New Year's Eve

Another year has come and gone;
It’s hard to comprehend.
Although it’s proper to move on,
We must absorb the end.

But first we should reflect a bit
And savor, like a wine,
The highs and lows we can’t omit
From two thousand and nine.

Each person has a private list;
It’s not required to share.
Both bad and good things do exist;
Ignore them if you dare.

It’s natural if you think you must
Unpleasant times erase,
But realize, just like when you dust,
More dirt will take its place.

So focus on the upbeat days
That sprinkled you with magic;
And manage to avert your gaze
From moments that were tragic.

For each new year’s a brand-new start;
We wipe the tablet clean,
And hopefully we can outsmart
The bad that lurks unseen.

The calendar awaits, afresh
With dates for us to fill;
The ups and downs – they will enmesh.
By now, we know the drill.

So let us start another year
With hope that once again,
Our joy will far surpass our fear
In two thousand and ten.

Pissed Off at the Movies

I went to the movies to see a new flick;
There were quite a few to choose.
But the theater’s bathroom made me sick;
For women, that ain’t news.

I don’t require tiles of pink
Or flowers on display,
But why must I smell such a stink?
You’d think that they could spray!

And I could write a movie plot,
A real detective caper,
‘Bout stalls equipped with diddly-squat
Instead of toilet paper.

Plus, every door should have a hook
To hang your bag and coat,
But most are gone – what kind of crook
Would such a crime promote?

Although some movies are superb,
The bathroom often sucks.
Such negligence sure does perturb,
Especially for twelve bucks!

Haircut

I never like getting my hair cut;
It’s awkward and I’m ill at ease.
If the hairdresser is unfamiliar,
How she’ll do offers no guarantees.

So you sit and you stare in the mirror,
Are confronted with proof of your age;
And you chit chat and watch her and wonder,
Is she good? But you really can’t gauge.

As she snips and engages in small talk,
You sure hope her diploma implies
That she’ll finish and you won’t be left with
A strange person you don’t recognize.

But no matter the outcome, I figure,
As she calculates what I am owing,
That tomorrow I’ll wake up and know that
My short hair will already be growing!

Surf City

The surf store in my neighborhood
Finally did close.
The ocean’s miles away
And so it figures, I suppose.

I never really understood
Who were its clientele;
Although, of course, a surfer can
Within a city dwell.

But where’d they take their lessons?
The East or Hudson River?
I’d think that both would lack the waves
An ocean could deliver.

I hope the customers have found
A new place they can surf,
With possibly some better swells
Than New York City turf!

Flat Tire

Sometimes on the road of life,
No matter where you’re at,
You realize you’re not moving
‘Cause a tire has gone flat.

You cannot just ignore it;
It will not fix itself.
And unlike things like clutter,
You can’t hide it on a shelf.

It must be dealt with quickly;
The problem must be patched.
And if you’re far away from help
Your plans may just get scratched.

But often it’s a hassle
That requires some attending,
And then you’re on your way again,
The inconvenience ending.

And so you journey onward,
With tire fixed and steady;
But something else may trip you up
Of course, when you’re not ready.

Remember as you travel,
Wherever you have driven,
In life you have to handle
All the flats that you are given.

Neighbors

A neighbor in distress last night
Did knock upon our door;
Although we do not know her well,
Her plea we’d not ignore.

She didn’t want to be alone;
The ambulance was coming.
We opened up our home to her;
To nerves she was succumbing.

My husband, in a soothing tone,
Relaxed her, like a balm;
And though anxiety remained,
She struggled to stay calm.

The police and EMT’s arrived;
They strapped her on a gurney.
I scribbled our phone numbers
And they took her on her journey.

I tracked her down today to see
If she had been admitted;
She told me yes, but she’d get out
As soon as was permitted.

She thanked me awkwardly, I felt,
Although it did suffice.
The irony is that to us
She wasn’t very nice.

She never smiled a greeting,
She complained we were too loud;
And surely she was mortified
That we saw her so bowed.

