After a high point,
There’s no
place to go
But back to
the usual
Life that
you know.
Good feelings
may linger,
A satisfied
air
Which, if
you are lucky,
Will help
you prepare
For the
letdown to follow
That everyone
knows
Happens
after the high point –
That’s just
how it goes.
I ordered a free-standing cabinet,
Despite having
known in advance
It needed to
be
Put together
by me
And my
husband, who viewed it askance.
All the
pieces were labeled quite clearly,
As was each
tiny bag filled with screws,
So we read
the brochure,
Not quite
feeling secure,
Yet we
thought we had nothing to lose.
As we
struggled to follow instructions,
Which had
steps listed 1 up to 10,
We repeated
our vow
That we’d finish
this now
But we never
would do it again.
At the end,
just a couple of hours
Was the time
that it took to complete.
Still, it
wasn’t much fun,
Though once
it was all done,
I felt proud
we’d not bowed to defeat.
Henry found his people
And they’re
up there on the stage,
Where with
the audience, they all
Can
magically engage.
We’ve
watched him since his day of birth
And marveled
at his gifts,
Delighted at
the many ways
He’d give
our spirits lifts.
He’s had to
travel many paths
In search of
where he’d fit
And middle
school has been the place
Where all
the fires were lit.
We sat there
in the audience
And, watching
him perform,
We knew that
what he put out there
Was way more
than the norm.
How thrilled
we were to witness
Our dear
grandson strut his stuff.
His future’s
filled with promise
But to
start, this was enough.
If you own a dog, at some point you
Will be carrying a bag of poo,
At least if you’re considerate
And follow laws regarding shit.
There are some, though, who flout the rules
And think that bagging crap’s for fools.
A joke said, aliens did land
And, struggling to understand,
Determined that the smarter race
Were not the humans, for their place
Was picking up whatever lot
Their masters left with every squat.
In any case, when doggies do
Their business, making number two,
Their owners might hold back a gag
But will be left to hold the bag,
Unless, of course, that they refuse
And leave the mess for others’ shoes.
Technology’s too hard for me;
My brain won’t
let it stick.
I can be taught
a thousand times
But nothing
seems to click.
I would have
functioned better
Living many
years ago
When
everything I’d learned would be
The most I’d
need to know.
Today, when
I see upgrades
I begin to
shake and sweat.
Do I download?
Do I upload?
If you tell
me, I’’ll forget.
On my iPhone
or computer,
If a problem
comes to me,
There’s no
way for me to solve it;
Same applies
to my TV.
Give me
paper and a pencil
And I’ll
have an easy time
Using what’s
left of my brain cells
To set
simple thoughts to rhyme.
It’s easier to take a risk
When youth will thus allow
A bounce-back sensibility
Which now I’d disavow.
For when you’re young, you never think
Of all that can go wrong.
You live your life and merrily
(Or not), you roll along.
Yet age gives your perspective
Quite an unexpected jolt.
It may be building slowly
Or strike like a lightning bolt.
No matter how, you’ll realize that
It isn’t paranoid
To assess a risk you’d once indulge
But now you will avoid.
In life, there is no guarantee
For safety or for ease
And older folk have learned that risk
Can bring you to your knees.
When it’s quiet in the city,
It’s a temporary hush,
A break from all the noises
Of the normal urban rush.
The bustle is suspended
For a holiday, perhaps,
Or the hour’s just so early,
From the hustle there’s a lapse.
When it’s quiet in the country,
That’s the way it’s gonna stay,
Though some birdsong or some scampers
May accentuate the day.
Many love the peace and silence,
Where their stress they can suspend,
But I much prefer the city sounds,
Just waiting ‘round the bend.
