Biting the Dust

February bites the dust

As every month and season must

And we’ve no choice but to adjust

As life goes flitting by.

 

On calendars we’ll turn the page

And check the mirrors, where we’ll gauge

How different we look as we age;

Reflections do not lie.

 

Yet March is waiting ‘round the bend.

On its arrival, we’ll extend

A lukewarm welcome to pretend

Misgivings don’t apply.

 

Before we know it, one more year

Will gobble days and disappear,

But hopefully, we’ll persevere,

With rhymes yet to supply.

Gray Vs. White

The pigeons and seagulls were having a fight.

(Reporters might call it the “Gray versus White.”)

Lined up on the railing, awaiting some food,

There seemed to be tension, an ominous mood.

 

Since in that location, for year after year,

The pigeons have roosted; they’ve made their career

Of circling over the benches to wait

For the lady who feeds them, a sunrise-time date.

 

But lately, the seagulls have gotten the word

Of this ritual, squawked and relayed bird to bird,

So the railing’s been crowded as it’s ever been

With the early morn quiet disturbed by the din.

 

The fight wasn’t physical; no feathers flew,

Though the circular flying meant double the poo.

As I passed on my walk, I just hoped that my luck

Would hold out or you might hear me yelling out – duck!

Backlash

The publisher of Roald Dahl’s books

Thought changes should be made

To make the books “inclusive,”

But attention has been paid

 

With many writers speaking out

To criticize the plan

(Despite the fact that Dahl’s ideas

Made many not a fan).

 

An example that I read of

Would remove the use of “fat”

If a character was overweight –

Now what’s the use of that?

 

What they’d substitute, I wonder;

Still, most children are aware

Of dishonesty in writing

As in life, which isn’t fair.

 

Yet another word replacement

Would be “parent” used instead

Of both “mother” and of “father,”

If one’s gone – divorced or dead.

 

Or if someone has two mommies

Or two dads, perhaps they mused

That by substituting “parent,”

Kids would not then be confused.

 

Still, a writer’s words are sacred

And reflective of the times,

Therefore, posthumous replacements

Feel like literary crimes.

 

Now the publisher’s decided,

After unexpected flak,

There’ll be two competing versions,

Which, to me, seems out of whack.

Order, Order, Order

I can order, order, order

And return, return, return.

I’m an Amazon supporter

But I guess I’ll never learn

 

That the odds of really finding

Something perfect while online

Takes a mountain of reminding

That most things won’t wind up mine.

 

Either it appears in person

Nothing like when on the screen

Or my views on it will worsen

When my mirrors intervene

 

Or the comfort level’s lacking

Or it’s sparking zero joy;

Then it’s time to send it packing,

Keeping truckers in employ.

 

So it’s back to the computer

Where I’ll start my endless scroll.

Surely I’ll find something cuter –

I can feel it in my soul!

MagnaTiles

School is closed, the grands are off

And both are home, each with a cough.

Aside from iPads, books and art,

What kind of project could we start?

The MagnaTiles, once a fave,

(Which luckily, their folks did save)

I dug out from a giant bin

And so the building did begin.

They each worked on their separate parts,

Both using their designing smarts 

And long before they lost their steam,

They joined together as a team.

A boy and girl, two years between, 

Don’t often to the same things lean

And yet today, they made it work,

Their dual pride an extra perk.

The castle done, with lots of praise,

They each went on their separate ways,

But I was thrilled I got to see

Some lovely sibling harmony.

On My Keychain

On my keychain there are keys

To what, I have no clue.

“Just throw them out,” my husband says

And that’s what I should do.

 

Yet there’s a little nagging thought

That someday I might find

The locks those keys will fit and if

They’re gone, I’m in a bind.

 

For if I take them off the chain

And stash the keys away,

The odds of finding them again

Get lower every day.

 

At some point in the past, I knew

Just what each one was for,

But like my aging brain cells,

They can’t help me anymore.

The Stairs

Our B&B room, 2 flights up,

Was fine for us at first,

Until the freeze arrived and then

Those feelings were reversed.

