On the Deck

Chipmunks scamper; bees buzz by.
Gaily flits a butterfly.
Caterpillar moves a notch;
On my bench I sit and watch.

Nuthatch calls and near my ear
Mosquitoes let me know they're here.
Hummingbird stops by to drink;
From my perch I pause and think.

In the city, people stream
But here, I'm all alone to dream.
Nature beckons; with delight 
I answer with the words I write.

Sofa Bed Saga

Our brand-new sofa bed got stuck.
It wouldn’t open; just our luck.
Our daughter slept upon it twice,
But not last night. Here’s my advice:

If underneath a sheet you use
A mattress pad before you snooze,
Be sure, if on the fold-up kind,
No sheet or pad gets left behind.

We think that pad is somehow caught
Within the springs; we toiled for naught.
Today we’ll ask for an assist;
Our super’s help we will enlist.

A small mistake but we got burned.
Yes, “haste makes waste” – the lesson learned.

Boxes

We order things; the boxes come.
Today that is the rule of thumb.
If it’s not right or doesn’t fit,
No worries – we did not commit.

The stores shut down, for business sucks
But streets are clogged with bigger trucks
Delivering, on every route,
Those items we can’t live without.

We choose them based on how they look,
A photo serving as the hook
To reel us in, but that appeal
Gives no idea how they might feel.

But what the hey? No biggie, that.
If we withdraw the welcome mat
We send those boxes back to where
They started out, without a care.

The Long-Range Forecast

The long-range forecast's looking good;
I've something special planned.
My phone's a crystal ball and so
The weather's right at hand.

I wish there were an app like that
To let me know in life
If certain days would bring me joy
And others only strife.

Or would I really want to know?
And also, though we long
For info on the future, there's
A likelihood it's wrong!

Double Dose

The play I saw delighted me –
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream” –
Beneath the stars, a moonlit night
And actors I esteem.

An added bonus made me grin
For there, before my eyes,
Upon the stage, an actor friend,
Which came as a surprise.

I’d heard he’d nabbed the part but that
Was many months ago,
A fact that I’d forgotten as
I sat and watched the show.

His cast mates, some quite famous,
Likely had some pals, as well,
In the audience enjoying
What they wrought from Shakespeare’s spell.

‘Twas a double dose of pleasure
Floating down in my direction
For performance just seems sweeter
With a personal connection.

The Senior Line

The tix are free so people wait
For hours, sitting on the grass,
But we are old; to compensate
There is a bench to plop one’s ass.

By half-past eight, the benches filled,
The ticket-seekers settle in
While late arrivals, not too thrilled,
Allow the side-show to begin.

They make us move so they can squeeze
Their bodies on a proper seat,
Without the courtesy of "Please"
(Ticked-off, no doubt, at their defeat).

A flutist sets his stand and plays;
A grouchy woman bids him cease.
He grumbles when nobody pays,
His music, though, a sweet release.

The conversations ebb and flow.
We people watch (the pickings fine).
I bond with folks I do not know;
That happens on the senior line.

The hours pass; we get our tix.
We’ll meet again when it gets dark
To share in summer’s yearly fix
Of seeing Shakespeare in the Park.

Complementary

Other people’s lives are always
Different from our own.
That goes for strangers and for those
We know or once had known.

There may be similarities
Or even common threads,
But age and time might take those bonds
And slice them into shreds.

Those differences, though, won’t preclude
Relationships or trust,
For what is complementary
Is often quite robust.

So though we never should compare
How we and others live
We should rejoice in what we share
And take as well as give.

A Country Tail

I heard a thumping as I slept
So down the stairs I slowly crept.
I’d no idea what did await
But couldn’t not investigate.

The sound was now a frantic scratch –
No robber was I like to catch.
The fireplace was whence it came;
I saw a squirrel was to blame.

It scurried there behind the glass.
We taped the doors; it couldn’t pass
But just in case, some things we laid
To make a sturdy barricade.

When daylight came (we couldn’t sleep)
We called a local chimney sweep
Who said he’d come first thing on Monday.
(This was early morning Sunday.)

The noises ceased ‘til nighttime fell;
Again, we didn’t snooze too well.
At last, the chimney guy arrived.
(At least he wasn’t sleep-deprived.)

He flashed a light – what have we here?
To him, the answer loud and clear
Was something very strange and shocky -
Yes, a flying squirrel! (Rocky*?)

We held aloft some sheets he’d brought
And made a path, but not for naught
‘Cause once the hearth doors opened wide
That creature quickly dashed outside.

The chimney capped, we wrote a check
With many thanks. (I’d been a wreck.)
To Rocky, hope when you next fly,
You see our house and pass it by!

*a cartoon flying squirrel from “The Rocky and
Bullwinkle Show,” popular in my youth

Phil's Parrot

A plaintive wailing fills the air,
A hawk's incessant cries -
Unvaried and repetitive,
But not a big surprise.

Yet recently I got to meet
The parrot of a friend
And every sound he uttered
Did delight me to no end.

The hawk I couldn't understand -
Not any squawk or trill -
But it was clear as day to hear
That parrot shout out "Phil!"

