The Rhyme

The rhyme is deep within me;
It’s always been right there.
If someone can’t relate to it,
Too bad – I just don’t care.

Most poetry’s not rhyming,
Though once, it was the rage.
The modern poets scoff,
But rhyme still pulls me to the page.

I love its bouncy rhythms,
Adore its symmetry.
The playful patterns are a part
Of what appeals to me.

Some mystifying magic
Is programmed in my brain:
A prose thought gets converted
In a way I can’t explain.

Before I know what’s happening,
It’s almost like a dream,
The rhyming words are huddling
And conjuring a scheme.

I’m merely an observer,
A conduit of sorts;
The verses line up, waiting
Like opposing teams in sports.

I set them down on paper,
Then type them up real neat;
And after some finessing,
They feel final and complete.

Tomorrow there’ll be new thoughts.
I’ll be sure to make the time
To gather them and marvel as
They reemerge as rhyme.

Getting Around

I took a different train today
From what I often take.
I had an errand leading me –
It wasn’t a mistake.

I’d checked the map and learned the route;
It wasn’t hard to do.
In fact, it felt familiar,
Seemed like something I once knew.

So now I have another way
To travel ‘round the city.
Sticking to the same old path
Some folks would think a pity.

There still are subway lines to which
I am a total stranger.
What’s prevented me is much more
Circumstance than danger.

Perhaps one day, I’ll need to use
A new train on the map.
I’ll add it to my repertoire,
A feather in my cap.

The Time

While walking on East 88th Street,
Heading to the train,
I was absorbed in reverie
So I felt mild disdain

When someone asked me for the time.
I glanced around the street
And realized that the voice
Originated at my feet.

A homeless guy was still abed,
All bundled in a blanket
Upon a mattress, soiled and stained;
A website could not rank it.

He looked at me and I at him;
He scratched around his crotch.
10:30, I replied
After I’d glanced down at my watch.

While he remained quite prone
I just continued on my way.
I wondered if 10:30 was
The time to start his day.

Neighborhoods

Every city neighborhood
Is like a separate town.
Each one is a precious jewel
In New York’s regal crown.

Some are funky, young and hot;
Others more demure.
You can feel the difference
In a minute, I am sure.

East or west side, up or down –
The choices can amaze.
It shouldn’t really matter
Whether others pan or praise.

If you’re a native, you’re aware
Of residential love:
The neighborhood in which you live
Should fit you like a glove.

If someone wants to criticize
The place you’ve built your nest,
Let negatives slide off your back –
For you know what is best.

When you stroll through your turf,
You should feel calm, relaxed, and proud.
Put-downs based on where you live
Just shouldn’t be allowed.

I often wonder, though, how strangers
Moving to this city,
Figure out where to reside –
There should be a committee.

If such a forum did exist,
One person from each zip
Could represent the neighborhood,
Extolling all that’s hip.

But as it stands, a newcomer
Must find it out by trial.
A walk around will make it clear
In just a little while.

If asked, we natives certainly
Have much advice to give.
We’d all agree our neighborhood
Is where you oughta live.

Jack Bauer

I fell asleep
So I missed out
On “24”
But I’ve no doubt

That what I’d hoped
That I would see
Did not occur
On my TV

The show is almost
At its end
Yet still the rules
Will never bend

Before it goes
I hope that I’ll
Be privy to
Jack Bauer’s smile!

Worm

Today I saw a fat dead worm
On New York’s far east side.
I wondered how it landed there
And where it did reside.

It lay, unmoving, on the sidewalk,
Glistening from rain.
Wherever it was headed to,
It made the trip in vain.

There wasn’t too much soil in sight,
A bit ‘round planted trees;
That worm was surely inching there,
Proceeding by degrees.

It probably got so confused,
In Yiddish, that’s farmisht;
And soon, before it knew what hit,
That worm had gotten squished.