I guess there is a lesson:
Don’t give in to the freedom
To antagonize your neighbors,
‘Cause someday you might need ‘em.

A Christmas Memory

A long time ago on a Christmas day,
My husband and I, on a trip, away
From New York’s always-open status,
Got some advice, which was offered, gratis.

We’d asked the hotel clerk if he’d recommend
A restaurant nearby where we’d hoped to spend
A few passing hours by candlelight,
Two non-celebrants on a Christmas night.

The clerk was astounded and with harsh gaze,
Said something like – pardon the paraphrase –
“All restaurants far as the eye can see
Are closed today, and that’s how it should be,

‘Cause everyone has cause to celebrate.”
Our question did nothing but aggravate.
So dinner that night was a chocolate bar,
Some apples and wine we had in the car.

We ate and drank, settled beside the fire;
Turns out that much else we would not require.
And next day we woke at the crack of dawn
And indulged in a true breakfast marathon.

I remember this day almost every year
And several things jump out at me real clear:
The clerk was so wrong, because on this date
There are many folks who do not celebrate.

And in New York City, they hear our voices,
So we do have quite a few restaurant choices.
I also realize that when you are young,
And circumstances cause you to be flung

Beyond your control, you will get right through,
Especially if there are two of you.
Years later, I smile as I do remember
That New England trip in a cold December.

Wherever you’re eating your Christmas meal,
I hope that there’s love in your heart to feel.
If you’ve someone to share it with, you’ll be fine,
Even if it’s some chocolate, fruit, and wine.

Gifts

In this season filled with giving,
Many folks would sure be miffed
If they got a greeting card
That didn’t come complete with gift.

There’s a certain expectation
That a present’s de rigueur;
So we give in and go shopping,
Burdened by this season’s chore.

What to get for teenaged nephews?
How about long-distant niece?
Siblings? Parents? Friends and doormen?
Never does the list decrease.

Car mechanics and beauticians,
Mailmen, nurses, secretaries,
Therapists, garage attendants,
Those who lie in cemeteries.

Write a check to feed the hungry,
Send in funds to help the sick.
All diseases want donations;
Can’t depend on Old Saint Nick.

Shop in stores or on computers,
Mark each person on your list;
Double-check ‘cause you don’t want to
Face the person you have missed.

Finally, you’ve made selections;
Purchases are in the mail.
Naturally, you realize later,
Everything just went on sale!

Still, it’s finished, done, completed;
You can breathe in real relief,
‘Til you open what you’ve gotten
And you stare in disbelief.

‘Cause it’s rarely what you wanted,
Even though the effort’s there;
Your recipients may feel the same
But now you just don’t care.

All you know is that you struggled,
Hoping each gift would announce,
You are loved – I gave my best shot –
It’s the thought that really counts!

Grown-Up

I met my son for lunch today.
He paid; it was his treat.
I didn’t order very much,
But it was still so sweet.

You never really think of this
When kids are young and clinging,
That someday roles will be reversed
And for the check, they’re springing.

Their babyhood went much too fast,
Their childhood took a minute;
And suddenly their lives are theirs
And you’re glad if you’re in it.

So to young parents, heed my words
And savor every part
Of your child’s progress through the years
And seal it in your heart.

For way before you’re ready to
Acknowledge they are grown,
Your children have flown from the nest
And you are all alone.

I know that it’s supposed to be
Exactly as I’ve written;
But as a mother, you’ll remain
Forever proud and smitten.

I hope one day that every mom
Can feel her job complete
When having lunch with her grown son,
In every way a treat.

Stress

When things in life do overwhelm
And everything you second guess,
You are no longer at the helm –
You’re first mate on the S.S. Stress.

Bombarded by a storm at sea,
You’re battered and cannot progress;
The gods ignore your paltry plea –
You aren’t on their list to bless.

No matter whence your problems come,
What counts is that they do oppress;
And you will grab at any crumb,
Succumbing to a false caress.

For friends’ and relatives’ advice
May help to make your anguish less;
But often you will pay a price
When inner fears you do express.

