Insurance

Paying for insurance

Often seems like such a waste.

The money that you pay and pay

Can never be replaced.

 

Insurance on your home or car

Is only worth it when

There’s damage from an accident,

Which happens now and then…

 

Or maybe never, in which case

You’ve shelled out all that dough

For absolutely nothing;

That’s the way things mostly go.

 

Except, of course, when things go wrong

And there’s a huge expense.

At times like those, insurance

Makes an awful lot of sense.

Different Kinds of Quiet

The squawk of seagulls punctuates 

The quiet by the beach,

Yet the lack of other noises 

Makes relaxing within reach.

The wail of sirens doesn’t let

The city quiet stay,

For even in the early morn

The noisiness holds sway.

The chirp of crickets syncopates

The rhythm of the night

So the quiet of the countryside

For dominance must fight.

A library or hospital,

Both recognized for quiet,

May hush incoming visitors

But I don’t really buy it.

For there are hums and whispers 

Of machinery or voice

Which may pierce the silence and confirm 

That quiet’s not a choice.

Maybe outer space is different

But on earth I will refute

Any claim that there’s a place to go

Where quiet’s absolute.

April and June

When our children were young

And I went back to work,

They were watched by a sitter named June,

Who was part of our lives

For a number of years

And with her, to this day, we commune.

 

Now my son has employed

To help out with his kids

Someone wonderful, April by name.

Just a fluke that their mothers

Both named them for months,

But their birthdays are also the same!

 

Since today is the date

Of that special event,

I wish both of them such a nice day

Filled with wishes and hopes

That they all will come true

And for April and June, they just May!

The Pigeon Lady

The pigeon lady makes her rounds

At seven in the morn.

About her feeding habits,

I must say that I am torn.

 

Along the promenade, which runs

Adjacent to the river,

She scatters seed which pigeons

Know each day that she’ll deliver.

 

They swoop in great big flocks to feed

And circle in the sky

Before they settle down to peck,

Ignoring passersby.

 

When finished with their meal, they roost

On benches and on railings,

Their droppings making quite a mess,

Among their biggest failings.

 

It’s cool to watch them fly in loops

And strut, like pigeons do,

Yet people lose their sitting spots,

Now flecked with pigeon poo.

 

The pigeon lady breaks the law

And risks a hefty fine.

To some, she is a hero;

Others think she’s crossed a line.

Wegman’s

The supermarkets in Manhattan

Naturally are small,

Perhaps to compensate for

All the buildings that are tall.

They aren’t meant for shopping carts

Or giant stock-up sprees.

Most people grab the items

They can carry home with ease.

Today, though, in the suburbs

I hit Wegman’s - what a store!

So huge it seemed like there were

Miles of aisles to explore.

The produce all looked fresh, as did

The dairy, fish and meats.

The bakery was filled with lots

Of yummy fresh-made treats.

And oh, the choices in the section

Set aside for beer!

The IPA’s alone produced

A grin from ear to ear.

For someone used to city marts

I sure was blown away,

But overwhelmed by all the stuff 

So tempting on display.

Two Sparrows

When creatures fight, it’s often quite

An unexpected thing.

In fact, the sight just might invite

Observers to the ring.

 

Today, by chance, I got a glance

Of sparrows on the ground.

Their angry dance was not romance

But fury quite profound.

 

They’d alternate to aggravate

Each other as they fought,

To dominate or devastate,

The outcome that they sought.

 

With every peck on chest or neck

They sharpened the attack,

Without a speck of guilt to check

If both would make it back.

 

I couldn’t stay to see if they

Would somehow call a truce,

But that display was Nature’s way,

Much more than Mother Goose.

Signal Amnesia

Tech support informed us

There is nothing they can do

For the signal sent by Sirius

Won’t work with Subaru.

 

Not all cars have been affected,

Just the Foresters (of course!)

And the techies have been working

Hard to find the problem’s source.

