What’s better than an ice cream cone
To brighten up your day
Or, if your day’s delightful,
To make sure it stays that way?
Especially a sugar cone
With an amazing flavor
Like coconut with chocolate chips
And almonds you can savor.
The answer’s very simple -
Nothing tops this yummy treat
To make all your taste buds grin
And make your happiness complete.
My healthcare plan is changing -
We’re being reassured
That doctors will, if we are sick,
Still try to get us cured.
They’re trying to convince us
This plan will be so great
We have no cause for worry
Nor a need to hesitate.
The city will save money
But it will not cost us more
So I wonder whence the savings
And what are the changes for?
I hear their explanations
And their upbeat attitude;
Still, I’m left with the impression
That we’re somehow getting screwed.
The house where I grew up
Came with a clothesline in the back,
A dryer being something that
Most homes those days did lack.
I learned to hang the towels,
Overlapping just a bit,
Since by doing so, more laundry
On the line would get to fit.
I visualize my mom,
With wooden clothespins firmly gripped
In her mouth, despite the fact
With clothespin bag she was equipped.
When Covid struck, I hung a rope
Across my bathtub’s length,
Afraid to hit the laundry room
And test its viral strength.
It was a clothesline, technically;
I called it that by name.
Without the backyard breezes, though,
It wasn’t quite the same.
A vase of purple flowers
Makes a table, drab and plain,
Into something much more festive,
Like a place to entertain.
Though no visitors are needed
For each lovely vibrant bloom
Brings a warm and cozy feeling
When I walk into the room.
It amazes me how something
Like a corner-store bouquet
Can add such a dose of sweetness
To an ordinary day.
I love how it’s symmetrical,
Each
side a perfect match.
In
former days, when jeans were ripped,
It
made the perfect patch.
To
call someone a square, though,
Was
insulting, but a deal
That’s
square was something good, just like
Receiving
a square meal.
We
square away our debts;
A
square dance can be lots of fun.
I
could go on forever or
Go
back to (pause)…square one!
Symmetry appeals to me –
The
yin demands a yang.
Imagine
Dracula if he
Had
just one single fang.
A
balance is required
For
a bird or bee to fly
So
Nature has conspired
To
explain the reason why.
We
have two eyes, two ears, two feet
And,
naturally, two hands.
Symmetrically,
we are complete
To
follow life’s commands.
Rebellious
types like things askew,
Eschewing
any match,
But
when I see their work on view,
I
wish they’d start from scratch.
New Yorkers rarely say hello
To
strangers on the street,
Though
folks in other towns may smile
At
everyone they meet.
Yet
during the pandemic,
Seeing
friends became so rare
That
the need to make connections
Seemed
to permeate the air.
So
for some familiar faces
I’d
encounter in the dark,
On
my early morning walks,
There’d
be a recognition spark.
Soon
a wave or nod would follow,
Which
in turn became a smile,
Making
mornings so much brighter
As
I clocked off every mile.
That
acknowledgement is precious
For
it proves I’m not alone;
Even
in the biggest city,
I
am noticed, I am known.
Oh, it’s hard to thread a needle!
You
must coax and beg and wheedle
Though,
of course, it will ignore your fervent pleas;
For
the eye’s so very teeny
That
your temper might get spleeny
As
the thread gets close, but just enough to tease.
So
you try ad infinitum –
Thread
and needle – to unite ‘em
As
your patience, like the thread, begins to fray
And
you realize that your sewing
Is
like life, the way it’s going,
Tossing
challenges to stump you every day.
The sky can’t decide
If it’s blue or it’s gray.
The clouds, filled with rain,
Aren’t going away.
The sun, mostly hidden,
Entices the birds,
While raindrops sneak out,
Dripping onto my words.
This morning I walked,
Getting thoroughly drenched.
But beneath this strange sky, now,
I’m gladly entrenched.
In the middle of the night,
When
I’m struggling with sleep,
I
come up with many plans
That
I know I’ll never keep.
I’ll
replace the sagging couch,
Sand
and buff the parquet floors,
Get
new valances and shades,
Paint
the ceilings, walls and doors.
Add
A/C where there is none,
Trade
the bunk beds for a queen,
Go
through closets, drawers and shelves
Like
it’s part of my routine.
As
I toss and turn and think,
With
a vow to make each change,
I’m
aware that what I’m planning
Doesn’t
seem so very strange.
But
as soon as I awake,
My
resolve, a tiny flame,
Fizzles
out and so my world
Stays
unstylishly the same.
