Dancing Robots

A segment I watched on a show –

“60 Minutes,” if you want to know –

Showed a building in which

Experts try to enrich

People’s lives from ideas that just flow.

 

Robotics is what these folks do

And the audience got a quick view

Of some creatures of steel

With the kind of appeal

That observers could not misconstrue.

 

For the robots were able to dance!

Choreographers given the chance

To design a routine

Meant for man, not machine;

So much joy to be had with one glance!

 

I encourage all readers to seek

“Dancing robots” on Google; one peek

Will help brighten your mood

And I’ll bet you’ll conclude

You’ll be grinning for more than a week.

Red-Haired Woman

I used to see a red-haired woman

Mornings when I walked.

We’d nod hello but otherwise,

We’d never really talked.

 

When Covid struck, I left my house

When every single street

Was empty, super-early so

No passers-by I’d meet.

 

I stuck to this new schedule

Once others had returned.

What happened to my red-haired friend

This morning I’ve just learned.

 

We passed each other, recognition

Dawning with a grin,

Then each of us removed our hats,

Revealing that within…

 

Two heads of hair, once red and brown,

Were now both shades of gray –

Hers silvery and mine more white

But proudly on display.

 

A little conversation

Did establish we were fine.

We parted ways – two gray-haired ladies,

Natural by design.

Sweet Motivation

If you’ve received your Covid shots,

Well, hurry and proceed

To the nearest Krispy Kreme branch –

Vaccine proof is all you need.

 

You’ll receive a fresh-made doughnut

All this year’s remaining days,

Not the fancy filled or crumb-topped,

Just the standard one with glaze.

 

Still, the offer’s pretty awesome –

Do the math, like Archimedes –

Just divide the chance of Covid;

Multiply for diabetes!

(Thanks to my son for the diabetes idea!)

RIP Beverly Cleary

Beezus and Ramona

Are in mourning, as am I,

For she who gave them life

Has sadly picked this time to die.

 

Ms. Cleary published her first book

The year that I was born.

I read them as a child

And to my kids, our copies worn.

 

Not long ago, my grandkids

Heard some stories, which I shared,

Of characters so old I’d wondered

How, through time, they’d fared.

 

I am delighted to report

Ramona’s still a pest

Who drives her sister crazy;

They have passed the still-cool test.

 

For that, Ms. Cleary (Beverly),

I couldn’t thank you more.

You’ve earned the right to cap your pen

At age one-hundred four.

Pre-Seder

 The chicken soup and matzoh balls

Are ready for the pot.

The hard-boiled eggs are in the fridge.

(We never eat them hot.)

The items for the Seder plate

All wait for their debut,

With my homemade charoses.

(Google if you have no clue.)

The chicken cutlets, farfel-topped

And stuffing made from same

Will share the table with some veggies,

Sautéed to acclaim.

Of course, there’ll be gefilte fish

With horseradish (so hot!)

And grape juice or sweet Kosher wine,

Which really hits the spot.

With home-baked brownies and

Some cookies vying for dessert

Along with lotsa matzoh,

There’s an “Oy, I’m stuffed!” alert.

But all the food is not, to me,

The most important part -

It’s sharing these traditions with

Those closest to my heart.

A Wish

Sent home from second grade, a star 

With glitter all around it

Was lying on the table; I was

Happy to have found it.

My grandson had to write his wish

And, in his neatest hand, 

He came up with a wish I think

We all could understand.

“I wish the world could (simply) stop”

(From) wearing masks (real) soon.”

(Words in parentheses are mine

So rhythm stays in tune.)

A poignant message for today

To which we can relate

For children’s eyes are first to see

The truth they’re quick to state.

Jacket Weather

People pass in t-shirts

Or with jackets draped or tied,

Enjoying springtime weather

After being cooped inside.

 

Daffodils have poked their heads

And crocuses as well.

Still, the message isn’t reaching

Where my brain cells dwell.

 

For I am zipped up to my neck

With jeans and socks below,

Not ready to relinquish

Jacket weather, even though…

 

I’m sure that I will soon enough –

Perhaps next week I may,

But all I know is that for me,

It will not be today.

