Holding My Hat

It’s sunny and breezy and lovely, but cold

And I’m days away from another year old.

I’m holding my hat so the wind doesn’t steal it,

Pretending the sun’s warmth means that I don’t feel it.

 

The seagulls are swooping, the branches are blowing;

I sit by the river with no way of knowing

How many more birthdays will grant me a candle

And whether what waits I’ll be able to handle.

 

Perhaps if I focus on merely today

And forget about what may be coming my way,

I’ll be able to soak up the sunshine instead

Of more worries than simply the hat on my head.

Not Quite Me

Despite a lovely day with friends,

To catch up with a meal

And a gift of potted daffodils

Which, to me, hold great appeal…

 

A small intrusion of A.I.

Disturbed me in a way

That’s impossible to process

And thus harder to convey.

 

A photograph of me today,

At lunch, a friend beside,

Was followed by an altered one,

Which A.I. did provide.

 

Our friend’s son, who’s a techno whiz,

Created it in jest

To make it look like 1990

And it passed the test.

 

My face and hair looked similar

To how I do appear,

But the clothing and the body

And the earrings made it clear

 

That it wasn’t me, but rather

Some strange version that was made

By a product I don’t understand

And makes me feel afraid.

 

The photo won’t go further

But it gave me just a taste

Of the power of the future

And how we can be replaced.

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.