 

For when we left our room to get

Some early exercise,

The stairs and handrails wore a coat

Of ice, a real surprise.

 

We aren’t young and what we knew

Quite strongly in our guts

Was that attempts to get downstairs

Would land us on our butts.

 

The hosts were not around and so

We waited ‘til we felt

The sun perform its magic

As the ice began to melt.

 

An hour later, we could leave,

The lesson paramount,

That age has consequences

We must take into account.

Breakfast at the B&B

At breakfast at the B&B

Four couples shared the meal.

For those who like their privacy,

That may not quite appeal.

Yet conversation did take place,

At least in fits snd starts

And everyone made nice,

Nobody throwing any darts.

As different as we were, though, 

We shared stories and some laughs,

With no one talking politics

Or making any gaffes.

Once plates were cleared, we headed out

And wished each other well,

A pleasant breakfast for us all,

As far as I could tell.

Free Bird

As soon as vandals sliced his cage,

The owl took his leave,

Escaping into Central Park,

Quite easy to achieve.

His name is Flaco and he is

Magnificent to see,

As birders post their sightings 

Every day since he’s been free.

At first, there was concern that he

Would not catch any prey 

Or that he’d eat a poisoned rat,

With death the price to pay.

But soon enough he proved that he

Possessed that inborn skill

That guided him to where and what 

He needed for a kill.

Employees of the zoo did try

To lure him back to base,

Though once he’d tasted freedom

He preferred the open space.

The latest news reports announced

They’ve halted their pursuit,

So Flaco is forever free,

Worth much more than a hoot.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever climbed a tree?

Paddled rapids? Tamed a flea?

Have you touched a chimpanzee?

At one, I’ve been successful.

 

Have you dived into a lake?

Baked a cake or held a snake?

Have you used ID that’s fake?

My choice was not too stressful.

 

Have you ridden on a mule?

Won at pool? Cut some school?

Have you disobeyed a rule?

For one of those, I’m yes-ful.

 

All of us have things we’ve done

Or haven’t; still, for everyone

To learn the ways we’ve each had fun

Might end up quite impress-ful.

The Back Burner

If there’s one thing I excel at,

(I am really quite a pro)

It is using the back burner,

Which, in case you didn’t know

Means procrastination, baby!

Putting things off for so long 

I forget I meant to do them,

Which I guess is kind of wrong.

Still, I do deserve some credit - 

The ideas are all my own:

Swapping couches for replacements 

Or an upgrade to my phone,

Sprucing shelves up in the kitchen,

Ditching clothes that I don’t wear,

Having floors both stained snd sanded,

Planning trips to who-knows-where.

Once I pounce upon a project 

I do research, so I know

All the people I must contact 

So I’ll be all set to go.

You’d think gathering the info

Would present the hardest part,

But for pros like me, that’s nothing -

What we cannot do is START!

Mischief

My whirligigs are whirling 

Since the wind has come to call

And my windsocks’ arms are twirling 

Like they’re gearing for a brawl.

The temperature is dropping

Back to wintertime degrees

And the gusts will not be stopping

‘Til we all begin to freeze.

Mother Nature is enjoying

Making mischief these days; hence,

‘Tween the seasons we’ll be buoying

As she laughs at our expense.

What I Need

To keep me going, what I need

(Aside from kith and kin)

Is time to walk and write and read 

Each day, through thick and thin.

Of course, there’s food and drink, I guess,

And music and TV

And crossword puzzles; I confess

They mean a lot to me.

Still, spending hours with those who care 

(Up close or on the phone)

Is what supports the way I fare

When I am on my own.

And in that space, I read and walk,

Plus take the needed time 

To listen as my brain cells talk

And capture it in rhyme.

No, I Don't Need a Bag

I have a little shopping sack

That folds into a square.

It’s nylon; tucked inside my bag,

I hardly know it’s there.

 

The one I carry’s navy blue

With lots of bright green stars

And it is strong enough to schlep

Some boxes, cans or jars.

 

In stores, they ask, “You need a bag?”

For they’re no longer free.