Spam

I’ve never tasted Spam before

And don’t intend to do it,

Although, unless I try, I know

That I should not pooh-pooh it.

 

I wouldn’t even think of Spam,

The food that I am scorning,

If not for getting, on my phone,

A daily “Spam Risk” warning.

 

Some days it happens several times

From unfamiliar places,

Where spammers sit and make the calls

Behind their unseen faces.

 

I never answer if I see

That “Spam Risk” message blinking,

But just that word, you understand,

Provokes me into thinking.

 

Imagine on the other end,

A scammer with his planned pitch

Making calls all day while chomping

On his favorite canned Spam sandwich!

Time to Clean

Some people’s homes are sparkling;

You could eat right off the floor,

With not a speck of dust the mop

Decided to ignore.

 

Each day they polish, vacuum, scrub;

All surfaces are cleared,

The picture frames and knickknacks

Shiny when they reappeared.

 

But I do not include myself

Among those folks I know

Whose homes are neat and spotless

With that lemon oil glow.

 

Yet every now and then a voice

Within me starts to nudge,

Reminding me it’s time to clean,

A job I do begrudge.

 

So now today my windows gleam,

The tabletops as well

And if you came to visit,

You’d detect that lemon smell.

 

Of course, nobody’s coming here

But still, I’m gratified.

If I claimed this was my new routine, though,

You will know I lied.

It Boggles the Mind

They put up a sign on the highway

Which pointed the way to a bridge,

Replacing the prior one, thinking

Perhaps it improved things a smidge.

 

But yikes! No one bothered to proofread;

The name of the bridge was misspelled.

If I were the person in charge, well,

They’d censor the words I’d have yelled.

 

It boggles the mind to imagine

How something so stupid occurred.

A double-check would have made certain

Such nonsense would have been deterred.

One More Absence

In front of a building, which takes up a block,

Was a garden with bushes that bloomed

And lovingly tended, with rope-like supports,

By a resident, so I assumed.

 

The colorful blossoms, appearing in spring,

Perked me up as I walked by each day

And I’m sure in the neighborhood, others who passed

Saw those flowers and felt the same way.

 

Then one morning some barriers blocked off the street

With a sign claiming, “Sidewalk repair”

And the following day I was saddened to see

That the garden was no longer there.

 

In its stead was a non-descript sidewalk, fresh paved,

So the building looked plain and forlorn,

One more casualty seen in the city today,

One more absence that I get to mourn.

It Is Spring

There’s a very nice ring

To the words, “It is spring!”

When the sun is ablaze in the sky.

Oh, the joy it can bring

Hearing birds tweet and sing

As the hikers and strollers pass by.

 

By the river I sit

And I have to admit

It’s much nicer than being inside.

I’ll go home in a bit

But before I must split

I’ll absorb all the view can provide.

 

For in front of my eyes

Folks of varying size

Share my penchant for seeking fresh air,

Though it’s not a surprise

That with masks as disguise

All have New York aloofness to spare.

Rainbows and Roses

 Sometimes a person supposes,

When asked to describe how things are,

That talking of rainbows and roses 

Will hide what might startle or jar.

By painting a picture so sunny,

Believing you’ll fool those who asked,

What happens, I’d bet even money,

Is that some will know truth has been masked.

For lies rarely stay nicely hidden,

Since facts often end up revealed,

Exposing the one who, unbidden,

Learns guile’s a bad weapon to wield.

Knowing When to Quit

We all have things we’re good at,

As well as things we’re not.

The trick is knowing when to quit

When giving things a shot.

 

Of course, if there’s enjoyment

Though you’re really not adept,

It’s worth it to keep on, accepting

That you are inept.

 

We can’t excel at everything

(That wouldn’t be too fair)

But sticking with our weaknesses

Is fine, if we don’t care.

On St Patrick's Day

Today there won’t be a parade;

Concessions that Covid has made.

With no bagpipes or fifes

It’s befitting, since life’s

At a standstill from which we’ve not swayed.

 

Still, I’m wearing a bit o’ the green

Though, of course, if I had to come clean,

Being Irish I’m not

But I’ve never forgot

On St. Pat’s to become a colleen.

