The Art of Voting

Today I voted early

In my early polling place

Which, because of where I live,

Is in a very special space.

 

Through a side door in the Met,

A prime museum in the city,

Is a room set up for voting

By a government committee.

 

In the days before elections,

There is rarely any crowd,

So I quickly fill my ballot,

Then get ready to be wowed.

 

Since as long as I’ve walked over,

I will stay to see some art.

Once my membership is checked, then I

Decide where I should start.

 

This morning, with my spouse,

We saw the Krasner/Pollock show,

In addition to some galleries

With paintings we both know.

 

Also, we took in the drawings

Of Si Lewen; his “Parade”

Has amazing sketches of the War,*

Among the finest made.

 

I’m lucky when I vote, I have

This opportunity

To do my civic duty in the spot

Where treasures wait for me.

 

*World War II

Not a Small-Town Person

I am not a small-town person,

Though I realize its appeal

Must attract a lot of people

Who see life there as ideal.

 

All the neighbors are acquainted

And they frequent the cafes

And the shops and other venues

To fill up the passing days.

 

People mosey on the sidewalks

And they chat out in the yards.

Things seem safe so no one worries

About letting down their guards.

 

In the city, things are bustling;

We don’t know each other’s names.

Learning everybody’s business

Wouldn’t be one of our claims.

 

On the streets, most like to scurry,

Passing tourists who don’t know

That to wait for lights at corners

Isn’t how things ought to go.

 

There are crowds and noise and hustle,

But there’s so much one can do

That however long you live here,

You will still find something new.

 

Now I know there are exceptions.

But in general, it’s so.

Neither lifestyle is for everyone;

Deep down, though, we all know

 

Which will work to make us happy.

Small-town visits bring delight

But it takes the city’s clamor

To make all my cells ignite.

Edith Wharton’s House

At Edith Wharton’s house, we learned,

She wrote each day in bed.

It would have made more sense, to me,

To choose a chair instead.

Her bedroom had a lovely view 

Of mountains filled with trees,

So a comfy chair with desk, I’d think,

Would more than likely please.

Of course, I’m not a novelist,

But when I am at home,

I have a favorite chair to sit in

When I write a poem.

My view is of the buildings 

On York Avenue and yes,

The traffic’s very noisy,

Though I notice it much less

Than a writer with a mansion 

Would allow to fill her head.

Still, at least when I start writing,

I get up and out of bed.

In the Berkshires

We’re in the Berkshire Mountains

And it’s glorious for fall - 

The foliage and sunny skies

Have heeded Nature’s call.

We’re doing all the tourist stuff -

Museums, gardens, trails,

And strolling through some towns and stores,

Which every trip entails.

Our photos capture some of it -

The beauty and the art,

But the timing is, to me,

What really sets this one apart.

For coming down from what were 

Quite emotional events,

We needed such a getaway,

Since what this represents

Is a celebration of the fact

That everything we’d planned

Worked out beautifully despite the stress

I barely could withstand.

It’s wonderful to have the chance

To sigh with great relief

And reward ourselves with travel,

Even though the visit’s brief.

Making a Broom

At Hancock Shaker Village,

We signed up to make a broom,

A skill the Shakers practiced

And perfected, we’d assume.

Our trusty teachers* guided us

With broomcorn, sticks and thread,

Their patience and their knowledge 

Helping us to get ahead.

The actual construction

Was a challenge, I’ll admit,

But some caught on rather quickly;

We did not, but didn’t quit.

The instructors buoyed our spirits,

Guaranteeing we’d succeed

And when trying something new,

That’s really all that people need.

At the end, we left the workshop,

Both our brooms held up with pride.

Though they’re not the most aesthetic,

We felt happy that we tried.

*Robin and Donna

Renewing a Passport

We have no plans to go abroad

And who knows if we will,

But our passports need renewing

And we thought we knew the drill

 

Though applying now is possible

Online, which sounded great.

The problem was the picture,

Quite a challenge to create.

 

We’d answered all the questions –

Names, addresses and the like

And we’d read about the photos,

With the poses we should strike.

 

So we found a plain white wall and smiled,

Without a toothy grin,

And we took each other’s pictures –

That’s when problems did begin.

 

First, the lighting wasn’t bright enough

Or a head was at a tilt.

We’d repeat with the corrections

As our energy did wilt.

 

When we thought we had it perfect,

One last puzzle had us stumped –

Fitting faces in a circle –

Each attempt kept getting bumped.

 

I am glad to say that finally

Perseverance saved the day

And my husband’s efforts got the nod –

Our photos were okay.

 

Now our forms have been submitted,

Which is wonderful, although

It would really be much better

If we had a place to go.

Orange-Leaved Trees

Oh, when I see an orange tree,

(I’m talkin’ ‘bout the leaves),

It brings a dose of joy to me

That not much else achieves.

Combined with yellow trees and reds,

The offerings of fall,

That happy feeling quickly spreads 

And I am in their thrall

Until the season fades away

Or I’m not in a place

Where I can see them every day,

Such beauty to embrace.

I know that others will defend

Their willows or their palms

And they are lovely, I’ll contend,

But I have zero qualms 

Declaring maples, gums and beech,

Whose oranges just glow,

As those which do their best to teach

The lessons they bestow.