To drink or take a little bath
Before they hop back on their path.

Today, though, they had company,
A sight the neighbors rarely see,
For strutting there, with lots of pluck,
Next to the pigeons was a duck.

I can’t imagine whence it came;
The pigeons might have thought the same,
But in New York this rule applies –
Let nothing take you by surprise.

Riding the 4

I’m riding the subway (the 4)
Where you never know what is in store.
            A character stood
            Ranting loudly he should
Have a seat, which I tried to ignore.

His ravings got louder until
Someone rose to accede to his will.
            Though he sat with a plop
            His harangue didn’t stop
And we passengers'd all had our fill.

But the woman who sat to his right
Started cursing with all of her might,
            Saying either he’d quit
            Or she’d have such a fit
That she’d slice him to bits in a fight.

A Samaritan did intercede
So we never saw anyone bleed.
            When the doors opened wide
            He stepped quickly outside
With the ranter, a very cool deed.

The female, though, kept up her shtick;
Her anger was what made her tick.
            I questioned the stars
            Thinking, with all these cars,
Why was this one the one I did pick?

Passing Thoughts

The escalator was designed
(At least the one I have in mind)
So there is room on every stair
For two of average size to share.

But really, what’s become the norm,
To which most people do conform,
Is those who're standing on the right
Remain in place, to be polite.

The left side, thus, is saved for those
Who need to pass, for I suppose
They’re in a rush or did surmise
That they could use the exercise.

Most people do observe this rule
But some do not, which isn’t cool
And yesterday, two friends, both large,
Stood side by side, like, “We’re in charge.”

This escalator’s very steep
Yet no one made the slightest peep,
Intimidated by an ass
Whose bulk implied, “You may not pass!”

I, too, rode up and didn’t move;
I’d hoped that someone else would prove
That there are those who have the guts
To not be frightened by big butts.

The Going Rate

Obama makes a speech and earns
Four hundred thousand bucks.
Of course he is entitled but
The whole world sighs and clucks.

I frankly don’t think anyone
Deserves that kind of dough
But obviously that’s the rate
For people in the know.

It saddens me a little bit
For such a fee seems greedy,
Especially for someone who
Once championed the needy.

Ideally he should give his talk,
Accepting what they pay,
Then find a worthy charity
And give it all away.

Skinny Jeans

My husband bought some skinny jeans,
The kind Mick Jagger'd wear,
Which cling real tight from ankle
To the thigh and derriere.

They came today, from Amazon;
He couldn’t wait to try them,
Especially to prove me wrong.
(I’d told him not to buy them.)

I must admit that they look great
And so I couldn’t scoff
But it was pretty funny
When he tried to take them off.

It took a few attempts with lots of
Tugs and yanks and wiggles,
Providing me with quite a bout
Of told-you-so-type giggles.

I’m sure to him he’ll get rewards
In compliments a'plenty,
But he would have it easier
If he were more like 20!

A Risk

We took a risk; it worked out fine
But not without some stressing,
For everything in life requires
A fair amount of guessing.

Without such chances, we remain
Upon an even keel,
A little bored, perhaps, but hey,
Quite safe – that’s the appeal.

I’m usually risk-averse
But sometimes I get shaken
From my comfort zone and afterwards,
Feel glad it was forsaken.

Blackout

It’s raining, it’s teeming.
I wish I were dreaming
But really, it seems I am not.
The storm killed the power
For many an hour
So normal routines have been shot.

The lights and their switches
Don’t work and these glitches
Won’t let us do things that we should.
The phone has no charger.
One problem that’s larger
Is how long fridge food will be good.

And speaking of eating,
No food will be heating
Until all the power’s restored.
If day turns to nighttime
It will be the right time
For us to feel nothing but bored.

So meanwhile we’re waiting
And sit here debating
How long ‘til the lights come back on.
Our spirits are sagging
As hours keep dragging;
Con Ed* feels to me like a con.

*Power company

Oh, To Be...

Oh, to be a person who
Stays cool, calm and collected,
Instead of one whose jangly nerves
Has stressing-out perfected.

To be the one who never sweats,
Whose heart won’t race on faster,
Anticipating something wrong,
From trifle to disaster.

I’d like to feel relaxed and not
Stretched taut with fret and worry
And take my time without the need
To feel that I must hurry.

To rationally make a choice
And never second guess it;
To analyze a situation,
With no need to stress it.

Oh, to be that person!
What a joy that it would be!
The only drawback is, of course,
That it would not be me!

Special Person's Day

Today was Special Person’s Day
At pre-school, for the 3’s.
One guest per child and I was picked,
An honor I did seize.

Each child announced his person
Then we hunted for their names
On a placemat on the table
Where we sat and made some frames.

There was fruit to eat and cookies
Which the children helped to bake
And some marigolds in plastic cups
For all of us to take.

Then a teacher took our pictures
So the frames will get some use
And the kids performed a song and dance
To shake their sillies loose.

Though I’m one of several people
Henry loves who love him back,
I am thrilled that he decided
To select me from the pack.

Thumbing

I learned to type the proper way
Instead of hunt and peck,
Most often on a manual.
(Electric was high tech.)

But nowadays when texting
I’m pathetic as one comes
For I seem to be incapable
Of writing with my thumbs.

So every message I compose
My pointer finger taps,
The right one only, I should add –
No tangled overlaps.

I marvel when observing
All the mainly younger folk
As they thumb their words so quickly
While I, turtle-like, do poke.

Eating Al Fresco

I love to eat al fresco
When the weather is just right.
An ice-cold beer, good company –
An absolute delight!

The meal is second fiddle
To the atmosphere and mood.
With gentle breeze and glowing sun,
Who cares about the food?

The northeast has a limit
On that perfect circumstance
So I try to take advantage
When presented with the chance.