On the Eve

The revelers will party.
The champagne corks will pop,
While I’m at home and won’t partake –
No, not a single drop.

As friends and family gather
To welcome in the year,
I will not join them; rather I
Will watch TV from here.

I’m feeling sick on New Year’s Eve;
No merriment – instead,
I’ll dream about the countdown
While I’m zonked out in my bed.

The Little Snow

The little snow that fell today
Has slowly melted all away.
It kind of came as a surprise,
Like raindrops hiding in disguise.

The morning was bedecked in white.
Our early walk was a delight,
But now, at dusk, it's all turned gray;
Tomorrow will be come-what-may.

The weather's fickle, I suppose,
So as the month draws to a close,
Let's hope both minds and roads are clear
As we clock out this current year.

Tell Me

When Henry asks a question,
If it's "I don't know" I voice,
He counters with, "No, tell me,"
For he's sure I have a choice.

But yesterday, his query 
I could answer right away.
"Nana, why do you make up
A poem every day?"

"It makes me feel good," I replied.
"It's something I do well."
He thought about it, understanding 
(Far as I can tell).

"When you grow up," I told him,
"You will find what you can do."
"What is it, Nana? Tell me!"
Oh, I really wish I knew.

The Wicked Witch

Watching "The Wizard of Oz," I was struck
By reactions of kids in the room
When the witch was on screen - not the pink one, of course,
But the one with the green face and broom.

There were questions and fear but a need to observe,
Since they've seen it before and they felt
All that evil must go, so the very best part
Was the water that caused her to melt.

Though there's hatred and pain in the world that we know
And no way to avoid confrontation,
It would be such a thrill if a gesture so small
Could extinguish that harsh conflagration.

The Old Year

The old year is quickly retreating,
Its memories wispy and fleeting.
Though there’ll be a new start
I know deep in my heart
My mistakes I’ll, of course, be repeating.

Tips on Kisses

A mystery has been discovered
At the Hershey’s plant,
Encouraging some bakers
To join in an online rant.

It seems that Hershey’s kisses,
Loved by countless tongues and lips
Have been found, beneath their silver,
To be sans their pointy tips.

It doesn’t really matter
When they’re popped into a mouth,
But baked into a cookie,
That’s perfection heading south.

The company has no idea
What’s harmed this tasty treat,
Though everybody knows no kiss
Should e'er be incomplete!

Christmas Day

Of course, we hit the movies –
To New Yorkers, that’s not news,
For Christmas Day means cinema
For atheists and Jews.

No gifts to open, tree to trim
Or meal with ham or goose,
We fill the time with brand-new films,
As you by now deduce.

The city’s quiet; stores are closed
Except the local delis
And certain restaurants (like Thai)
Are there to fill our bellies.

We all can smile on Christmas
For the movies, meals or gifts
Combine to make a day
That universally uplifts.

A Visit

The grandkids paid a visit
On the day of Christmas Eve.
The city’s fairly empty then,
On holiday reprieve.

We double-parked at daddy’s work;
They saw his office space
And then we drove to where we live,
Our New York City place.

We got a spot – a miracle!
In front of our front door
Then spent some time inside
Which they were dying to explore.

Some games, some lunch and then a walk,
The river quite a hit
And then the playground, which for them
Was just a perfect fit.

Hot cocoa back at Nana’s
And a bit more time to play
Before we headed suburb-bound
To end this lovely day.

We brought them home to mom and dad
Like cupcakes freshly frosted,
Then turned back to Manhattan
Feeling happy but exhausted!

Where the Sun Don't Shine

There're icicles and clumps of snow
In places where the sun don't shine.
It's nowhere that you'd want to go -
Places where the sun don't shine.

Things melt slowly, if at all,
In places where the sun don't shine.
Spring may stutter, even stall
In places where the sun don't shine.

If you think I've missed the ticket
With these rhyming thoughts of mine,
You know just where you can stick it -
Yes, sir - where the sun don't shine!

Sticking It

The fridge is full of magnets
From the travels we have made,
Small tokens to remember 
All the cities where we've stayed.

It's nice to add a new one 
So as soon as I've unpacked,
I squeeze it next to others
Where it's certain to attract.

I sometimes wonder, though, if time
Will be a foe or friend.
Will my fridge run out of room before 
My travel days do end?

Baby It's Cold Outside

Political correctness 
Sometimes goes a bit too far,
For certain things should be accepted
Just the way they are.

The controversy swirling now
About a certain song 
Recorded many years ago
Appears, to me, just wrong.