A hurricane’s a’comin’
And
my phone’s on high alert,
With
its piercing, grating warning
To
take care and not get hurt.
My
landlord sent a message
To
all tenants to remove
Any
items on the terrace;
If
I had one, I’d approve.
Some
events have been postponed
And
others switched or rearranged
While
each hour the weather forecast
Has
been fiddled with and changed.
So
tomorrow we’ll find out
If
all the hype was well-deserved
As
we wake to see the banquet
Mother
Nature will have served.
In Central Park, an owl lived
And Barry was her name,
So cute and charismatic
She attained a well-earned fame.
Arriving in October
To her favorite hemlock tree,
She preened and stretched and hunted
Every night, for all to see.
Her mere existence brought such joy
New Yorkers gathered ‘round
To photograph or just observe
This treasure they had found.
Her recent death, colliding with
A maintenance-crew truck
Brought sorrow to so many
Who admired her looks and pluck.
A vigil for her drew a crowd
To bid a fond farewell
To a special creature who changed lives
By visiting a spell.
The helium balloons adhere,
Now partially deflated,
To the ceiling, rating not a glance,
Though they had been awaited.
Of course, there was excitement
When at first they were presented.
Their absence surely would have been
Acknowledged and lamented.
But two weeks later, they are stuck,
Now finished with fulfilling
Their purpose, so they cling to life,
Their insides slowly spilling.
You pick up where you left off
Though a year or two has passed,
For what you have connects you
In a way that’s meant to last.
You laugh, break bread and catch up
On the things you didn’t know,
Share pictures and tell stories
And when it is time to go…
You hug and say goodbye, assured
That all of your affection
Confirms that in your heart
They’re in the permanent collection.
The basin in the water fountain
Was
completely full
With
water and with pigeons,
Drawn
there by a hot day’s pull.
I
watched the birds all splashing,
Beaks
and feathers soaking wet,
As
they cooled themselves from mugginess,
Which
isn’t over yet.
Nearby,
a man played trumpet;
He
was learning, that was clear,
Though
the pigeons didn’t let
His
muted bellows interfere.
What’s a poem? A bunch of words
That may or not be read
And likely will be filed away
To disappear instead.
The lucky ones may get a glance
Before the page is turned,
But as a rhymer, I will share
The truth that I have learned:
The poet writes those words because
The need to do so’s there,
No matter if there’s not
Another soul who seems to care.
The power saw is screeching,
Interrupting every thought.
I’m sending silent messages,
Which all add up to naught.
Of course, the neighbors have a right
To work around the house,
The same way I’m entitled
To both seethe inside and grouse.
A quiet Sunday afternoon
Was what I’d hoped to get.
Instead, my peace disturbed,
I grit my teeth and moan and fret.
Your energy saps;
Your
body wants naps.
You
might just collapse
In
the heat.
Your
spirits are low;
Your
movements are slow.
Impatience
does grow
In
the heat.
Your
thinking’s not clear;
You’ve
lost all good cheer.
You
might disappear
In
the heat.
You
can’t stay outside;
Even
shade won’t abide
As
your smile starts to slide
In
the heat.
In
due time you head home
Where
you finish your poem
Under
a/c’s sweet dome –
What
a treat!
If your shoes get too small
And your tootsies get stuck,
Do not fret, simply call
For the nearest toe truck.
Speak up loud - use your tongue;
Don’t get laced up in knots.
Virtues may be unsung
But the toe truck has lots.
So if help is your goal,
Toe trucks cannot be beat.
They will comfort your sole
As they race to de-feet.
*Inspired by a misspelling in a story
my grandson was writing.
I read about a mom and son
Who chose to mark the days
Since Covid struck by making cranes
In most creative ways.
One paper crane a day displayed
And posted as amassed
Allowed them to acknowledge
The uncommon year that passed.
I love a daily noting
Of the march of Father Time,
Whether origami-folded
Or some pencilled words in rhyme.
A little breeze is sure to please
When temperatures are climbing,
So I will seize this tiny tease
To do some outdoor rhyming.
The radio is saying, though,
The weather will be brutal.
If that is so, then what I know
Is thinking will be futile.
So while I’m out, I will not pout
But sit and jot these verses,
For there’s no doubt no poems will sprout
In hotter temps - just curses!
Outside, many people’s masks
Are
draped below their chins
Or
wrapped around their upper arms
Or
stuck to clothes with pins.