 

We were told it’s like amnesia,

So the radio forgets

How to access all the stations

And the tech guy had regrets

 

But he couldn’t fix the issue;

Ours will stay an open case

And they wonder why technology

We old folks don’t embrace!

A Visit to MOMA

The puppets from “Pinocchio”

Were beautifully displayed;

Picassos, Cezannes and Van Goghs

Were artfully arrayed.

 

The photographs and furniture

Were waiting to be seen

By locals, tourists, school groups

And all people in between.

 

At MOMA* there is so much art –

Kandinsky, Rothko, Klee –

Just one thing has been missing,

‘Til today, and that was me!

 

*Museum of Modern Art

Paving the Way

A poem a day helps pave the way

For feeling I’ve succeeded

In keeping apathy at bay,

A nourishment I’ve needed.

 

Since most of us have such a crutch,

(It needn’t feature writing)

We might agree that just a touch

Of habit keeps us fighting.

 

We don’t need others to approve,

For they can never measure

The joy our choices do behoove

To bring us daily pleasure.

Half-Asleep

Last night I wrote a poem in bed

When I was half asleep.

It sounded great inside my head

(And sure beat counting sheep!)

 

But in the middle of the night,

All cozy ‘neath my blanket,

My body didn’t want to write;

I thought that I could bank it.

 

The mind, however, won’t retain

A close-to-slumber musing.

It would be best, then, to refrain

From anything but snoozing.

 

So when I woke, not one sweet rhyme

Was left for me to scribble.

A notebook by my bed next time?

With that, I will not quibble.

Incense

In the Real Estate section,

A question arose

About incense within your abode.

Certain buildings have rules

That prohibit its use

And the writer was set to explode.

 

If some candles are lit

For the Sabbath by some,

Why can’t she light her incense as well?

Her religion requires

That incense is burned

But the difference, to me, is the smell.

 

With most incense, the scent

Is intense and, to me,

Has an odor with little appeal,

Which can drift down the hallways

That many do share

Which may impact the way people feel.

 

Yet the candles she cited

Have no scent at all

So the answer I would have dispensed

Was comparing the two

Isn’t fair, so it’s wrong

Over incense to be so incensed.

Murdering Your Wife

If you’re planning to murder your wife,

Using poison, a gun or a knife,

You must plan things with care

Or, if not, then prepare 

To face jail for the rest of your life.

For a husband, who’s now in the news,

Killed his spouse but left multiple clues -

Cleaning agents in bags,

Plus a hacksaw and rags,

All with blood found by DNA crews.

But the evidence that did astound 

Was a Google search officers found

Listing ways to dispose 

So it won’t decompose

Of a body with neighbors around.

So to anyone planning a crime, 

It’s worth taking a little more time

To conceal what you’ve done 

Or you’ll next be the one

Whose stupidity ends up in rhyme.

Not Quite Ready

Some friends are going on a tour;

Invited us to join.

You’d think it would be easy

To decide - just flip a coin.

We’d meant to take a trip with them

When Covid reared its head.

We got our money back; our friends

Rescheduled instead.

Since then, they’ve started traveling,

For life, of course, is short 

And though the tour sounds wonderful,

I am a worrywart.

I’ll mull it over and discuss

But think I’m disinclined,

So once again, my friends will go

And I will stay behind.

National Thesaurus Day

To honor Peter Mark Roget,

Whose birthday would have been today,

This date, each year, is set aside,

For his Thesaurus helps to guide,

Or lead, all those who opt, or choose,

To write, or pen, our thoughts or views.

 

My old Thesaurus, worn and frayed,

I’m sure (or certain) raised a grade

When an instructor did require

(Like every teacher who’d inspire)

Papers which, when all complete,

Did not have words that did repeat.

 

At minimum, or very least,

A synonym adds to the feast

Of parts of speech which we might know

To help vocabulary grow.

So thanks, Roget, for time you took;

I’m grateful for your word-filled book.

 

To me, it’s awesome, smashing, great,

Fantastic, glorious, first-rate,

Magnificent, divine, superb

(For adjective or noun or verb),

Amazing, super and sublime

And so much more that doesn’t rhyme!

