Understanding Why

I somehow keep forgetting

To adjust things for my age,

For things I once did easily

Don’t, at this current stage,

 

Let me bounce back quite as fast

So that I still feel the effects

Way beyond the time I did them,

Longer than what one expects.

 

Walking several extra miles,

Which, when walking, felt okay,

Has me totally exhausted,

Though it was the other day.

 

Sleeping less than what my body

Would prefer has its results,

Something that would never happen

To most younger-type adults.

 

Eating what I am not used to,

‘Specially if the food is rich,

Or an extra drink at dinner,

Might produce a little glitch.

 

Many older people fight this,

Since it’s easy to deny

That they need to take things slower;

Now I’m understanding why.

A Smile or a Nod

All I know are faces

With acknowledgements and smiles.

I do not know their occupations,

Hobbies, likes or styles.

 

With few exceptions, even names

Are mysteries to me,

As well as where they live or hints

Of personality.

 

I’m talking of my morning “friends,”

To whom I say hello –

The doormen and the other walkers

I don’t really know.

 

They add a bit of sunshine

To the start of many days,

Without the complications

Some relationships might raise.

 

A smile, a nod, a simple wave –

Enough to thus connect.

Any more might be a disappointment;

That’s what I’d expect.

Central Park

We often take for granted

What’s familiar in our world,

Without the need to wave the flag

We rarely have unfurled.

 

Yet tourists sometimes help us see

How fortunate we are.

By looking through their eyes we know

How high we’ve set the bar.

 

I spent the day in Central Park,

New York’s most precious jewel,

Though many locals get there

Not too often, as a rule.

 

Our visitor from out of town,

Amazed at all the trees,

Made me recognize the beauty

Landscaped perfectly to please.

 

The shady walks, musicians

And the turtles in the pond,

Plus the people-watching chances

Took us to a place beyond

 

All the urban sights we pass each day,

Infusing them with magic.

Taking Central Park for granted

Is not very short of tragic.

Remote Possibilities

Before remotes, we changed the channels

Right on the TV.

We got up from the couch to learn

What there was there to see.

When things got modern, we could sit

And use the new remote 

To flip from show to show, deciding

Which would get our vote.

But now, we have remotes galore 

And I can never tell

Which one to use and so I fiddle

‘Round for quite a spell.

My husband knows the magic trick

To find just what I need.

As long as he’s around

I’ll watch my program, guaranteed.

But at my son’s house, bets are off.

It really gets my goat

That to watch the U.S. Open,

Chances really are remote.

 

If You Love Where You Live

If you love where you live

That’s a wonderful fact,

But you can’t expect others

To always react

 

To your choice of address

With a positive spin,

Especially if

It’s a city you’re in.

 

Oh, I’d never live there –

All the crowds and the noise!

The hustle and bustle

Which no one enjoys.

 

The subways and traffic,

The homeless, the rats;

The crime – have you noticed

The murder rate stats?

 

It’s useless explaining

Your opposite view –

The people to look at,

So much you can do.

 

The buildings, the plantings,

Museums and shows,

The shops and the restaurants

Everyone knows.

 

No matter how hard

You may try to convey

How you feel in the city,

There isn’t a way

 

To convince those who hate it

The reasons you’ve got.

It’s either inside you

Or else it is not.

Empty Seats

I’m watching the Open,

(To me, such a treat!)

Surprised to see every

Unoccupied seat.

The weather is iffy -

There’s been lots of rain.

Perhaps that is why

Empty seats still remain.

Of course, it’s a work day,

With kids back in school,

And sneaking away

Maybe isn’t so cool.

But I don’t regret

That I’m watching from home,

A comfortable place

To be writing this poem.

It’s nice to see sports

Where the action is made,

Though the travel and cost

Make TV a fair trade.

Rumbles of Thunder

There are rumbles of thunder,

Yet, outside, a bird

Is chirping; I wonder

If he has not heard.

For rain clouds have started

Ejecting some drops

At Nature’s imparted 

Commands; movement stops

In the trees, where each leaf

Hangs there quiet and still

For it is my belief

They’ve a job to fulfill,

Which is follow the lead 

Of what Nature decides.

To survive, they must heed

Their instinctual guides.

As the raindrops increase

There is no other sound 

Than the cloudburst’s release;

Not one bird sticks around.