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.

Planting Evidence

To help nail drivers using a phone,

To which everyone seems to be prone, 

A cop in disguise

Used the trick of surprise 

To create quite a ticket-time zone.

To be honest, each ticketed schlub

Joined the “What the heck?” questioning club,

For the officer was,

In his role as the fuzz,

Dressed, alongside the road, as a shrub!

Where They’re Headed

Where do all the people go,

The ones who share the road?

For certainly not everyone

Is in vacation mode.

Are they visiting a relative 

Or dropping in on friends?

Maybe off to work or out to shop?

The traffic never ends.

I wish that I could stop each car

And take a little poll,

But certainly such action

Would exact a heavy toll.

For the last thing that is needed

Is to interrupt the flow,

So as far as where they’re headed,

Well, I guess I’ll never know.

My Earrings from Skye

My earrings from the Isle of Skye

Got complimented twice

And though I wear them for myself,

Acknowledgement is nice.

 

A local Scottish artist

Finds the sea glass on the beach

And forms it into shapes, at prices

In most tourists’ reach.

 

The ones I bought are silver

And they look like dangling fish

Filled with colors to resemble

What they’d look like as they’d swish.

 

But the best part when I wear them’s

Not attention to their style;

It’s the memory of being there

On that delightful isle.

Entitled

It sounds pretentious if I claim

The title of a poet.

Though people know I write in rhyme,

A whole lot more don’t know it.

 

If I am asked what job I do,

I say that I’m retired,

For teaching was my livelihood;

No details are required.

 

My poetry takes precedence

In my post-teaching years.

A poem a day is what I write,

Yet I’ve not changed careers.

 

If I had, I’d be a poet

And would say so if you asked.

Maybe in the recognition

Of my prowess, I’d have basked.

 

I’ll acknowledge it’s a hobby

Which takes up a lot of time

And within my soul, I’m proud

Of what I get to say in rhyme.

 

Yet, unlike the average doctor

Who must be addressed as such,

I’m uneasy using titles

Which don’t matter very much.

10 for 10

The supermarket had a sale

On hummus, which I buy.

The price, though, was peculiar

And I wish that I knew why.

 

The average cost, $3.99,

Or thereabouts, I’d say,

Was down to just a dollar,

But expressed a different way.

 

“Try Sabra Hummus! 10 for 10,”

The second 10 the price.

But who would purchase 10 of them

When just one would suffice?

 

In days gone by, such offers meant

You had to buy all 10

Or else the price went back

To what it should be, once again.

 

But that is not the case today –

I bought one for a buck,

A discount so unusual

It must make shoppers cluck.

 

Yet still, I just don’t get it.

Though the sale sign did entice,

If it said, “Today – one dollar!”

It would sound, to me, as nice.

Preserving the Past

At a history museum, 

Main Street, Milford, in Pa.,

Is a giant flag with blood,

That may be Lincoln’s, on display.

Aside from that, ephemera 

And lots of local lore

Wait for patrons who are visiting

To take time to explore.

I marveled at the hand-sewn quilts,

Their stitches small and neat,

And the menus from hotels, where lunch

Was forty cents to eat.

A woven cradle, clothes and hats,

Old irons, plus the boards,

And uniforms from soldiers 

Were just some of the rewards 

For visiting a building 

Which preserves life in the past.

Who knows how long collections,

Like this treasure trove, may last?

I must admit, though, that what I

Liked best that I did see

Was the dog of the director,

Just as friendly as could be.