The life preservers may appear
Accessible to ease distress,
But often it’s not very clear
If you’ll reach safety with success.

It may be tempting to decide
To jump ship if you don’t possess
Somebody who is qualified
To help your worries to regress.

But if you find a kindred soul
To be supportive, more or less,
You’ll hopefully regain control
And rise above the day’s duress.

The sea may not return to calm -
I cannot lie with real finesse;
But having help may be the balm
To soothe you in the midst of mess.

So grab that life vest with full force
And change all negatives to yes;
And set sail on a different course,
Where you won’t need an S.O.S.

Procrastination

I’m a member of a tribe
That needs no application;
Not Cherokee or Navajo,
It’s called Procrasti-nation.

You’ll know if you are one of us,
Can tell if you belong;
I’m not proud to admit it,
But we’re many millions strong.

Our bills are paid last minute;
Our gifts are always late.
Library books are oft returned
Beyond the stamped due date.

For tests we’re used to cramming;
We shouldn’t be admired.
We miss those special offers
‘Cause it’s too late – they’ve expired.

Forget our best friends’ birthdays;
Put off mopping up the floors.
Actually we do delay
Most of the cleaning chores.

We should make those appointments
With doctors to see yearly.
The dentist’s office had to call –
I meant to go – sincerely!

Our thank you notes are written,
Just waiting to be mailed.
If doing things last-minute were a crime,
We’d all be jailed.

There isn’t any cure for this,
Though you may speculate;
You’re either born an early-bird
Or you procrastinate.

And if you are a member
Of the tribe, the indicator
Is if our motto does appeal:
“I think I’ll do it later!”

Hype

Dear Weatherman, I have a gripe
About your dark prediction:
Too often you build up the hype;
It’s just like an addiction.

A storm’s a-brewing, coming soon,
You utter, so bombastic.
Better be inside by noon!
I wish you were sarcastic.

On the radio you blurt,
Now batten down the hatches!
Shoppers go on high alert;
Reality detaches.

Panicked folks prepare and then
Await the storm’s arrival,
Pondering the hour when
They’ll fight for mere survival.

Snow arrives, but hours late;
Starts with just a dusting.
Still the fear does not abate;
People are so trusting.

Plans are canceled, rearranged
In anticipation.
Dire predictions haven’t changed,
No alleviation.

Snow continues, leaves a coat;
Roads are icy slick.
Weatherman gets set to gloat,
‘Cause that’s what makes him tick.

But ho! The blizzard soon subsides
And for the weathercaster,
This unexpected turn provides
A taste of true disaster.

The loyal listeners are numb,
And shake their heads in wonder.
They know that next time, they’ll succumb
To the weatherman’s next blunder.

Bad News

Sometimes you cannot avoid it;
You’ll be hit with a negative smack.
It may be some news you’ve prepared for,
Or likely a sneaky attack.

You’re losing your job or your car or your nerve;
Your child’s been arrested or worse.
Your spouse is unfaithful with Tiger-like claws;
You feel like you’re under a curse.

Your credit card debts have exceeded the max;
That lump is malignant - it’s cancer.
That fight with your friend means your friendship might end –
You call – she refuses to answer.

Your wallet’s been lifted – they stole your ID;
Bad weather has canceled your flight.
Your stress level’s climbing right up to the roof;
You’re tossing and turning all night.

Your meter expired – your ticket awaits;
You slip on the ice and need stitches.
No matter how carefully you plan your day,
You can never rule out sudden glitches.

So as each new day dawns, steel yourself and expect
To be knocked for a loop with bad news;
And if you’re left alone, thank those stars up above,
But tomorrow, prepare for the screws!

Chanukah Candles

On Chanukah evenings, my brothers and I
Would make bets on which candle would last.
As gambling goes, the sheer pleasure of that
To this day still remains unsurpassed.

I sit here tonight, miles away from my sibs,
And stare at the flickering flames;
I’m rooting for candle 5, just in my mind;
There’s no one to honor my claims.