The Porch Light

The porch light is an invitation
With an open bar,
Attracting flying critters
To exactly where you are

Or will be, if you left the house,
Returning in the dark
And hoping not to trip between
Your door and where you'd park.

Yet, with clouds of moths and gnats and skeeters
Swarming 'round your head,
You'll conclude that tripping in the dark
You might prefer instead.

Bug Spray

A person who's slathered in spray
To keep flying insects at bay
     May still be surprised
     If one bug, though despised,
Bites or stings after finding a way.

For although they're put off by the smell
Which, when tested, appears to repel
     One brave flyer just might
     Dive in quick for a bite,
One itch gone as the other does swell.

Romeo and Juliet

Had Romeo and Juliet
Not died a tragic death, I bet
They’d both be old and fat and bored;
An early exit their reward.

For those who perish in their youth
(Unlike those longer in the tooth)
Leave mem'ries of themselves behind
Before their beauty has declined.

And thus, our thoughts of them stay fixed
In younger days, when life restricts
Decisions that they’d both regret,
Their destiny in dying’s debt.

Shotgun Wedding

At a wedding in Kansas, right next to the cake
Was a smaller one meant for the groom.
Very often such cakes sport his favorite teams
Or some hobby of his, we’d assume.

Well in this case, the topping was quite a surprise
For it boasted a real-looking gun
Sitting right on the frosting, as if to announce,
“This is my special way to have fun!”

I was not at this wedding; just looked at the pic
So I’m not sure if it was in jest
But no matter, just seeing that pistol-topped cake,
I’m relieved that I wasn’t a guest!

All My Hurts

I’d like to gather all my hurts
And roll them up like clay,
But you’d be wrong if you assume
I’d throw them all away.

I’d sculpt a statue tall and fierce
And paint it garish hues,
Reflecting all the colors that
In life I’d never choose.

Then I would cart it to a spot
With nothing else around
And with one match, set it ablaze
And burn it to the ground.

Then, once my hurts were in a heap
Of ashes, I’d feel free
To focus on the things I need
To be a lighter me.

Ferns

The ferns are taking over,
Running rampant in the yard.
I yank them by the roots, a job
More tedious than hard.

Each summer they crop up en masse
And quickly multiply,
So you may see me plucking them,
Most likely in July.

I do not hate their lacy fronds,
Which sway when there’s a breeze,
So seeing them some other place
Would really not displease.

But gazing from the screened-in porch,
What I object to most
Is this sea of uninvited guests,
Expecting me to host.

At Michael's Wedding

All the Schalls were dancing
At the wedding of a son.
Exuberance was in the air,
The crowd psyched up for fun.

As friends and family joined them
And the DJ fanned the fire,
We reveled in the mirth and spirits
Couldn't get much higher.

There were people on the dance floor
I'd last seen when they were young.
How delightful then to watch them,
From their childhood shells now sprung.

While my husband twirled my daughter
As the music's charms were heeded,
What I hoped for was that image
To be conjured up as needed.

My Grandparents' Home

My grandparents’ home was both tiny and plain,
Quite lacking in places to play,
But my brothers and I and my cousins, at times,
Still had fun when we went for the day.

From the bowl of mixed nuts, we filched filberts so we
Could play skelly across the wood floor
And a deck of Hoyle’s cards kept us busy enough
So the grown-ups we got to ignore.

When the dinner was served, we all gathered around
And attention was naturally paid
To the meal – nothing fancy, but tasty enough,
That my grandma had lovingly made.

All those visits were weekends or holiday times;
Since they ended, it’s been a long while,
But the mem'ries are sweet and suffused with such joy
That I think of them now with a smile.

To Challenge

In tennis, you challenge a call
If you're sure of the way that the ball
     Hit the line or did not
     For, what happens a lot
Is the linesman missed where it did fall.

It's like Googling somebody's "fact"
If belief in a statement you lacked.
     You may prove him quite wrong
     If you knew all along
That the odds in your favor were stacked.

Yet in tennis, those options are few
So if somebody's view is askew
     And you've used your last chance
     Then, despite your best glance
There is naught you can do but to stew.

Off-Limits

The couch is off-limits.
(Today it's a bridge.)
My feeling aren't hurt.
(Okay, maybe a smidge.)

For when Henry is building,
The world must concede
To the object and spaces
His projects might need.

He's lucky his house has
Some couches to spare
And if they're all bridges,
There's always a chair.

At least he's absorbed in
His "building" at home,
Which leaves me some moments
To whip up a poem.

The Diner

The diner had amazing deals
For us to have for lunch –
But first, a bowl of cole slaw
With some pickles, too, to munch.

Then lots to choose from – sandwiches,
Paninis, salads, platters
Preceded by a bowl of soup
(3 choices, if that matters).

The plates were overflowing and
Our bellies almost hurt
But the special lunch included coffee
And, of course, dessert.

The food we didn’t eat they wrapped,
Like all good diners would.
It really was a super deal - 
But none of it was good!

The Piano

I have some new neighbors,
Just one floor below.
Their names and their faces,
Of course, I don’t know.

