Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine life without

Your smart phone? Nor could I.

I’d like to think I’d do okay,

But here’s the question - why?

For once all information

Can be ours with several taps,

It makes no sense to yearn for

Times when there were many gaps 

In between the facts we needed

And the knowledge close at hand.

When we wistfully look back, though,

Naturally I understand.

Since the ones of us who lived before

Technology’s advance,

Learned to wait for info, flying by

Our so-called seat of pants.

We had patience, perseverance 

And relied upon ourselves

To get answers to our questions,

Maybe from the books on shelves.

Yes, it’s nice to be rewarded

With whatever we might need

In an instant with a phone and yet,

Who knows where it might lead?

Far From the Nest

I live in an apartment; 

My son lives in a house.

He loves his place as I do mine

And so agrees each spouse.

He’s thrilled with all the space he has

And closeness to his trees,

While I look down from nine flights up

And can’t quite feel the breeze.

Still, I can walk a block or two

To benches by the river,

Where boat and people watching

Lots of happiness deliver.

And if I have a problem

With a pipe that’s sprung a leak,

The super comes up right away;

I’ll never wait a week.

Square footage isn’t very much;

The rooms are merely three,

But museums in the neighborhood

Have lots of art to see.

My son was raised where I still live,

Though it was not his thing.

I’m glad he found a nest he loves

Once he had taken wing.

Thank You, Texas

Thank you, Texas! Thank you, Maine!

What a thrill that this campaign

Ended on an upbeat note

Because so many chose to vote.

 

Thank you, Kansas and Ohio!

Spirits now are flying high, oh!

And in Georgia’s race, the guv

Is one whose win you’ve gotta love.

 

Michigan, New Hampshire, too,

Did what the locals had to do,

As did the Carolinas (both) –

Talk about some bright blue growth!

 

Minnesota joined the crowd,

A Senate seat to make us proud,

While all the blue states, like before,

Had victories with joy galore.

 

This poem is meant to celebrate

An outcome almost worth the wait,

But there’s one thing I can’t let go

In terms of someone sinking low.

 

Ohio’s Vivek ran an ad

So vile, debased and flat-out bad

That he and those who wished him well

Should, all of them, go straight to hell.

On a City Bus

I guess it’s not politically

Correct for me to say,

But riding on a city bus

Was different in my day.

 

I had to fold my stroller;

Hold my toddler in my arms.

Now even double carriages

Won’t set off the alarms.

 

Two women on my bus got on

With giant shopping carts.

The eyes of other passengers,

Including me, threw darts.

 

The driver had to stop to help

A wheelchair guy inside,

Yet there exist disabled vans

They call Access-a-ride.

 

I still can get from place to place,

But traffic’s at a crawl.

It really is a miracle

We get someplace at all.

 

When all is said and done, though,

And I’m close to my arriving,

I guess I must admit the bus

Is easier than driving.

Stuck in a Rut

When I’m stuck in a rut

I see anything but

A way out, for each road I might take

Means one pathway gets shut

And I know, in my gut,

That my chosen one is a mistake.

 

It’s neurotic, I know,

But it’s always been so,

Which is why any change brings such stress.

Then my spirits sink low

For a while, although,

Why I’m like this is anyone’s guess.

 

I can climb my way out

On occasion, no doubt,

When decisions require being made,

But by going this route,

Which this poem is about,

I’m not satisfied, I am afraid.

 

Oh, I envy those souls

Who achieve all their goals

In a calm and content kind of way,

But I have no controls

Over how my mind rolls,

So the ruts I am stuck in hold sway.

A'Buzz

The neighborhood was all a’buzz

On Sunday, for, of course, it was

The New York City Marathon;

Today, alas, that buzz is gone.

 

Yet, what a joy to stand and cheer

For all the runners gathered here

To pound the pavement, varied styles

Of gaits and clothes, for miles and miles.

 

By 5, we headed out for dinner.

Hours had passed since every winner

Got a medal or a crown

And the race was winding down.

 

Still, some stragglers soldiered past,

Mostly walking, no one fast.

Bars and restaurants were packed

And buoyant spirits no one lacked.

 

All in all, a day of glory,

But, like every other story,

It came to its rightful fizzle;

Not all days are meant to sizzle.

Proving I'm Alive

 I get the letter every year

To prove I am alive,

With forms to fill or else

My pension payments won’t arrive.

 

A copy of my license

Or a passport must be sent,

Plus a photo of The Times

On which the date is evident.

 

I have to hold the paper

As the proof that I’m not dead.

At least there’s not a quiz

About the articles I’ve read.

 

Although there might be fraudsters,

I’m insulted at the thought

That I’m being challenged as if I

Am someone they have sought.

 

I am glad that in retirement,

A pension I’m collecting

And I’m thrilled to show I’m breathing,

Not the outcome they’re expecting