Look Around

Look around your home and see

Your furniture, your rugs,

The pictures hanging on the walls -

Like old familiar hugs.

For every item you have placed -

Inherited or bought -

Is there to help create the space

That somehow you have sought.

We start out small, collecting

Things we like and can afford

And often there’s a goal in mind

We gradually work toward.

Our tastes may change throughout the years

But there will be a thread

Of special objects to connect us

To the lives we’ve led.

So though we may redecorate,

We’ll likely never part

With those various reminders

Which give every home its heart.

 

Rainless

We’ve had so many days without

A single drop of rain

That trees and plants are suffering 

From lack-of-water strain.

For people, it’s been wonderful -

With so much time outside, 

The joy of crisp fall weather

Paired with sun can’t be denied.

Yet animals are hurting and

Most crops are fading, too,

Though there isn’t really anything

To help that we can do.

Yet, there are reports that Thursday 

We’ll experience some rain.

I’ll miss these lovely sunny days,

But I will not complain.

A Marriage

In a marriage, it is lucky 

When the spouses are in sync,

Which does not mean they concur 

In all the ways they sometimes think.

Still, if they are in agreement 

In most big important ways,

There’s a level of contentment 

Which infuses all their days.

When they complement each other,

With their talents or their skills,

Then the time they spend together

Forms a union which fulfills.

I am part of such a marriage 

And so grateful to have found

Someone I can always count on

And be glad to be around.

The Hole Story

The pumpkins placed upon the steps

To set a scary mood

Were attractive both to look at

And to squirrels, too, as food.

 

At first, they nibbled here and there

But then were on a roll

And chewed their way inside

Via an ever-growing hole.

 

On every pumpkin (there were four),

These entries could be found

And seeds or some discarded bits

Were scattered on the ground.

 

My husband caught, on video,

One squirrel peeking out,

Then exiting with one quick leap

While others milled about.

 

And soon another made his move,

An acrobatic dash,

His last until next year, for what

Was left’s now in the trash.

Brett’s Big Birthday Bash

Brett threw himself a party

Since he hit the big 4-0

And there never was a question if

We would or wouldn’t go.

He planned it with his mother’s help

And catered in the food, 

With jars of flowers on the tables

For a festive mood.

A slide show played with photos

Showing years of happy pics

As the guests all met and mingled,

Quite a varied friendly mix.

Several people took the stage to speak

And what stood out to me

Was what every tribute mentioned,

Not just generosity,

But the many ways that Brett has shown

To family and friends,

So much caring and affection,

Which, once started, never ends.

The party was delightful

And all gathered there for Brett

Surely’d join me in the hope this was

His favorite birthday yet.

(Brett, like my daughter, his girlfriend, 

has “special needs.”)

Whittling Down

As we age, we whittle down

The things that we can do

Or the ways that we can do them

So we last the whole day through.

I’ve whittled down my exercise

And how much I can drink.

My energy’s been whittled 

And my brain’s begun to shrink.

I’ve whittled my acquaintances,

Though some were not my fault

And my memory’s been whittled 

Or locked in a keyless vault.

I’ve whittled down my travels

And my need to shop and buy.

Some hobbies have been whittled,

Which I loved; I don’t know why.

My knife is sharper than my mind

So I won’t be belittling

The ways it goes about its job,

As time goes by, of whittling.

At the Auction House

The public is invited to

The auction house before

The art is bid on, sold and then

Is carried out the door.

 

Since I live close, I love to go

To check out the display

And wonder ‘bout the patrons -

All that money they might pay.

 

I couldn’t really picture

A Picasso on my wall

Next to pictures of my family –

That just wouldn’t work at all.

 

Plus, some modern pieces, which, to me,

Were boring or bizarre,

Were expected to fetch millions;

Famous painters raise the bar.

 

Still, I felt so privileged just to see

What private owners hold,

Even though it won’t be me

To whom the auctioneer yells, “Sold!”