My husband won’t join me – he can’t understand
How this magical moment of truth
Can carry me back through the years that have passed
And return me to days of my youth.

So come on, candle 5, you can do it, I’m sure –
Don’t surrender or give up the fight;
I’ll be disappointed if you fizzle out,
But the memories fill me with delight.

Craft Fairs

At a craft fair, in the stalls,
Folks display their wares;
Hoping that a customer
And sale will soon be theirs.

Jewelry and pottery
And scarves made out of silk
Are laid out creatively
With objects of their ilk.

Most are lovely, special, rare,
Utterly unique;
And the artisans await
Acknowledgement they seek.

“Here I am – here’s what I do!”
Their products help beseech.
“Do you like me? Am I good?”
I hear their silent speech.

Such naked yearning gets to me;
It seems a bit unsettling,
And so I always compliment
Whatever they are peddling.

So much of it is beautiful
But even if I hate it,
I feel the maker’s need to please
And I won’t devastate it.

So I peruse, appraise, inspect –
I compliment and smile;
And after it’s appropriate,
I mosey down the aisle.

Sometimes I do buy a piece,
For me or for a gift,
And I can tell my purchase
Really gives a needed lift.

I do admire artists -
They create to self-fulfill;
But someone who appreciates their work
Gives them a thrill.

It’s really human nature
That most people will construe:
If someone likes the job you do,
They probably like you, too!

So next time at a craft fair,
Take your time at each design,
And realize that much more
Than jewelry is on the line.

Turbulence

Most flights, even if they’re smooth,
Will hit a patch of pitch;
It cannot be prevented and,
It’s not a pilot’s glitch.

You’re reading, chatting, or a-snooze,
And suddenly, you’re jolted.
A flight attendant reassures,
“The pilot’s haven’t bolted.

It’s just a little turbulence.
Your seat belt must be buckled.”
Easier for her to say,
While you sit there, white-knuckled.

Usually the calm returns.
The bumpiness recedes,
And folks relax and breathe relief;
The journey now proceeds.

It’s just like life: we travel on
A road whose ruts are hidden;
And sometimes, unexpectedly,
They trip us up, unbidden.

But hopefully, we straighten up
And reattain our bearing;
Though surprises wait for us,
There’s really no preparing.

Still we venture out each day,
For hope is instrumental;
Though turbulence may come our way,
We hope our ride is gentle.

Vacation

Tomorrow I'll be back at home
To sleep in my own bed,
And in Room 306, there will be
Someone else instead.

Someone's feet will stand where mine
Have stepped into the shower;
Maybe flakes of me remain,
If maids did not quite scour.

New people will sleep upon
The mattress and the pillows;
They'll sit on the balcony
And gaze at palms and willows.

Other folks will shade themselves
Beneath hut 508;
They'll be working on their tans
While mine evaporates.

It's a strange phenomenon
To have the realization,
We're on and off the carousel
When we are on vacation.

Eating Out

For many people, eating out
Is just about the food.
They don't care if the atmosphere
Contributes to the mood.

Is the chef inventive?
The ingredients real fresh?
Then that's enough for them, whether
In France or Bangladesh.

Others need a spectacle,
With sommelier and waiter;
Fancy dishes, tablecloths,
A top-notch decorator.

The sauces are quite complex,
The wine list is extensive;
In other words, as you might guess,
The meal will be expensive.

I love to eat in restaurants,
But my concerns are few:
Decent food and candlelight
And on tap, frothy brew.

I also savor crisp french fries
And food that's not too spicy,
A friendly vibe, pie a la mode,
A wine list not too pricey.

If I could eat outdoors - that's great!
In winter, near a fire;
And casual's what I prefer
For ambiance and attire.

Although I don't sound fussy,
Don't possess food-snob syndrome,
If I can't find a place I like,
I'd rather eat at home!

Cutting the Line

Waiting in line is just something we do
Quite often, in varying places;
In theaters, at movies, in markets to pay,
At airports with rolling suitcases.