The lyrics, in the "Me too" glare 
May seem like they do prove
A woman's being pressured 
By a man who's on the move.

She claims she has to leave
And he convinces her to stay
Ostensibly for sex, though
It's not black and white, but gray.

In 1944 the words 
Were funny, cute and flirty
But underneath a microscope
They're creepy, even dirty.

There's so much we can focus on
Within the "Me too" zone
That when it comes to classic songs,
They should be left alone.

A Smoother Ride

Life is short but shorter still
If all your battles go uphill
So sometimes, keeping thoughts inside
Will help you have a smoother ride.

If you just can’t, at least you’ll know
Resentment will have room to grow,
Providing bumps along the road
From anger that has overflowed.

To keep your journey swift and straight,
When something starts to aggravate
Just suck it up and zip your lip
To guarantee a safer trip.

Mushrooms

Mushrooms are the type of food
That cause a certain attitude
In those who see them on a plate –
It’s either love or it is hate.

To me, that pungent, earthy smell
Is one my senses know quite well
And thus my taste buds come alive
When mushroom dishes do arrive.

Yet others blanch and will reject
A meal or dish that’s mushroom-flecked.
That loamy scent that I adore
The mushroom-haters do abhor.

But it would really be a waste
If smell alone deterred a taste
For fungi lovers would lament
Repudiation due to scent.

The Holland Tonnel

The Holland Tunnel’s gussied up.
Its holiday display
Made some commuters angry
And they finally had their say.

Two wreaths were boldly planted
On the “O” and on the “U,”
So “Holland Tonnel's” what appeared
To people driving through.

A Christmas tree was mounted, too,
On top of Holland’s “N.”
The “A” would be a better match,
The critics voiced again.

The ones in charge arranged a vote;
Results were tallied fast,
The decorations switched around
From the opinions cast.

The tree was moved, one wreath is gone;
There’s now a happy aura,
Which would be perfect if they had
Included a menorah!*

*symbol of Chanukah, a Jewish holiday
 celebrated at this time of year

Waiting Room Design

If I designed a waiting room
There would be comfy couches,
Distracting patients from what may
Be followed by some ouches.

The tables would be practical
With boxes filled with tissues
And piles of magazines to read –
Of course, the current issues.

The walls would be a soothing hue,
The artwork so relaxing
That no one would be worried
‘Cause appointments can be taxing.

The TV sets would have to go;
Not everyone would buy it,
But I would be much calmer if
The waiting room were QUIET!

About Time

Time is such a luxury,
More valuable than wealth,
Especially when partnered with
The better side of health.

Retirees, possessing both,
May find themselves afraid
That any moment their good fortune
May begin to fade.

So we should cram what time we have
With joy from dusk ‘til dawn,
For we may learn, quite suddenly,
Our stash is overdrawn.

Christmas Trees

I do not buy a Christmas tree
(I’m Jewish, after all)
Yet wonder every year as people
Trundle with their haul.

What makes them buy one weeks before
Or just on Christmas eve?
Is Norway spruce or Douglas fir
The best with which to leave?

Do ceiling heights determine
If they splurge on one real tall?
Will it decorate the living room,
The entryway or hall?

I know that boxed-up ornaments
Are meant to be reused.
Will new ones join the party, though?
(I’m just a bit confused.)

My neighborhood is filled with stands
Of evergreens in wait,
So questions bounce inside my brain
Each year around this date.

Outside Ballet

I'm waiting here outside ballet
And while my grandchild twirls away
My pencil gets to do its thing;
Some thoughts to paper it will bring.

The little girls, all dressed in pink,
Adorably are on the brink
Of leaving toddlerhood behind;
It goes so fast, it blows my mind.

And I, though, on the other hand,
Have somehow managed now to land
Instead of at a door marked "Stage,"
At one that boldly says "Old Age."

My ballerina days have passed;
The lots are in, the die's been cast
But lucky me, I can enjoy
My most delicious girl and boy. 

Anyone Can Write a Poem

Anyone can write a poem
And think that it’s fantastic
Though often others may be slightly
Less enthusiastic.

For inner critics sometimes fail
To note that something’s missing
And few admit their efforts
Might, in fact, be worth dismissing.

And so the world is filled with poems,
Most internet-inspired,
Where talent is an asset
Neither looked-for nor required.

Of course, since I am one who writes,
You may think I’ve concluded
That I’m just like all the others
But then you would be deluded!

Busy or Not

Certain weeks I’m busy
And I run around a lot
So I’m either in a tizzy
Or I’m wondering why not.

For when plans are sometimes lacking
You might think I’d just relax
But I sent those calm genes packing
And I’m antsy to the max.