A lesson can be learned from this:
Although you think you’re strong,
You take a chance by venturing
Where you do not belong.

New Glasses

With new glasses, the aim
Is to locate a frame
That will be a good fit.
So, before you commit

You must try many pairs
As your mirror self stares.
Does the shape fit your face?
Is the color off-base?

Is the style much too bold?
Is it youthful or old?
Does it accent your nose?
Will it clash with your clothes?

Are they funky enough?
Do they make you look tough?
Is that green just too weird?
Will it jar, like I feared?

I’ll admit I am slow,
And quite picky, I know;
But you don’t want your face
Looking like a disgrace.

After trying a lot,
One pair just hit the spot.
I had help to decide,
But I’m quite satisfied.

With the time I did spend,
Patience won in the end.
Somehow there should be classes
On how to choose glasses.

Familiar

Eating in a restaurant
You’ve eaten in before
Is comfortably familiar –
You know what’s there in store.

You recognize the waiters;
The menu looks the same.
The food will be delicious
(Or if not, t’will be a shame).

You can relax and order;
The time is opportune
To drink a toast and know that you
Will come again real soon.

School Clothes

I pass the students dressed for school
In sneakers, sweats, and jeans
And wonder if they are aware
Of what that freedom means.

For when I went to school, I couldn’t
Dress the way they do.
Ask kids today ‘bout what I say –
They haven’t got a clue.

We had to have two sets of clothes –
One was just for school.
For girls, a skirt and blouse would do;
For boys, slacks was the rule.

We all wore shoes and carried Keds
On days when we had gym.
If you forgot to bring them,
Man, the outlook sure was grim.

On Fridays, for assembly,
We wore white shirts and red ties;
Our bottoms clad in navy –
Patriotic, I surmise.

As soon as three o’clock rolled ‘round
And we were all dismissed,
We ran right home and changed our clothes;
Now “free time” could exist.

We never questioned why this was;
Those were the rules back then.
We dressed for school each morning
And each day, we changed again.

They actually sent us home
If boys wore jeans, not pants;
And girls, in winter, froze our legs –
We didn’t stand a chance.

Today’s kids have it easier,
But they don’t even know it.
The rules are so much looser,
It’s quite hard to really blow it.

So when you see some school-bound kids
With shorts or ripped-up tees,
Think back to when, in school,
We couldn’t wear our dungarees.

These changes in decorum,
Unlike ours, stuck to the letter,
Make life today much easier –
But we looked so much better!

The Understudy

After an audition,
When an actor gets the news:
“You’ll be an understudy;”
I’d think he might have the blues.

The work is overwhelming,
Just to memorize each line;
But he may never get the call
To hit the stage and shine.

Yet every night he goes to work
And wonders, if by chance,
Like someone on the sidelines
He’ll at last be asked to dance.

I don’t know the statistics
Of how often there’s a need
To summon understudies
To take over for the lead.

But that’s what happened last night
When I went to see a show.
At first it was a let-down,
Quite a disappointing blow.

But then the understudy
Took his place upon the stage,
And from the get-go he should know
The crowd he did engage.

He had the total package –
The looks, the voice, the chops;
And as the audience warmed up,
He pulled out all the stops.

With much enthusiasm
We drowned him in applause.
The other actors, too, were great,
But he got more because

He’d finally had his moment.
It probably did seem
That he was in the middle of
A most delightful dream.

I hope he gets another shot,
‘Cause what I did observe
Was that the leading role
This understudy did deserve!

(for William Michals in "South Pacific")

Disruption

Imagine you’re a traveler
About to board a plane.
You’re told you cannot fly
Because of some volcanic rain.

You’ve finished your vacation,
Or maybe it’s just starting,
Yet you are stranded and you hear
No planes will be departing.

You’re sitting in an airport,
Uncomfortable and bored.
You cannot grumble, grouse or gripe
‘Cause you’ll just be ignored.