I shake my head, unfolding mine

And I am proud of me.

 

Of course, I never carried one

When bags were given out

And if I didn’t have to pay,

I’d use the store’s, no doubt.

 

Yet now I do my little part

(Whatever it is worth)

To save some pennies, but of course,

To help out Mother Earth.

On This Day of Valentines

Inside of each of us, a heart 

Is ticking to a beat.

A cardiologist would find

The rhythm rather neat.

Our hearts are there to do a job

To help us stay alive.

Without their pumping motion

All our organs couldn’t thrive.

Yet all the credit is assigned

To hearts for how we feel. 

Though brains control emotions,

They don’t have as much appeal.

So on this day of Valentines,

I boldly will refrain 

From pledging love with all my heart,

But rather from my brain.

Talking on Zoom

When you’re talking on Zoom

You are in the same room

Or at least you believe you could be,

Though you shouldn’t assume

You can quickly resume

Conversations from previously.

 

Though it has its appeal

And it seems pretty real,

There’s a distance that you must traverse

And you just have to deal

With the way that you feel

When from various spots you converse.

 

Still, it’s better than naught

If connections you’ve sought

And you get to see everyone’s face,

For if most of us bought

Lessons we have been taught,

Long time friendships are hard to replace.

The Thrift Shop

The thrift shop takes donations –

Clothing, housewares, jewelry, books

And much of it is junk, but some

Deserving second looks.

 

I rarely make a purchase but

At times I fill a bag

With items I no longer use

For them to sort and tag.

 

It hasn’t happened yet, but still,

I wonder how I’d feel

To see a stranger wearing

My old clothes – would they appeal?

 

I ditched them for a reason

But to see them looking fine

On another person’s body,

Would I wish they still were mine?

Fauna of New Yawk

A bunch of birds were pecking

On some pizza they had found,

Which someone had abandoned

And discarded on the ground.

 

A few blocks later was a mouse

Which scurried to and fro,

Apparently in search of

Someplace warm where it could go.

 

I also saw some squirrels

Perched upon a river rail,

Where a guy was tossing breadcrumbs,

Like each morning, without fail.

 

If you add in all the pigeons

And the squirrels that I pass,

Plus the dogs who do their business

On the sidewalks and the grass

 

You will have a clearer picture

Of the fauna of New Yawk

And their noises, from near silence

To a chirp, a bark or squawk.

Who Knew

Years ago, when men wore hats

And women heels instead of flats,

Who knew unsaturated fats 

Were somehow kind of healthy?

When TV’s were in black and white

And folks dressed up before a flight,

Who knew that every deep-fried bite

Would need us to be stealthy?

When ice cream cones cost 15 cents

And pronouns didn’t cause offense,

Who knew with rules some could dispense 

And wind up smug and wealthy?

Beautification

A hideous construction site

I pass most every day

Has been totally transformed

With student artwork on display.

 

A city council member

Teamed up with a local school

Having students sketch Manhattan,

Ending with results so cool.

 

The fifth-graders painted taxis,

Famous buildings, even food

And of course, our well-known statue,

All with New York attitude.

 

What a wonderful solution,

Turning urban building blight

Into such creative efforts,

To the neighborhood’s delight.

 

*Thanks to Council Member Julie Menin

and the 5^th-grade students of P.S. 183

Visited the Whitney

Visited the Whitney*

For the Hoppers – what a treat!

A gathering of works with which

Few artists can compete.

 

Yet in a separate little room

A different treasure lay –

A film of “Calder’s Circus”

With its figures on display.

 

For Alexander Calder,

He of mostly-mobiles fame,

Put together, out of wire,

And deserving of acclaim

 

Every animal and acrobat

That we’d expect to see

At a circus, bringing them to life.

(At least, he did for me.)

 

With a twinkle in his eye,

He made the dogs and horses prance,

While the trapeze artists flew

And Fanni did her sexy dance.

 

There’s an elephant and lion

And a strong man and some seals,

Every figure bringing laughter

And how-did-he-do-that squeals.