Feathering Your Nest

My feather duster shed a plume,

From overuse, you might assume,

But you’d be wrong; my living room

Is good at hiding dust.

 

Yet that stray feather made me muse

On how the furnishings we choose

Provide our visitors with clues

About us they can trust.

 

Our décor, modern or antique

And ostentatious, plain or sleek,

Allows much more than just a peek

At what’s below the crust.

 

Though birds may decorate their nest

With shiny objects they’ve finessed,

Like us, they hope they have impressed

By how they’ve fluffed and fussed.

Pascalou

Walking distance from my home’s

The perfect place for lunch;

It’s also great for dinner and

For those who favor brunch.

 

Resembling a bistro,

It is intimate and chic,

Where meals are eaten leisurely,

If that’s the vibe you seek.

 

The menu’s filled with omelets,

Salads, sandwiches and soup

And various desserts, some topped

With ice cream, just a scoop.

 

The neighborhood is fancy

But the prices aren’t high.

It’s a restaurant where pleasure

Is in bountiful supply.

 

Today my friend and I indulged

In lunch at Pascalou,

The best location for two pals

To have a rendezvous.

Honoring Dr. King

I’ve been to Memphis and the place

Where ML King was shot,

But where I was when it occurred,

I must say I forgot.

 

Of course I grieved, the way I did

When RFK was killed,

Two lives destroyed when both had

So much good to be fulfilled.

 

Assassinations always hurt,

For mostly they deprive

The world of all the victims tried

To do when still alive.

 

The death of JFK, to me,

Is etched inside my brain,

Where all the details when I heard

Indelibly remain.

 

Yet, though it wasn’t quite the same

For Martin Luther King,

His birthday’s a reminder

Of a man worth honoring.

Lost in a Book

Oh, I love to get lost

In a book* I adore,

Where the characters feel

Like I’ve met them before

 

And the subject is one

That is close to my soul

And the writing’s so good

I could swallow it whole

 

For it takes me away

To a different place,

Though there’s so much familiar

For me to embrace.

 

As the pages slip by

I may try to pretend

That the author will never

Give in to an end

 

But, of course, it will stop

And I’m left wanting more,

Hoping pleas for a sequel

Ms. Strout won’t ignore.

 

*(Lucy by the Sea by Elizabeth Strout)

Mailmen

The mailman in the city

Walks the streets with all his mail

And in each apartment lobby

He leaves letters, without fail.

When the buildings tower skyward,

He walks less to do his route,

For with endless boxes waiting

He needs hours to work it out.

In the suburbs or the country,

Mailmen drive from door to door, 

Dropping  bills and correspondence 

And occasionally more.

But no matter their surroundings,

City streets or grassy grounds,

Neither rain nor sleet prevents them 

From completing all their rounds.

Bang!

A classmate brought a gun to school

Back when my son was six.

He showed it to some friends,

Which brought a teacher to the mix.

 

The loaded weapon was removed;

The police, of course, were called.

The news made all the papers

And the parents were appalled.

 

The child was transferred; no one

Ever heard from him again

And fortunately, nobody

Was shot or hurt back then.

 

Yet just this week, another boy,

His mom’s gun in his hand,

Shot his first grade teacher in the chest;

How can we understand?

 

The news reports said no one

Of that age did that before,

But that classmate of my son’s way back

Can only underscore

 

How we’ll never learn that guns in homes

Quite simply don’t belong

And allowing access to a child

Is criminally wrong.

Ins and Outs

This is what life’s all about:

We barrel in and totter out.

 

Along the way, we smile or pout

And try our best to conquer doubt.

 

We may be rebels or devout,

Remain unnoticed or have clout,

 

Yet we survive, in flood or drought,

Our whispers rising to a shout

 

As we fight in our final bout;

Then, like a candle, fizzle out.

My Mother's Book

High on a shelf are some old hard-back books;

Mary Poppins is one on the pile.