The plans you’ve made so carefully
Have all gone up in smoke.
It’s like a nightmare that came true
As soon as you awoke.

People can’t return to work;
Lives are put on hold.
Disappointment won’t allow
Some folks to be consoled.

I can’t imagine being stuck
Without an end in sight.
I empathize but cannot picture
Sharing in their plight.

When Mother Nature does her thing,
It’s useless to complain.
We’re merely pawns appearing briefly
On her vast terrain.

So we must sit and bide our time
And acclimate to waiting,
Even though the situation’s
Endlessly frustrating.

We worry every time we fly:
Think terrorists or crashes;
But who would think we’d have to fret
About volcanic ashes?

Longer Days

Since we’ve moved the clocks ahead,
The days just seem to stretch.
It’s like there’s now a painting
Where there used to be a sketch.

I love the way the sunshine
Seems to linger so much longer;
Because of that, my energy
Is ever so much stronger.

There’s time enough to saunter,
After dinner, by the river.
The extra daylight gives us views
The darkness can’t deliver.

The rooms inside are honey-lit,
The light bulbs are a’snooze.
We’re helping Mother Earth by cutting
All the watts we use.

The streets are filled with people;
The parks are all abuzz.
At 6 p.m. a month ago,
That isn’t how it was.

In wintertime, I hibernate;
It’s tempting just to hide.
But on a day like this one,
It’s a joy to be outside.

Planning a Trip

When planning a vacation,
Many people take their time.
They really do their research
To find out when things are prime.

They search for every website,
Buy some guidebooks, maps, and such;
They’ll be prepared so well
They’ll never get caught in the clutch.

They’lll find the cheapest airfare
And assess the local weather;
All the best hotels and deals
Will seem to come together.

Every aspect of their trip,
Right down to where to eat,
They’ll finalize way in advance –
Each detail tied up, neat.

Other folks, like me, for one,
Decide upon a place,
Then find a tour whose details form
A clear-cut data base.

Let experts do the legwork.
I’ll coordinate my dates.
I may compare competing tours
To reconcile the rates;

But basically, I’m apt to trust
That things will work out fine.
Although I didn’t do the work,
The trip will still be mine.

Those traits of personality
Determine how you plan.
Each of us can pinpoint
Where we fit in nature’s span.

So if you go for details
And like tapping all the nails,
You can only blame yourself
If any aspect fails.

But if you let somebody else
Construct your journey’s frame,
You lessen your anxiety –
And have someone to blame!

Quilting Truckers

Heard a story ‘bout some truckers
Who had learned to knit.
It relieved the tedium
Between trips quite a bit.

Others took up quilting,
Said it soothed their road trip blues.
Doesn’t seem the kind of hobby
Truckers often choose.

But – why not? A surgeon,
Often male, must learn to sew;
Nothing in genetics
Tells our hands which way to go.

So men, as well as women,
Certainly should take up knitting,
Quilting, or crocheting
Without any thought of quitting.

We frequently fall prey to
Those assumptions based on gender.
Each of us should strive to be
A stereotype ender.

Let truckers knit and nurses box
And bronco riders cook.
Society would prosper and
Republicans get shook.

The world could be a better place
If we all modeled truckers;
And those who cannot join us
We’d consider out-of-luckers!

(feel free to substitute your own last line!)

The Audience

An audience can make a show,
At least for all the actors.
I know some folks would argue
There are more important factors.

I guess that’s true, but having been
On both sides of the stage,
To know if you’re successful,
Trust the audience to gauge.

Though humor is subjective,
If you’re not sure if you’re funny,
Check the faces in the seats
For smiles real wide and sunny.

And if you’re really lucky
And you hear explosive laughter,
You can be quite certain
You’ve achieved what you were after.

In drama, there are other signs –
A hush that you can feel;
People weeping tell you
They believe your part is real.

But if the audience is cold,
The show must still go on.
It might seem like eternity
Until they’re finally gone.