Using Leftovers

At the end of a meal, we take all that is left,

Wrap it up to consume the next day,

With the cycle repeating until all that food

Is devoured, but not thrown away.

 

Same with sewing a project – what fabric remains

When the quilt or the pillow’s complete,

Joins the remnants from previous stitchings I’ve made

So the next time, their patterns I’ll greet.

 

There are those who are savers and those who are not

But no matter which side you’ve embraced,

If you toss out your leftovers – fabric or food,

You have wasted what must be replaced.

Et Tu?

I was forwarded a photo

Of a steak knife, firmly stuck

Into salad dressing in a

Plastic bottle; what the f***?

 

Dressing oozed where it was punctured

And I wondered what it meant,

Then I noticed it was Caesar

And the joke was evident.

 

For today’s the Ides of March, the date

When Caesar was betrayed,

Stabbed to death by some conspirators

As history was made.

 

To whoever took that picture,

I applaud your clever take

Since you sacrificed your salad

All for art and humor’s sake.

Watch, Practice and Learn

Two kids, two grands and four balloons,

The older kid in charge,

Morphed into a balloon class

With the merriment writ large.

 

Instructions varied: “Use your wrists”

Or “Alternate your hands,”

As three of us all did our best,

Obeying the commands.

 

Balloons were tapped or lightly punched

And floated through the air,

The outside world inconsequential

While we four were there.

 

The “teacher” gave his course a name

And set it to a tune.

We “watched, we practiced and we learned”

This Sunday afternoon.

Yawning

 Way back when, at mankind’s dawn,

Before most known inventions, 

Humans gave in to a yawn

Despite their best intentions.

Yawning never disappeared;

It’s lasted through the ages 

And to a yawn a face is geared

When thinking disengages.

Tiredness could be the cause 

From lack of sleep or illness 

Or when somebody needs a pause

From boredom’s awful stillness.

One more reason mouths give in

To open is the spawning

Of the contagion which will win

When other folks are yawning.

Feedback

 Lovely feedback, makes me glow,

Taking time to let me know

That my efforts hit the mark

And even caused some smiles to spark.

A job well done feels great inside

But emails, texts and calls provide

An extra boost that’s guaranteed 

To let me know some folks agreed.

Of course, some feedback might report

The opposite of true support 

Although, for now, I’m all abeam,

Ensconced within a thumbs-up dream.

In Its Web

Sometimes even happy things

Can fill your life with stress,

Which makes room for anxiety,

Not easy to repress.

 

It bubbles up from deep within,

Affecting all it strikes

In many different forms, but none

That anybody likes.

 

From sleepless nights to biting nails

To loss of appetite

Or drinking way too much

Or maybe raring for a fight…

 

The thoughts that race across the mind

Of all that can go wrong

Get pulled into your gut as if

That’s where they do belong.

 

If luck is on your side, that worry

Will have been for naught

But sadly, in its web we often

Find that we are caught.

Mid-Morning Snack

Every day at 10 or so,

And yes, I’m keeping track,

The time has come, my insides know,

For my mid-morning snack.

 

Since breakfast ends by 8 a.m.

And lunch begins past 12,

A little treat will hunger stem

So into one I’ll delve.

 

Iced coffee is my chosen drink

And as for what I’ll eat,

A mini-muffin’s what I think

Will make my morn complete.

 

If not a muffin, then a slice

Of loaf cake, cut real thin

Or else a cookie would be nice,

As it has always been.

 

Occasionally, I’m beset

By other things at 10,

But rest assured, I’ll always get

My snack in later, then.

Tchotchkes

A news reporter used the word,

And ended it with “keys,”

But I have always said it

With a schwa sound, if you please.

 

Derived from Yiddish, tchotchkes are

Small knickknacks you can buy,

Like trinkets bought as souvenirs.

(You’ll later wonder why.)

 

Some homes are filled, on shelves and sills

With tchotchkes overflowing.

The word’s pronunciation, though,

Not everyone is knowing.

 

Transliterations rarely do

Agree on sound or spelling,

So if it’s “chotchkas” or “chotchkeys”

Is your choice for the telling.