An inscription inside, in a neat cursive hand,

Which I recognized, caused me to smile.

 

It belonged to my mom, which she got as a gift

From a teacher in her junior high.

Though it’s faded and worn, I won’t toss it away,

But it’s hard to exactly say why.

 

Such a link to the past is, to me, like a lens

Which allows a brief glimpse of a time

When my mother knew not that a mother she’d be,

Years before from her youth she did climb.

 

So I dusted it off and replaced it up high

On the back of the very same shelf,

A reminder of life when I didn’t exist

And my mom lived her life for herself.

The Coatrack

Down the hall, on holidays,

A coatrack would appear,

Which meant that for some company

Those tenants were in gear.

 

Some folding chairs and tables

Also waited by the door

So when visitors arrived, there would

Be room for many more.

 

As years went by, they didn’t seem

To need those extra seats.

Perhaps they traveled elsewhere

To some kith and kin retreats.

 

But then I heard sad news –

The man in 9F passed away.

For Shiva* calls, a coatrack

Was back in the hall today.

 

We gather for events of joy

Though time will take its toll

And likely someday guests will

Come together to console.

 

*A Jewish ritual of condolence

Urgent Care

Urgent care is where you go

When you’re a little scared

That what you feel might be a thing

For which you’re unprepared.

 

You’d rather not spend hours in

A hospital’s E.R.,

But staying home is stressful

When you’re not quite up to par.

 

So urgent care is something

That is somehow in-between,

For hopefully, by someone trained

You’ll actually be seen.

 

They’ll check you out and send you home

With meds and some advice

To see your doc (or not –

It’s up to you to roll the dice).

 

Before these places did exist,

The hospital was where

Most people went when they believed

They needed urgent care.

 

But nowadays it makes more sense,

Unless you cannot breathe,

To stay out of a hospital,

Where waits may make you seethe.

Right Here

The garbage barge is floating large,

A tugboat smoothly towing.

The seagulls swoop, a noisy group,

To follow where it’s going.

 

I sit and stare, quite unaware

Of who might pass behind me,

But those who know where I might go

Would very quickly find me.

 

Unless it’s wet or winter’s net

Has trapped me and it’s freezing,

I’ll be right here, the river near,

To all my senses pleasing.

Watching

Two years ago today we watched

The Capitol attacked,

In disbelief at all the sense

Our leader surely lacked.

In shock and horror we were glued

To any screen in sight,

As protests turned to violence

From those just thrilled to fight.

Today we watch the circus 

As the House attempts to vote,

Our government still stymied

By some mulishness of note.

A strong conviction’s often worth 

A fight, to some extent,

But once we knew lines not to cross,

Which now some circumvent.

Speaker of the House

It sounds like junior high school,

The vote that will not end,

With people making speeches,

K. McCarthy to defend.

 

The government’s on hold

For no decisions can be made

Until a leader’s chosen,

But the pols are all afraid.

 

Concessions have been offered,

Some of this and some of that.

The easiest solution is –

Elect a Democrat!

Yellow Bird

A man took his bird in a cage for a walk;

It looked at the river and started to squawk.

With bright yellow feathers, it didn’t belong

In a prison, rewarded with seed for a song.

I grew up with a parakeet kept as a pet,

Which flew all ‘round the house ‘til the sun was to set,

Then returned to its cage, which was covered at night,

So it slept on its perch with no way to take flight.

In the summer, when somebody opened the door,

Our bird flew away and we saw it no more.

I would bet if that yellow bird just had the chance,

It would make its escape with not one backward glance.

Moving Forward

School and work resumed today,

The holidays complete,

So now we’re moving forward,

Hoping slips we won’t repeat.

 

Of course, there will be blunders

And perhaps a huge snafu,

But the ways we botch and bungle

Should at least be fresh and new.

 

If we’re fortunate, then maybe

We can laugh at our mistakes

And accept that there are times when

We just can’t catch any breaks.

 

So far things are going smoothly;

Well, at least they are for me,

Thought there’s lots of time ahead

To mess up 2023.