Though, with age in the equation,
Staying home at times appeals
And I don’t need much persuasion
If the cold nips at my heels.

Yet it’s balance I am seeking,
Busy interspersed with not.
Too much either way I’m freaking
(Which I tend to do a lot).

To and Fro

He couldn’t fit his shopping cart
And suitcase through the door
And screamed at the conductor
(Quite a challenge to ignore).

Once seated, he spread out and then
Removed his socks and shoes.
Assessing just how nuts he was,
This added to the clues.

I glanced his way and sorrily,
I somehow caught his eye.
He then began describing
That the air was awful. Why?

The radiation on the train
Was there to make us sick,
But only some could feel it –
Those intelligent and slick.

I transferred cars while he still raved
And finished out my ride
In uneventful fashion
‘Til the trip home did provide

Another whacko, eating fries
And blaring on her phone
A news report in which
A screeching baby had been shown.

Incessantly, that baby wailed;
She played it on a loop.
I hoped that some brave soul
Would to the rescue somehow swoop.

But no – I had to listen
For we urbanites pretend
That it’s normal on the subway
For the crazies to offend.

Itching

It might be the climate
Or maybe the heat
Which blasts our apartment
And will not retreat…

But every winter,
My skin starts to itch
And nothing relieves it.
(I’ve heard every pitch.)

I’ve tried every lotion
And many a cream
Yet still I’m so itchy
I just want to scream.

It’s not a disease
But a seasonal woe.
When spring rolls around,
It will vanish, I know.

Still, three months of scratching,
Which no one condones,
Will leave me near skinless,
A bucket of bones!

The Alphabet

We teach our kids the alphabet
When they are very young
And pretty soon, its singsong tune
Just rolls right off the tongue.

Those letters lodge inside our brain,
Immovable, unless
Some injury occurs to cause
That organ some distress.                                                   

If that takes place, all info stored
Gets jostled to and fro
And we may not recall so much
Of what we used to know…

And that includes the alphabet.
Amazing as it seems,
The basics may be out of reach,
Just like the stuff of dreams.

Those ABC’s that dangle
Right beyond the injured’s scope
May be grasped with perseverance
And a healthy dose of hope.

Opening Gifts

When we open a gift
We have somehow acquired
The skills to pretend
It is something desired.

But it may take some time
And some patience to teach
Little kids that the truth
We must now and then breach.

Yet before that occurs
Children often will blurt
How they really do feel,
Though their statements may hurt.

With some guidance and practice,
They’ll earn by and by
That where gifts are concerned,
It’s much better to lie.

Certain People

Certain people in our lives 
Help ease the days along.
Without them, we might flounder 
And might not seem quite so strong.

They often are unheralded
Yet all the things they do
Allow us, with our challenges,
To somehow make it through.

And when they sometimes disappear,
For reasons of their own, 
We mourn the loss of comfort
And security we've known.

But sadly, our acceptance
Of the truth makes a demand
That our minds make peace with knowledge
That our hearts can't understand. 

Written for Noreen O'Connor, a devoted former 
employee of Abbott House, an organization that runs the
group home of which my daughter is a resident
(she was let go) and Dario Jaquez, a doorman in
my building I've known since 1976 (he just retired).

Without a Warning

Without a warning, you can find
Your life completely changed
And all your daily habits
More than likely rearranged.

An unexpected illness,
Loss of job, divorce or stroke
May surprise and then accost you
While your plans go up in smoke.

Though we know that nothing’s certain,
Still, what bothers me the most
Is one minute you are coasting
And the next one you are toast.

It's a Wrap

I’m not too swift at wrapping gifts
But I make an attempt,
So therefore from critiques I think
That I should be exempt.

I purchase pretty paper
Though I rarely splurge on bows,
Yet sometimes tie a ribbon ‘round
(Where my ineptness shows).

I then attach a card or else
A gift tag to and from,
Just so the right recipient
Knows whence the gift has come.

Since I take great care when wrapping,
The results may make you scoff.
Still, the best part of a present
Is to rip that paper off!

Vacations

Like a snap of your fingers,
A tiny reprieve,
Vacations transport you
But then you must leave.

And as you head home
There’s a list to be made
Of things to take care of
And bills to be paid.

Of course, it’s a comfort
Resuming routines
But moments will linger
On internal screens.

You’ll find yourself smiling
Remembering those
You met on your travels
Or places you’d pose.

Away time is lovely
With memories made
Though the life back at home
Isn’t one I would trade.

Chanukah On Board

Nine hundred plus are on our ship,
A Viking ocean cruise,
And of the people we had met,
We were the only Jews.