We line up to enter museum or court
Or any historical site,
So we can be scanned and our bags can be checked
And few people put up a fight.

Need a new license? A passport or stamp?
Join us as we count each minute,
Reading or chatting or grumbling 'cause
Time's a'wasting and we are stuck in it.

But every line, whether snaking or straight,
Has a set down acknowledged decorum;
We patiently wait until someone does not -
And then we cannot just ignore 'em.

Yes, you know who you are - Yes I'm talking to you:
The obnoxiously boorish line-cutter.
Most of us will just stare, shake our heads, roll our eyes,
But a few will do more than just mutter.

For there's always one soul with a really big mouth
Who will challenge the line-cutter's game.
"There's a line here, you know - you must get to the back!"
But the line-cutter suffers no shame.

He might lie - "I was here" or feign ignorance, but
Other waiters will soon get involved;
And it usually ends just the way that it should,
With the cutter gone; problem resolved.

But sometimes a lineholder makes a mistake
And accuses an innocent soul;
In that case accuser should promptly be told,
"Who died and put you in control?"

It's funny to me, that this chutzpah is shared
By line-cutter and phony accuser;
They have personality traits I abhor
And each one, equally, is a loser.

So here's my advice, if you're waiting in line:
Think your thoughts, read a book, close your eyes.
Mind your business and never cut into the line,
And there'll be no unpleasant surprise.

Sunset

Watching the sun as it sinks in the sky
Is quite an incredible thing;
It makes me aware of how tiny we are,
Though to our self-importance we cling.

Perfectly circular, yellow, and huge
It slowly slides into the sea,
Not really conscious or giving a hoot
That it is the sky's V.I.P.

And people line up with their cameras set,
Awestruck and caught in the magic;
And as it descends they forget, for a bit,
All the rest of life - comic or tragic.

There aren't too many diversions like this
That can blot all our worries and cares;
That's the sunset's true power to me, though of course
With a rainbow, it hardly compares...

Quiet

Living in the city, constant noise assaults the senses;
Tuning out or tuning in remain our best defenses.
So unless you plug your ears with I-Pod or CD's,
Prepare to be accosted by the city's jamborees.
Sirens blare from ambulances, fire trucks and cops;
Trucks and buses chug on by and screech when making stops.
Cars and taxis honk their horns despite impending fines;
Toddlers tantrum and we're tortured by incessant whines.
Clothing stores blast music and it's not Bach or Corelli;
Meat is sizzling on the carts and inside every deli.
Subway cars careen into the stations with a rumble;
Even in the library the level's more than mumble.
Garbage trucks and car alarms can rouse you from your bed;
Often they are loud enough to even wake the dead.
Yet some pockets do exist for quiet contemplation;
Finding them is certainly a cause for celebration.
If you cannot find a park or refuge, I've no doubt,
That you can be New Yorkerish and baby, tune it out!

Symbiosis (to Mel)

Plants need water; stamps need glue.
Bricks need mortar; hair: shampoo.
Cars need gas; food needs spices.
Technogeeks need new devices.
Dogs need leashes; letters: stamps.
Folks in wheelchairs need nice ramps.
Zoos need visitors, so do shows.
Igloos wait for Eskimos.
Bands need tubas; singers: mics.
Hiking boots help out on hikes.
Laundry needs detergent; church needs sinners.
Marathons need runners, with some winners.
Teeth need toothpaste; dentists: drills.
Roller coaster riders require thrills.
Tattoo artists must have ink.
Skaters need a skating rink.
Gyms need trainers; schools need teachers.
Stadiums require bleachers.
Beds need pillows; sailboats: sails.
Hammers must desire nails.
Symbiosis sees us through,
Which explains why – I need you!

My Yellow Coat

Someone told me, just today,
I looked just like a daisy.
I was not in costume and
The speaker wasn’t crazy.

I was attired in my coat
That’s bright as a canary;
And when I wear it, it attracts
A constant commentary.