But once there was quiet
And now there is not.
It seems there’s a piano;
They play it a lot.

I’m used to the street noise –
The traffic and such.
I tune that all out;
I’m not bothered that much.

Not so with the piano –
Though I won’t complain,
It is likely one day
To just drive me insane!

The Body

The body, like a fine machine,
Needs maintenance and care.
When parts start breaking down, we see
The doctor for repair.

But as we age, there comes a point
Where damages exceed
What we’d require to fix them;
It’s a sorry time, indeed.

We wake to creaks and achy joints
Or muscles going slack
And realize, most reluctantly,
There is no going back.

When cars, TV’s or kitchen items
Need to be replaced,
We, if we can afford to, upgrade
With no time to waste.

Our bodies, though, get just one shot
So when our pains have weighed in,
It’s just too bad there’s no place
We can go to get a trade-in.

Dining Needle

When I was young, a dining needle
Was the term we used
To name a flying insect, but
Turns out we were confused.

For darning needle is another
Phrase for dragonfly.
If you see one up close, then you
Will know the reason why.

Its thin and tapered body looks
Like what we’d use to sew,
But “darning” is a word that many
People do not know.

And so a word misheard became
A means of us defining
The dragonfly, which we assumed
Was out to do some dining.

The Die We've Cast

A friend you meet in middle age
Of course has his own history
Which possibly will stay imbued
With some degree of mystery.

We form our judgments from the facts
We have in our possession
And how a person looks and acts
Determines our impression.

But sometimes we may get a glimpse
Of someone’s early years
And discover that he once was not
The way he now appears.

For age and illness take their tolls
On all of us, and yet,
Within us still exists that self
New friends have never met.

A photo or a story somehow
Conjured from the past
Makes us realize that there’s so much more
Beneath the die we’ve cast.

Souvenirs

We give the kids their souvenirs - 
The t-shirts and the sheep,
A tiny bit of our vacation
That they get to keep.

These tokens are the tactile proof
That while we were away,
We thought about and missed them
Many times throughout the day.

That doesn't mean we didn't love
Our time to be ourselves,
To reconnect with former versions
Tucked high on the shelves.

A week or two to just explore
And see the world alone,
To rediscover parts of us
The grands have never known.

And so, before we make it back
To home, where we belong,
We buy some gifts to prove that they've
Been with us all along.

Jet Lag

Many things improve with age,
Like wine and certain cheeses,
But others turn to hurricanes
What once were gentle breezes.

Like jet lag – for the younger folk,
It barely makes a ripple,
While older flyers feel effects
In double, even triple.

For hours in an airplane,
In your 20’s, is just fun,
Though for every decade added,
Every synapse comes undone.

The young and old are different
In the ways that they are wired,
With jet lag in proportion to
The years that one’s acquired.

What Awaits

This is what awaits at home -
(I'll try explaining in a poem).
Taxi line or Uber call.
Heat I cannot take at all.

Mail piled up and plants a'droop.
Empty fridge or fruit-turned goop.
Messages on the machine.
Headlines that I haven't seen.

Laundry basket quickly filled.
Jet lag feelings 'bout to build.
Car begrimed and yes, by cricket,
Windshield likely sports a ticket.

Just this morning, eggs and scones
But flying home to local zones,
I'll need some time to readjust
Before the mem'ries turn to dust.

Vacation's End

Get a map and plot a course;
Do what fits with no remorse.
Let the locals be your guide
But if it's not for you, don't bide.

See museums, check out stores;
Walk until your feet have sores.
Stop off for a bite or drink -
It'll perk you up, I think.

Buy some trinkets for your kin;
Treat yourself - it's not a sin
'Cause when vacation's at its end,
Reality's around the bend.

Dunes

Our feet sank in the sand as we
Went walking through the dunes.
I haven't hiked on land like that
In many many moons.

Then suddenly we turned a bend
And there within our reach
Was something most surprising -
An amazing empty beach!

The waves were gentle and the water
Froze the few brave waders.
Remoteness kept it free of
Hordes of tourist-type invaders.

While heading back (reluctantly)
I found my souvenir -
Some tiny brightly-circled shells,
To keep the magic near.

The Irish

The Irish have music and Guinness and tweed
And bright green land dotted with sheep.
There isn't much more that a person could need
But some friends, food and someplace to sleep.

There's lots of tradition awaiting to feed
Both the body and soul, which runs deep
From the ancients to now and that Gaelic-born seed
Nestles just like their tea, there to steep.

I'm enjoying the Guinness and music, which lead
To a memory bank I will keep
In my mind to tap into, for it's guaranteed
That some smiles to my face will then leap.

Ropes

On a wooded path next to the sea
Three strong ropes dangled from a tall tree.
     They were hung there for swinging
     So guess who was clinging
To one for dear life? Yes, 'twas me!

Seeing them brought me back to my youth
Though I rarely indulged then, in truth.
     Still, temptation did beckon
     And thus, I did reckon
I'd try it, though long in the tooth.

As I grabbed on, I laughed like a child,
Feeling silly and giggly and wild.
     Somehow when I'm away
     Other forces at play
Draw me to them and I am beguiled.