Yet soon another night rolls ‘round;
A new crowd has been seated,
And hopefully you’ll get those vibes
You’d like to have repeated.

Last night the audience was great;
They gave us all a lift.
I hope they know their laughter
Was the oh, so perfect gift.

Take Two

Tonight is my second chance
Up on the stage
To see if the audience
I can engage.

The lyrics are solid
(They should be – I wrote ‘em!)
But to really deliver,
I’ve gotta promote ‘em.

I’ve gotten advice:
“Write them down on your hand.
That way they’ll be right there,
At your command.”

That might work, but I’d rather
Just rein in my nerves,
So the audience soaks up
The show it deserves.

I’ll give it my best shot;
Last time I fell short.
Stay tuned ‘til tomorrow –
You’ll get my report.

Housework

My husband likes to vacuum
And he does it every day.
I’ve never really asked him why,
But I know what he’d say:

“If I don’t do it, who will?”
But he knows very well
There’d come a time when I’d be drawn
Under the vacuum’s spell.

But it would not be every day,
Perhaps just once a week;
For vacuuming does not provide
The soothing that I seek.

I do not like to clean at all
Unless I’m really bored;
And I’m aware my home won’t win
A housekeeping award.

But something in the vacuum’s roar
Or back and forth propulsion,
I guess is so appealing
It becomes like a compulsion.

You may assess the cluttered state
Of my abode with shrugs,
But never doubt the cleanliness
Of all the floors and rugs!

Pansies

Not every pansy has a face,
But check out those that do;
You will swear that all of them
Are looking right at you.

Unlike daffodils and mums,
Or tulips, daisies, roses,
Pansies aren’t friendly
In the way that one supposes.

Their tiny faces seem to be
Fixed in a constant sneer;
It’s quite surprising, ‘cause folks think
How docile they appear.

But look a little closer
And you’ll see in their expression,
A readiness to judge you
And a hint of true aggression.

A pansy seems to hide behind
Its velvet bursts of hue;
But don’t be tempted by the ‘smile’
You just might misconstrue.

Gather a bouquet for me
Of buds and blooms profound,
But when it comes to pansies –
I prefer them in the ground.

Enticing

A store sent me a coupon;
It really was enticing.
A lesser dollar value
Would still have been sufficing.

I went and paid a visit,
And ambled up each aisle;
Thinking of my coupon,
I couldn’t help but smile.

Like getting something gratis,
I felt I’d won a prize;
I didn’t understand why they
Just didn’t advertise.

Instead they mailed a freebie
And lured me to the store;
I guess they hoped that folks like me
Would purchase so much more.

But I spent close to what they gave;
I didn’t really splurge.
I stayed within the lines and let
My spendthrift ways submerge.

The store did lose its gamble
On me, one lone consumer,
But even now they probably think
I might be a late bloomer.

But they’d be wrong – I’ll spend enough
Whenever I am needy;
But dangle bait my way
And I’ll be cautious, never greedy.

I don’t know if I’m typical,
But merchants, pay attention:
If you think you’ll get rich this way,
That’s a misapprehension!

Breaking Routine

When you do something daily,
When you’re in a routine,
It becomes automatic;
You become a machine.

Be you gym rat or cook,
If you’re really committed,
You must stick to the plan
Though your teeth may be gritted.

You’re determined to follow
Every self-induced goal,
But sometimes life spirals
Beyond your control.

There may come an occasion
When you have to lose out
On a meal or the gym,
Even though you’re devout.

If, like me, you’re afflicted
With obsessive syndrome,
You hate missing your daily
Routine, like my poem.

I’ve been able to keep up
My once-a-day musing,
But know that I’ll miss it
One day – not my choosing.

So I’ll try to prepare
And I hope I’ll succeed;
Soon there might come a day
When my poem you won’t read.

Though my readers are few,
I believe you are there;
I write most for myself,
But I do think you care.

