Planning a Special Day

To try to plan a special day

Is tougher than it sounds,

For sometimes circumstances make

Some choices out of bounds.

 

Of all the problems one could have,

This one won’t even rate,

Yet still, it’s nice to find a way

To get to celebrate.

 

A brand-new venue possibly

Won’t work out to one’s taste,

But there won’t be surprises in

A place that’s been embraced.

 

The effort spent on research

Might just frazzle someone’s nerves

And there might be second guessing

In a place that one reserves.

 

Maybe visiting a favorite haunt

And ending with a meal

Will bring home the point that special days

Are really no big deal.

Extra Innings

More baseball teams will play today,

The season in full swing.

For fans who’ve waited months, there is

Much joy that this will bring.

A friend who read my prior poem,

Comparing life to sport,

Responded with an observation

That I’d cut life short.

For even if we find ourselves,

In years, close to the end,

So many other factors may

Our time on earth extend.

Since there are extra innings played

In certain baseball games,

The bottom of the ninth might not

Be all that it proclaims.

So thank you, Ira, for that note -

We may not be in clover,

But quoting Yogi Berra,

“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over!”

Bottom of the Ninth

It’s opening day (that’s for baseball);

The season’s officially here,

With fans set to flock to the ball fields

To watch, buying hot dogs and beer.

 

If life were compared to a ball game,

Each inning a decade or so,

We’d root for our home team, while knowing

The game’s sometimes boring and slow.

 

Yet other times, there is excitement

And we take the lead in the score,

Without any way of predicting

What action is waiting in store.

 

There’s a break in the 7^th for stretching,

When the game’s cut as if by a knife,

Which is like when it’s time to retire

And confront what is left of your life.

 

Then the players get back in position,

The outcome still up in the air,

But there isn’t much time to the finish

And perhaps not much power to spare.

 

Now my husband’s a bit of a joker;

This baseball/life theme’s his, not mine,

Yet when he said we’re in the 9^th inning*,

I knew I would pilfer that line.

 

*The title is what he actually said about

where we’re at, which cracked me up…

No Kings

On Saturday, the nation will

Join forces east to west

To protest this administration,

Easy to detest.

 

Called “No Kings” with no explanation

Offered or required,

There will be large-scale gatherings

This “leader” has inspired.

 

To show support, I thought I’d buy

Some “No Kings” merchandise –

A hat or tee or even

Some lapel pins would suffice.

 

The quickest way to find this

Would be Amazon, for sure.

No matter what you think about it,

Speed’s its biggest lure.

 

So I was shocked when, on the site,

Most “No Kings” items shown

Could not or would not be delivered

(Cue the sad trombone…)

 

Until at least the 28^th

Or after; either case

Would get here past the point

When “No Kings” day had taken place.

 

I don’t think it is paranoid

To see Jeff Bezos’ role,

For when it comes to Amazon,

He’s kind of in control.

 

Ironically, this underscores

How vital is this cause,

For when greed and power rule, we’ve learned,

The kings make all the laws.

A Drizzly Mist

I went for my walk in a drizzly mist,

An umbrella not really required.

If I got to choose weather, I’d get this dismissed

Since it leaves me quite far from inspired.

For my glasses were speckled, which always annoys,

And my jacket, not waterproof, wettish.

This weather brings none of the usual joys,

My appearance more mussed, less coquettish.

I don’t need the sunshine to brighten my walk

And I know I won’t melt if it’s raining,

But a drizzly mist somehow gets me to balk 

And, with rhyme or without, start complaining.

An Irish Band

Went to see an Irish band 

For a late St. Patrick’s day

In a little local restaurant

Not very far away.

The fireplace was crackling,

The menu Irish-based,

The Guinness fresh and flowing,

All just perfect for my taste.

The 3 piece combo sang and played

Guitar and pipe and flute.

A banjo and a concertina

Joined the fun, to boot.

We rarely get to do this 

But as time makes it advance,

We should grab each opportunity 

While we still have the chance.

Missed Call

Years ago, if someone called 

And you were not around,

You’d never know about it 

‘Til another chance was found.

And then a new invention

Called the answering machine

Allowed a message to be left

For someone not on scene.

The mobile phone changed everything 

For data’s always saved -

The date and time of all the calls,

The dreaded ones or craved.

A few are labeled “Scam Alert”

But many sneak on through,

With numbers in your area,

Like someone that you knew.

Yet if a “Missed Call” notice shows

Without a message left,

Assume it was a bogus call 

And do not be bereft.

And sometimes, what’s recorded

Will not set your mind at ease,

For I’d rather get a missed call

Than a message in Chinese!