So we were quite surprised that on
Our list of day's events,
Menorah lighting made the grade
And what that represents...

Is Chanukah! For every night,
We light a candle's flame
Consecutively; by day eight,
Our freedom we proclaim.

At six p.m. we showed up and
Were pleasantly surprised
To find another couple
And some Chanukah supplies -

A challah,* Chanukiah,**
Yarmulkes*** and kosher wine;
Jelly donuts, plates of latkes****
And a lit menorah sign.

Some pamphlets held the blessings
And a few more people showed.
We sang and lit the candles;
Their electric flame-bulbs glowed.

How wonderful to celebrate
An ancient joyous rite 
With a bunch of strangers linked on board
On Chanukah's first night.

*a special twisted bread
**a special menorah (candelabra) used on Chanukah
***skullcaps worn by men
****potato pancakes eaten on Chanukah

In Tuscany

The cypress trees stand sentinel,
Protecting all the vines
So all who visit Tuscany
Can drink those lovely wines.

A walled-in city dating back
For seven hundred years
Holds ancient secrets filled with life's
Exuberance and tears.

We stroll the streets and marvel at
The remnants that survive,
Imagining inhabitants 
Once vibrant and alive.

We gaze out at the scenery,
So lush and manicured,
With cypress trees on guard
So future tastings are assured.

Splurge

Have a beer and fries with lunch,
Then a piece of chocolate cake.
How much can a person eat?
Though it seems like a mistake...

It's not quite, but just because 
There's a reason to indulge.
When you're on vacation, you
Don't think about a budding bulge.

Try a bit of this and that;
Add gelato or some pie.
If your pants won't zip, at least
You'll have a solid reason why.

Do not fret -instead, enjoy!
You're away; don't fight the urge.
In a flash, you'll be back home,
So on vacation - splurge, splurge, splurge!

Along the Water in Marseille

A charming town, with bobbing boats
And restaurants or small cafes,
Finds us all bundled in our coats 
On this, the gloomiest of days.

The rain, though, takes a little break;
The Ferris wheel goes 'round and 'round.
At booths with crafts that people make
We see what items can be found.

A market filled with fish for sale 
Attracts us with its fresh array
Of creatures stretched from teeth to tail,
A strange and glistening display.

The locals mingle, doing chores,
With tourists taking in the scene 
As traffic flows and all the stores
Compete as customers convene.

I'd hoped for sun, but I'll admit 
That clouds and raindrops couldn't dent
The dazzle of Marseille, for it
Has charm you couldn't circumvent.

On the Cruise

Instead of names, we're often called
By where we do reside,
So, "Hey, New York!" we're greeted with,
A simple ID guide.

Thus Texas, Fresno, Cleveland
And Kentucky we have met
And Arkansas and others
We have not conversed with yet.

A member of the crew, as well,
Who helped us, with delight,
We learned lives now in London
But was from the Isle of Wight.

So later, in the evening,
While we watched a staged revue,
I realized a performer
Was a friendly face I knew.

The singers mingled with the crowd
At their performance end
And thus I had a chance to chat
With my new English friend.

"Hey, Isle of Wight!" I sang out,
"You were great up on that stage!"
He beamed in recognition,
Such a nice way to engage.

Safety Drill

When you travel on a ship or plane
(But not a bus, a tram or train),
Just heed my words because you will
Be forced to have a safety drill.

It's really like a little test
On how to wear your neon vest.
Adjust the straps and find the light
And whistle - then you'll be all right.

Of course, in real emergencies,
These demonstrations won't appease.
Imagine jumping in the sea -
The psycho screaming would be me!

Yet calmly, we all sit and smile
And listen for a little while
So if need be, we'll be prepared
And just a teensy bit less scared.

First Impressions

The ship is overwhelming,
Way outside our comfort zone,
Much different from the other
River cruises we have known.

We're jet lagged and exhausted,
With no energy to spare,
So shuttling to town just seems
Too much for us to bear.

We had a little lunch, though
And enjoyed the view and food;
Unpacked our stuff which really helped
To brighten up my mood.

We're sitting on a deck now,
Simply soaking up the sun,
The sea a sparkling vista;
Our adventure has begun.

I jump at first impressions,
Often negative and flat
But at least when I strike out
I get another chance at bat.

Before a Trip

Before a trip, of course you pack
And shop for needed things you lack;
Then just so there will be no flack,
You straighten up your home.

You give your plants an extra snack
And raise the windows just a crack;
Then leave a bag to hold the stack
Of papers while you roam.