So if you check my blog
And there’s no poem in sight,
Know that I’m quite distraught
I had no chance to write.

Walking the Bridge

I’ve driven over the Brooklyn Bridge
Many a day, for years,
And each time I’d be struck by
How majestic it appears.

But walking it is different.
You can savor every stride,
And something unexpected
Sort of bubbles up inside.

It’s magical and special
And available to all;
Yet so many New Yorkers
Never heed its siren call.

The tourists make the journey;
All the guide books give it mention.
But locals pass it by and do not
Pay it much attention.

I recommend a saunter there
At dusk, with lights aglow;
And as you stroll, you, too, will be
A native in the know.

Blew It

Last night I had a chance to shine;
Instead, I really blew it.
I’d practiced time and time again
And hoped I’d breeze right through it.

I’d written all the words myself
And had them memorized,
So when I drew a blank on stage,
I really was surprised.

I’m not all that experienced
With this type of performing.
I should have improvised, but really
No ideas were swarming.

Instead, I helplessly sang out,
The piano player playing,
“My lyrics I’ve forgotten!”
All my nervousness displaying.

The audience applauded
Even though I came up short;
I really did appreciate
Their comforting support.

My colleagues tried to buoy me up
With praises, for my sake.
I knew that they were much relieved
It wasn’t their mistake.

But though their words were so sincere,
With real encouragement,
I was so mortified their kindness
Barely made a dent.

Yet still, I’ll hold my head up high –
I tried to give my all;
At least there was one positive –
The audience was small!

Save the Date

I got your card
To save the date:
A summer wedding –
I can’t wait!

I really didn’t
Need that card.
My calendar
Has that date starred.

I wouldn’t miss
Your big event;
I thought that that
Was evident.

But nowadays
Such a reminder,
Like a nudge,
But slightly kinder,

Is what folks do:
It’s saying, Please!
But life provides
No guarantees;

‘Cause even if
The date they know,
There will be people
Who won’t show.

That won’t be me –
That date is saved
And was, before
The card, engraved,

Was ever mailed
To my location.
I await
The invitation.

Dog-Eared

I’ve been reading a book from the library,
A novel that engages,
And I noticed a very disturbing trend
In the corners of numerous pages.

I think the appropriate name for this
Is “dog-eared,”or so I’m told;
When the uppermost corner of the page
Has the marks of a previous fold.

This particular book has not one or two,
But a scattering throughout;
So the reader had paused quite a lot, it seems,
Interrupted or bored, no doubt.

Did the person not have, anywhere in sight,
A bookmark or makeshift adapter?
And the horror, to me, is that every fold’s
In the middle of every chapter!

At least read to the end where you’re meant to stop
Before you crease and deface;
Though I really do not understand
Why a bookmark can’t hold your place.

‘Cause the book isn’t yours – it’s a borrowed treat;
You should handle it with care.
If ‘twere my book I’d lent and you did the same,
Well, I hope that you wouldn’t dare.

As a reader I do appreciate
All the library’s vast array,
And I’m thrilled that such treasures are waiting there
Like toy soldiers, propped for display.

But I wish every reader would stop and think
That each book, for a time, at least,
Will be back on the shelf ‘til a new reader comes
Who would like pages quite uncreased!

Air Fives

A fifth grade boy I met last week
On a museum tour
Asked me for a favor
I had never heard before.

He said, “I need an air five,”
And I knew just what he meant.
Maybe high fives spread the germs
That air fives would prevent.

I gave him what he asked for;
Said his goal was twenty-five.
I knew by his demeanor
At that number he’d arrive.

He had the spark and sizzle,
Dimpled cheeks and curly hair;
His classmates flocked around
And tried to emulate his flair.

“Have all your pals air-fived you?”
I inquired of my new friend.
“It must be people I don’t know!”
Did I not comprehend?

I smiled at the reminder
Of how youth knows not from danger;
So much is there to gain from just
The air five of a stranger.

