It’s nice on a birthday
To hear from
your friends
And celebrate
where
A warm
feeling transcends
All the stress
you might feel
On an
average day.
Just a few
special people
Can make it
that way.
A meal that
you share
With a candle
and cake
And a car
ride with singing –
That joy you
can’t fake.
The space to
spread out,
Watch a
movie, relax
In a place
where the elements
Cease their
attacks.
Though this
birthday’s not mine,
So far I can
thank heaven
It’s going
so well –
And the
reason? Six seven!
Whatever people eat for snacks,
At home, when they can just relax,
Depends on what their diet lacks
Or what they love to taste.
The salty types, like nuts or chips,
Or pretzels, maybe paired with dips,
Will often find their way to lips
Which end up greasy-laced.
While candies, chocolatey and sweet
Or gummies, quite a different treat,
Might help a craving feel complete
And will not go to waste.
Of course, some snacks are healthy kinds,
Like fruits with pits or citrus rinds,
Or veggies, to convince our minds
Good habits we have chased.
It’s personal what you prefer
And, though my choices may concur
With what you have a craving fer,
My hopes might be misplaced.
For I would rather choke down soil
Than eat the seaweed made with oil,
With sea salt so it will not spoil,
My grandkids have embraced.
Temperatures are sizzling;
Fires burn
and spread.
Salad sales
are fizzling.
(Eat
grass-fed beef instead!)
Immigrants
are terrified;
Deportations
rise.
Flat-out
lies are verified.
Drones invade
the skies.
News reporters
get the boot.
Algae grows
and blooms.
Secret deals
to prosecute
Are made in
private rooms.
Institutions
once revered
Are
shuttered or debased.
Everything we’ve
always feared
Has
happened, in such haste
It’s almost
inconceivable,
Yet somehow
it is real.
We know that
it’s believable,
For nothing
can conceal
The way the
world is crumbling
And only
those in charge,
Despite
their shameful bumbling
And greed
are living large.
I do not see
a way to fix
How bad
things have become,
For nature’s
tricks and politics
Have made me
sad and numb.
A poem about the seasons
Or a pet
gets people reading,
Though only
on occasion
Is that what
the poet’s needing.
Thus, many
verses go unread,
The price of
being selfish,
Preventing
possibilities
Or writing
going shelf-ish.
A journalist
strings words on topics
Given on
assignment,
With facts
and research intertwined
For print or
e-alignment.
But poets
have a great big world
From which
to choose a topic,
Their vision
open to it all
Or sometimes
plain myopic
And if those
other subjects
May prove
somewhat less inviting,
They may not
find a readership,
Yet still
enjoy the writing.
In the children’s ward of a hospital,
Through the
W.P.A.*
A 16-panel
mural
Was, for
patients, on display.
The artist,
Abram Champanier,
In 1938,
Took the Lewis
Carroll characters
From “Alice”
to create
A tale of
Wonderland’s whole cast
As they
visited each site
Of the city
of New York
To fill the
children with delight.
So there on
Lady Liberty,
The subway
and the zoo,
The Empire
State and Steeplechase,
Are Alice
and her crew.
The building
was abandoned
After years
and it was marked
For a
renovation, so a group
Of volunteers
embarked
On a plan to
save the murals,
Which they
managed to preserve.
Our gratitude
is not enough
To give what
they deserve.
The restoration
took some years
And now they
are on view.
A museum**
in New York is where
I saw them;
so can you.
How
wonderful to have a chance
To see each
vibrant scene
And to
reinforce the joy of art
And how much
it can mean.
*Works
Progress Administration
**Museum of
the City of New York
His dog was on a grassy field
That clearly
said, “No Pets!”
Entitlement
in every way,
As awful as it
gets.
For adding
to his flagrant
Disregard of
that one sign,
He puffed on
a cigar, when smoking’s
Also out of
line.
What really
got to me, though,
Was his bag
of doggy poo,
Which he
clutched and looked around,
Unsure of
what he next would do.
Beyond the
fence and out of reach,
A trashcan
on the street
Sat waiting
for deposits
So the
sidewalks would stay neat.
Too lazy to
walk over,
He reached
back and made a toss,
Knowing
that, most likely, he could get
That doggy bag
across.
I watched it
sail and with a plop,
Land, not
inside the can,
But on the
ground right next to it,
Not following
his plan.
I stopped
myself from yelling out
A simple
message: “Missed!’
Since those
entitled might be
Unpredictable
when pissed.
The way the
world is nowadays,
You have to
watch your back,
For those
who get away with things
Are likely
to attack.
In the park was a man
With a stroller,
as well
As a dog on
a leash,
Which he
tried to compel
To begin the
trip home,
But the dog
wouldn’t budge.
Having neither
at hand,
I guess I
shouldn’t judge.
First the
man gave a tug
In a
joking-type way
As the dog
flopped down flat,
Showing he
meant to stay.
Then he
flipped on his back
With his
paws in the air,
Which is
when I moved on,
So though I’m
unaware
Of the outcome,
I’d bet
Not a minute
more passed
‘Til the
leash got a yank
And they
went home at last.