Do all of this while keeping track
So you don’t have a stress attack
And maybe, if you have the knack,
Describe it in a poem.

The Bad Poetry Contest

In school, we had to memorize
A poem from time to time.
Of course, back then, most certainly,
It was a verse in rhyme.

Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees” was one of them.
For years I wondered why
The poet’s name was Joyce when
We were told he was a guy.

But I digress – for recently,
I read about a match
Where would-be poets vied
To write an awful poem from scratch.

It takes place at Columbia
And yes, it gets its name
From A. Joyce Kilmer, he of “Trees,”
His calling card to fame.

Professors pick the winner,
And the choices are diverse,
From all other contest entries
To find one which seems much worse.

I wonder what Ms. Klasowitz
Would think about a prize
Given to a poem as bad as that
She had us memorize!

Heads Up

When driving, we use WAZE, which is
A talking GPS.
It finds the quickest routes and thus
Eliminates some stress.

At times, it issues warnings
Like an "obstacle on road,"
So we'll both be on the lookout
To avoid our being towed.

But it took a while to realize 
That an "animal ahead"
Won't leap out to cause some damage;
It's already stone cold dead!

Hosting T-Day

When the guests all arrive
And the food tastes okay
And the grown-ups watch football
While kids get to play…

It’s a magical day,
Calm replacing all stress
Though the clean-up awaits
And the kitchen’s a mess.

Still, such feelings of warmth
Cling to every pore
And as minutes tick by
I wish there could be more.

But we hug our goodbyes
And we load up the sink.
All that prep and excitement
Dissolved in a blink.

Turkey Day Ops

You clean, you shop, you stir, you chop;
You add marshmallows to the top.
You cannot stop or all will flop;
The doorbell rings – you smile and hop.

The sweat you mop or oven prop;
With guests, the anecdotes you swap.
A drink you cop but dare not drop
A morsel of your festive crop.

From shop to chop to hop to mop,
The day will pass – and then you’ll plop!

*Happy Thanksgiving Day!

Phone Books

The purpose of a phone book
Back when I was very small
Was to raise the height of children
Who were young and not too tall.

The kiddie table sat them first
But then they weren’t part of
The main event of which they hoped
To squeeze into the heart of.

So when their parents gave consent
They joined the grown-up table
Yet being short, to reach their plates
They simply weren’t able.

So phone books to the rescue!
With the slightest little push
A directory was placed beneath
Each toddler’s waiting tush.

The meal went on until those kids
Were bundled off to slumber
And never did we use those books
To find one single number!

Other Poets

Other poets write of love
Or beauty, anguish, death;
Of yearning, angst or pity
Tangled up in every breath.

Other poets use their words
As weapons or as shields,
Gauging by reactions
All the power writing yields.

Other poets elevate
Their subjects way up high,
Seeking truth or explanations,
Answers to their aching “Why?”

I, though, on the other hand,
Just write what I observe –
The daily challenges in life
We do or don’t deserve.

Other poets’ lofty thoughts
May, more than mine, be read,
But I’ll continue rhyming
Like I always do, instead.

Damaged Goods

Ordered a dresser; waited a week.
One it’s replacing is way past its peak.
When it arrived, we were sorry to see
That it wasn’t the way that we thought it would be.

Two corners were bashed, like it might have been dropped
Which we hadn’t expected, of course, when we shopped.
A bit disappointing, but all we can do
Is wait days for the company’s swap to come through…

And hope that the next one will get here intact
Which it will be if somehow it’s properly packed,
For though all things acquire some damage some day,
They should certainly never start out in that way.

Car Trouble

A giant tree came crashing down
And crushed a local car.
The owner may not know it –
He has not shown up so far.

His car was safely parked (he thought);
The spot, when he did pick it,
Is legal up ‘til Tuesday when
He’ll likely get a ticket.

I wonder what the cops will do
With summons time impending.
Place ticket on the windshield (smashed)
As if they are pretending…

That nothing’s wrong? If that occurs
That driver needs some pity –
A fallen tree, a bashed up car
And money owed the city! 

Lucky in Life

To be lucky in life, you’re qualified
If you have someone by your side –
A spouse, a parent, sib or friend,
Just one on whom you can depend.

You don’t need trappings tied to wealth,
(Though you’re in luck to have good health)
For fancy digs or costly clothes
Do not a lucky life expose.

But if you’re fortunate enough
To know when times are really rough
Of even just a little stressed
Your agita will be addressed,

You have to thank whatever fates
Have granted you such special mates.
Just knowing someone has your back
Makes up for anything you lack.