International Women's Day

If you’re a woman, whoop-dee-doo!

Today’s the day that’s just for you

To celebrate the role you play

In life, despite unequal pay.

 

There’s surely been some progress made,

Perhaps deserving a parade,

For you can go to school and vote,

Run for office – win and gloat.

 

You can own a home or store –

They can’t stop you anymore.

Join the army, lead a band

Wed your girlfriend, buy some land.

 

Host a talk show, get real rich;

Run a business, make a pitch.

Write a memoir, practice law,

Protest ‘til your throat is raw.

 

Still, you aren’t equal yet

For some still see you as a threat

And if your rights held equal sway,

You wouldn’t need this special day!

Unique

I cannot name one person

Who would eat the foods I eat,

Plus follow the routines I do

To make my day complete.

 

The same way I would not enjoy,

Of all my kith and kin,

Their daily meals and hobbies,

Living in their minds and skin.

 

For even those close confidants

To whom we often speak

Would balk at certain habits;

That’s what makes us each unique.

 

If we could spend a day or two

With one friend at a time

And do exactly what they do

(Including writing rhyme)…

 

We’d understand a little more

Or get a better sense

Of what their lives are like by seeing

All the evidence.

 

But maybe we are better off

Allowing the mystique

Of others’ worlds to stay unknown,

Preventing a critique.

Not Ready for My Close-Up

My teeth have gotten crooked.

My eyes sport puffy bags.

My lashes lost their lushness

And my neck, once taut, now sags.

 

My wrinkles now have cousins

Come to line my washed-out skin,

But it isn’t any mirror that

Reveals the shape I’m in.

 

For that white-haired older lady,

Peering back across the room,

Is the way the whole world sees me

When I’m on the screen on Zoom.

Fitting the Crime

 The governor’s accusers 

Say he acted in a way 

That made them cringe and, naturally,

He has to somehow pay.

All three of them reported 

Language seeming to suggest

A kiss or maybe more would be

Enjoyed at his behest.

He touched one on her back, connecting

With her skin exposed,

Which made her most uncomfortable,

She recently disclosed.

Demands for Cuomo to step down 

To me seem out of whack,

Especially when we’ve heard boasts

Of grabs below the back.  

Behavior should be judged, of course, 

Apologies deserved, 

But resignation shouldn’t stem

From three who’ve been unnerved.

The governor should learn from this

And watch the way he acts,

While those so quick to punish him

Should follow just the facts.

Not an Excuse

An obnoxious man in Texas

Strode into a Trader Joe’s

With his children and no masks

To cover any mouth or nose.

 

Though employees tried to stop him,

He refused to heed the rules,

Spouting much misinformation

To those he considered fools.

 

One excuse he loudly flaunted

Was his “disability,”

Claiming he was thus exempt

From laws applied to you or me.

 

Now, some problems may be hidden;

That’s a known and noted fact

That’s included in the ADA,

A governmental act.

 

But I really liked this comment

Someone made about his rant –

Merely acting like an asshole

Doesn’t special status grant.

Jail-like

Some inmates, when released from jail,

Don’t waste a lot of time

Before old habits do prevail

And they commit a crime.

 

A subsequent arrest may cause

A trip back to the cell

And to the life that prisoner

Has come to know so well.

 

The outside world intimidates;

Protection disappears,

But being back eliminates

The risk of hidden fears.

 

Like convicts, I am also stuck

Inside my Covid realm,

Not knowing when I’ll have the pluck

To once more take the helm.

The PC Police

The PC* police are on the loose

And now they’re banning Dr. Seuss!

They say offensive writing’s there

So readers all should be aware.

 

But wait! We will not have a choice

For censorship has raised its voice,

Deciding that we never meet

What’s waiting on a certain street.**

 

Yes, times have changed; perhaps, today

He’d write the words a different way

With illustrations he’d intend

To absolutely not offend.

 

But books writ many years ago

Reflect a life we used to know

And so, to calm the PC wrath,

We toss the baby with the bath.

 

*Politically Correct

**And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street (1937),

one of the 6 books written by Dr. Seuss which will no longer

be published.