 

Though I went to see the Hoppers,

I was thrilled with them, despite

Thinking Calder’s wire circus

Brought to me the most delight.

 

*The Whitney Museum of Art, Manhattan,

which currently has an Edward Hopper exhibit.

A Big Occasion

To mark a big occasion

There should be a special meal,

Most often in a restaurant;

(At least that’s how I feel).

 

Today’s the anniversary

Of when I met my mate,

So therefore we will dine somewhere

Outside to celebrate.

 

Without a reservation

We’ll just stroll around the ‘hood

And peek at menus, noting

If the food and drink sound good.

 

It’s not our usual routine,

But after all these years,

Most anyplace will do to eat

And toast this date with beers.

Walking in the Dark

It’s magic walking in the dark,

The sidewalks empty, shadows stark

And dogs have not begun to bark;

There’s promise in the air.

 

The birds are waking in the park,

Each chirp a beak-to-beak remark

And on the river, tugboats hark,

En route to who-knows-where.

 

When daylight breaks I disembark

From reveries the pre-dawns spark

As I confront the question mark

Of how the day will fare.

Running Rampant

When words are running rampant

You just have to rein them in.

By lassoing a few of them,

At least you can begin.

 

They’ll buck and kick and race around,

Defiantly at first,

Especially the adjectives –

You know that they’re the worst.

 

But once you calm them down and let

The verbs and adverbs mix,

The nouns and pronouns may decide

To use their bag of tricks…

 

Releasing prepositions

And conjunctions by the score.

You want some interjections?

Hey! You couldn’t ask for more.

 

If all the parts of speech are caught

You don’t have an excuse.

Without a poem resulting,

You should go and let them loose.

 

So string them all together

And you’ll possibly succeed

In creating, from these random words,

Some poetry to read.

Different

Everybody’s life is very

Different from our own,

For preferences and habits

Are just ours and ours alone.

It’s strange, but even family 

And yes, our closest friends, 

Will make choices not in sync 

With what our being recommends.

Of course, there are no rights or wrongs - 

Each person is unique

And finding what works best for us

Is what we all do seek.

I marvel at the ways in which

We choose from life’s buffet,

Our meals so varied though we face

The same exact display.

Wind Chill

The temperature is 21 -

Though cold, it fits the season,

But that does not explain why,

While out walkin’ I was freezin.’

For when you factor wind chill in,

It feels like single digits 

And teeth that chatter from the cold

Have naught to do with fidgets.

The streets are strewn with boxes

Left out for the garbage truck,

Which, when hit with gale-force blastings,

Couldn’t help but fly amok.

To those who aren’t used to

Cold that chills you to the bone,

Blame it mainly on that wintry wind 

That won’t leave us alone.

A Recollection

It’s strange to have a memory

That no one else can share.

I asked my brother but he was

Too young, though he was there.

 

My bedroom lamp, with two glass globes

Was missing one and so

I placed my doll’s straw hat right where

That globe was meant to go.

 

Of course, it rested on the bulb

And soon began to smell

As smoke began to fill the air

And I began to yell.

 

My mother ran into the room

And fixed things as I cringed.

I never saw that lamp again;

The hat was slightly singed.

 

I wonder, were my mom alive,

If hearing this would spark

A recollection of that day

Which left, on me, a mark.

The Right Lane

When driving, if your speed is slow,

It’s always recommended

That to the right’s where you should go,

As road rules have intended.

 

The left lane is for passing or

If maybe you are speeding

And middle lanes may help ensure

That traffic flow’s succeeding.

 

Among most drivers, there exists

A tacit understanding

That anyone who thus resists

Will face some reprimanding.

 

So driving slowly on the left

May earn some bright lights flashing

Or someone on your tail whose heft

May threaten rear-end bashing.

 

It isn’t nice, but most of us

Would actually expect it

And those affected rarely fuss

But grudgingly accept it.

 

Yet lately some aggressive fools

Are tailing right lane drivers

In violation of the rules,

Which may leave no survivors.

 

The attitude I see today,

Which seems to be contagious,

Is “Me, me, me – don’t block my way!”

On roads, it is outrageous!