How wonderful to be that age
When you have yet to learn
That getting twenty-five air fives
Is not your chief concern.

Yet what a joy to sail along
When your most pressing need
Can easily be satisfied –
You know you can succeed.

I hope that feeling will remain
Within this boy, alive;
And may his years ahead be filled
With many an air five.

Easter

Before you wish me Happy Easter,
Here’s a little clue:
I really won’t be very thrilled
Because I am a Jew.

It’s Passover right now to me,
So hold off on your greeting;
I won’t point out your error,
Which would just be self-defeating.

But I would like to let you know
It makes me feel dismissed
When wishes are presented
As if Jews did not exist.

So wish me happy holiday,
But don’t get too specific;
And by the way, I hope for you,
Your Easter was terrific!

Going to Sleep

If I had my druthers,
I’d drift off to sleep
To the sweet notes of jazz tunes,
Like others count sheep.

I once used to listen
Each night, as I faded,
To rock and roll classics
And no, I’m not jaded.

I still love rock music,
But don’t sleep alone;
And music at bed time
Elicits a groan

Or worse, from my husband.
It stops him from sleeping;
Though we can hear city sounds –
Honking and beeping.

That doesn’t disturb him.
But I recognize
In marriage, one has to
Accept compromise.

So I keep the radio
Off, when in bed,
And fall asleep thinking
Of rhymes in my head.

As far as solutions go,
This ones’ all right.
I get a head start
On my blog poem each night!

Getting the Mail

I cannot wait to get the mail.
It feels like a surprise;
Though often there’s not very much
To really tantalize.

Of course, there’s junk and there are bills
And catalogues galore.
But once in a great while
There might be a little more.

Perhaps I’ll find an answer
To a query I had written,
Or there will be the package
With whatever had me smitten.

There may be photographs
Or cards that play a little tune,
And birthdays are occasions
When the card can’t come too soon.

Today’s my birthday and I hope
The mail will have me claim
A slew of birthday wishes;
E-cards aren’t quite the same.

I love to see who’s thought of me,
And then I will display
The lovely greetings I receive
To celebrate my day.

To everyone who took the time
To get those wishes sent,
I’m really so appreciative;
Your effort was well-spent.

If you forgot or had no
Energy you could exert,
I will be disappointed
And I guess a little hurt.

But here’s the greatest thing of all,
The reason I love mail:
Tomorrow there’s another chance
That treasure I’ll unveil.

Perhaps it will be nothing more
Than mail recirculated;
But possibly, I’ll come upon
Some birthday cards, belated.

Underwear

I bought myself some underwear
In stripes and wild designs.
Although no one will see them,
I’ll feel dressed up to the nines.

The underwear I like is cotton,
String-bikini style;
They aren’t sexy, but they also
Aren’t juvenile.

My husband would prefer if I
Wore thongs of silk or satin;
I’m sure he’d find a ton of them
On women in Manhattan.

But I prefer the comfort of
My undies made of cotton;
As long as they are colorful,
I love the ones I’ve gotten.

A friend at work once mentioned
All her underwear was white.
She liked old-fashioned bloomer types
And had no appetite

For anything more snazzy;
She liked functional and plain.
She said – Nobody sees them,
So who cares? Can you explain?

I thought about it and replied,
I like that no one knows,
Despite the way I may appear,
I’m showy ‘neath my clothes.

When I get dressed, I’m happiest
With underwear that shouts;
But it’s my little secret
No one has to know about.

So next time you are on the street,
Give passersby a glance;
And fantasize a little bit
‘Bout what’s beneath their pants!

Passover

Here’s my advice:
(Not what you might seek)
Since Passover’s only
One very quick week,

Eat lots of matzoh,
Drink lots of wine,
You’ll breeze right through it;
You’ll be just fine.

It really is not
Such a very big pain.
Next week there’ll be bagels,
So do not complain!