It’s easy keeping things the same;
There’s
comfort in the knowing
Exactly what
you should expect
When coming
or when going.
Yet many
choose to shake things up
And find a
joy in changing
By purchasing
some brand-new stuff
Or simply
rearranging.
While I
admire those who have
The gumption
for the shake-up,
To switch
things out is not for me;
It isn’t in
my make-up.
When disappointments happen
(And of
course, you know they will),
It’s hard to
then remember
There are
good things out there, still.
For all that
you can think about
Is how the
day went wrong,
As if the
positives in life
Don’t really
quite belong.
And minor
setbacks do not rank
With really
awful stuff,
Though for
some people, tiny glitches
Spoil things
enough.
I guess we
have to suck it up
When plans
may crash and burn,
But that’s a
lesson that we’re always
Having to
relearn.
My husband says he wants a horse,
Which could
be reason for divorce.
That’s if
his wish were true, of course,
But it is
simply not.
His horse
fixation is a joke,
Though it’s been
years since he first spoke
Of owning
one; each little poke
Confirming he
forgot
That hobby
horse I gave him, which
I’d thought
would satisfy that itch.
Yet now he’s
on a brand-new pitch
To take
another shot.
We live in
New York city, though;
We have no
place for hay to stow
Nor land for
galloping, so whoa!
He can’t be
hot to trot.
The funny
part is knowing Mel
Would not,
upon a horse, do well.
He’ll hate
this poem, but I can tell
Deep down,
he knows what’s what.
The world is full of whackos
If you listen
to the news,
And not just
those who do not share
Your values
or your views.
It’s not
always mental illness
That makes
certain folks behave
In a way
that spreads discomfort
In the way
they rant and rave.
An unruly
person flying
Bit a
passenger on board,
Just another
fine example
Of the point
I’m aiming toward.
There’s
another tale of someone
On a plane
who left his seat
And attempted
opening a door
At 30,000
feet.
Hey, right
here in New York City,
I have sensors to avoid
All those people on the streets
Who leave me
scared more than annoyed.
Life is
challenging for many
But it seems
at every turn
There’s a
whacko waiting in the wings
To cause you
some concern.
Does anyone still buy, for dad,
Some
cufflinks on this day?
It’s what I
sometimes bought for mine
When shirts
were made that way.
It had to be
a local store
Which carried
varied clothes,
Including the
accessories;
That’s how
the mem’ry goes.
My dad’s
been gone for many years,
Those
cufflinks likely tossed.
His place
within my heart, though,
Hasn’t ever
gotten lost.
I wish a
Happy Fathers’ Day
To all who
fit the bill
And hope,
with cufflinks or without,
Somebody’s
heart you’ll fill.
In the gift shop of the Met*
I watch to
see what people get.
The kids are
mostly drawn to toys,
With Lego
building sets for boys
And for the
girls, a teddy bear
Or other
stuffies which compare.
Women look
at mugs or tees
Or jewelry,
all kinds to please,
While men
check hats or socks or ties,
No need to
bother with a size.
For everyone
within the store,
Of course,
they’re selling books galore.
There,
naturally, are art supplies -
In a museum,
no surprise.
On offer are
pastels and clay,
Plus paints and
pencils on display.
A scarf
collection caught my eye,
But mostly I’ll
give in and buy
When I’m a
tourist; then the urge
For
souvenirs will let me splurge.
*Metropolitan
Museum of Art, NYC
A fireboat goes zipping by;
A seaplane
glides across the sky.
Not many
folks around, but I
Am glad to
be outside.
A group of
sparrows swoop and fly
While joggers,
on a runner’s high,
Race past,
as, with a saddish sigh,
Some elders
must decide
If they
should sit or maybe try
To push
ahead, no longer spry.
I understand
their reasons why,
The past a
faulty guide.
The ferry
empties. Rules apply
For disembarking;
most comply.
My time for
heading home is nigh,
My food for
thought supplied.