It’s yellow as a taxicab
And takes a day that’s gloomy,
Transforming it to something sweet
And jazzy and perfumy.

My other jacket’s navy blue,
My down-filled one is black;
But wearing them I’m so aware
Of what they really lack:

Pizzazz and dazzle, perk and punch,
A burst of sunny gold;
When I’m wrapped in my yellow coat,
I’m something to behold.

Packing

Leaving for vacation soon -
I really must get cracking.
Though I have all the things I need,
I dread the thought of packing!

Never know just what to take;
Can’t predict the weather.
Clothes are strewn around, but I
Can’t get my act together.

Should I take some long-sleeved shirts?
The weather could be breezy.
While I agonize, my husband
Makes it look so easy.

He was done two days ago,
With not a second thought.
I keep second guessing things -
I am the queen of “ought.”

I ought to take those extra shoes,
Perhaps just one more dress;
My suitcase may not even close,
My closet’s still a mess.

I try on outfits – can’t decide
If I need all this stuff.
I overpack but worry that
I might not have enough.

And then the jewelry debate –
Which earrings will I need?
No matter how I plan I’ll still
Forget some, guaranteed.

Once toiletries are done –
I hope my husband packed sunscreen –
I have to gather newspapers,
Some books and magazines.

The camera? Check! My medicine?
Some makeup, phone and charger;
Anxiety is growing as
My list keeps getting larger.

Yet somehow it will all get done,
No matter how I curse;
And in a week, repeat again,
But only in reverse.

Healthy

So many people that I know
Don’t care ‘bout being wealthy;
They do obsess on one thing, though:
The need to eat what’s healthy.

A bowl of Cheerios each day,
Or oatmeal, bran, and fish
Will keep the bogeyman away;
At least that’s what they wish.

And red yeast rice or fish oil pills
With beta-carotene
Can chase away whatever ills
May try to intervene.

My friends and I will reach a stage –
Our bonds will have to sever;
‘Cause I’ll die at a normal age –
And they will live forever!

Expectations

“You’re capable of so much more,”
Is something often said.
Though it might mean a compliment,
It’s oft received with dread.

For it implies that you are not
Producing all you could.
If you’d put some more effort in
You would be more than good.

You might be great or wonderful,
Perhaps inspire awe;
Imagine all the accolades,
The crowds that you could draw.

But now, alas, you’re just okay.
Of course, we still feel proud;
But just try harder, and I’m sure
The world would just be wowed!

Heroes

Shocking news ‘bout Tiger Woods,
Now a fallen hero.
Role models sure drop like flies;
We’ll soon be down to zero.

One by one they do succumb
To various temptations;
Sex or steroids, cash or fame
Can spoil their reputations.

Everyone can possibly
Become a lowlife cheater,
But I won’t lose faith until
I hear it’s Derek Jeter.

Humbug

Thanksgiving’s over, ‘tis the season;
Jolly doesn’t cut it.
If you’re joyful, for each reason
I will so rebut it.

Hate the crowds in every store,
Despise required gifts;
Christmas music I abhor –
My spirit never lifts.

Catalogues attack in droves;
E-mails keep repeating.
Baked goods reek of mace and cloves;
Stores’ decors competing.

Ho Ho Ho’s get on my nerves;
Elves are not appealing.
Often one thinks he deserves
More than his gift’s revealing.

TV specials clog the air:
“A Wonderful Life” again?
Announce these feelings if you dare
And see what happens then.

Folks will furtively agree,
But with an asterisk.
If you push them, guarantee
You’re taking quite a risk.

For even though most do complain:
“There’s so much left to do!”
They overwhelmingly retain
That Santa point of view.

It’s hard to argue with a trend;
We’ve learned Scrooge is a villain.
I’m sure that some I will offend
With this humbug I’m spillin’.

Yet others might concur, I hope;
If so, please stand and shout it.
We’ve just a month left – can we cope?
At times, I really doubt it.

But never fear, the days will fly;
The madness will be stopping.
We’ll have a year to fortify
Before next Christmas shopping.