A
special necklace keeps them
Hanging
down along the chest,
While
some are stuck in pockets
Or
in pocketbooks, at rest.
For
those whose masks are waiting
‘Til
their owners go inside,
The
fact that they’re available
Means
savvy is implied.
No
matter where they’re carried
When
they aren’t on a face
Beats
the ones who will not wear them,
Whose
denial’s a disgrace.
Watch the people in the pool
As they kick and splash,
Knowing that their pool days
Will be over in a flash.
Noodles, tubes and swimmies
Help to keep the kids afloat
While the grown-ups stand there, cooling off
And trading tales of note.
The only thing you rarely see,
As summertime is dimming,
Is anyone (with few exceptions)
Actually swimming!
I’m rocking on a porch swing
With the ceiling fans a’whir,
The air outside so still, the leaves
And branches barely stir.
The radio is playing;
The sun is shining bright.
My husband’s getting birthday calls
To both of our delight.
With friends, we’ll head on into town
To share a festive meal
Outdoors (our first since Covid)
So it’s kind of a big deal.
We don’t need far vacations
Or expensive gifts to mark
A special day, for love provides
That sweet and magic spark.
My husband has a running joke
About his perfect gift
And since his birthday’s here, I thought
That he could use a lift.
A horse is what he claims to want
And we all play along
For living in Manhattan, well,
A horse does not belong.
And then I had a great idea
And Amazon came through -
A hobby horse that neighs
And makes some clip clop noises, too.
My son put in the order
And he wrapped it up real sweet.
To see my husband ride it
Was a laugh-inducing treat.
Be careful what you wish for,
Since there may just be a gap
Between fantasy and truth, but either way,
Let’s giddy-yap!
Hadley got a pink guitar
Today, for turning six.
She’ll maybe learn to play it
Or just strum a bit for kicks.
Her birthday’s so exciting -
She loves opening each gift
And watching her delight would give
Most anyone a lift.
I never know just what to get
To guarantee a grin.
On Amazon, it’s hard to know
Just where I should begin.
But my granddaughter likes music
So when I began to think,
I knew she would love a real guitar,
Especially one pink.
If she learns to play - fantastic;
If she doesn’t, that’s okay,
For her face when she first saw it
Was enough to make my day.
I check the license plates of cars
Parked
all around my block,
Which
proves that to New York
So
many people still do flock.
Here’s
Arizona, Massachusetts,
California,
too.
Of
course, there’s Pennsylvania
And
New Jersey, passing through.
Surprisingly,
there’s Kansas,
Also
Carolina (North).
I
wonder why these people
From
their native states set forth.
It’s
hard to find a parking place
(For
on the street, it’s free),
Especially
when out-of-towners
Grab
a spot from me!
Two pigeons fought over a crumb,
The
loser dejected and glum.
Turns
out that the prize
Wasn’t
food, though – surprise!
So
the winner seemed dumber than dumb.
They
waddled away down the road
In
searching-for-edibles mode.
Hope
they locate a treat
That
is something to eat
Using
smarts more than those that they showed.
I haven’t been on bus or plane
Or
subway or the ferry
Since
Covid; that’s until today
And
was I nervous? Very!
The
Q train isn’t far from home
And
covers quite a distance
In
record time but riders,
Just
like me, have shown resistance.
With
folks afraid, there aren’t crowds
So
I thought I would try it,
While
worried that some people’d
See
the mask rule and defy it.
But
things worked out – I took the train
And,
with relief, discovered
That
social distance was observed
And
every face was covered.
It
was a tiny step I took
To
do the things I used to,
Though
there are many others
That,
right now, I still refuse to.
I’ve heard reviews on Amazon
Are
very often fake.
I
read them, though, to help
With
some decisions I must make.
So
first I read the positives
With
4- or 5-star ranks
And
then I skim the ones submitted
By
a bunch of cranks.
Of
course, by now, I’m so confused
That
nothing makes my cart,
Which
proves that I’m an idiot
Or
else I’m really smart.
The time has finally come, at last,
To start to whittle down the past.
I comb the closets and each drawer
For things I don’t wear anymore.
My tennis shorts for younger thighs;
My Reeboks worn to exercise.
My wide-leg jeans so full and loose
I’d be accused of style abuse.
My denim skirt with matching shirt -
My love for them won’t reassert.
An old wool sweater bound to itch
Now joins the pile I plan to ditch.
I fill a bag to give away
But certain items have to stay
If they don’t make me laugh or cringe.
Oh joy! My t-shirt with the fringe!
