Faces of the Fallen

Each day in The New York Times,
I read a certain list.
It names the names of soldiers
Who’ve been more than just dismissed.

They’re servicemen and women
Who have sacrificed their lives.
I think of them each day
As well as each one who survives.

And once a year or so
The Times will match their names to faces.
The pictures make them real enough
To dream of their embraces.

Some stare at the camera
Looking sober, stern and strong.
Did they have an inkling
They would not survive too long?

Others grin and boy, those hurt;
They’re filled with life and verve.
Sadly, none of them received
The ending they deserve.

I grieve for all their relatives.
I’m sure nobody’s plan
Was finding out their loved one
Perished in Afghanistan.

I gaze at all their faces
While reflecting on war’s dangers,
And wonder if these soldiers knew
That they’d be mourned by strangers.

For each of us, so safe at home,
Should pause and take a breath,
And honor all our soldiers
Who have traded life for death.

It’s too late for these servicemen.
I wish that I could show them
That they are missed by friends and kin
And some who didn’t know them.

The Shore

Summers in the country,
Far from ocean, bay, or sea,
Meant that going to the beach
Was alien to me.

I didn’t understand at all
Its magic, its allure.
I’d often heard it said, “For stress,
The beach is just the cure.”

But since my youth, I’ve spent some time
On many sandy stretches,
And now it’s clear that being there
Can quiet all your kvetches.

The salty tang of ocean,
The screeching of the gulls,
The souvenir and ice cream shops
Transport us into lulls.

It’s relaxation to the max
And add in some good friends,
The end result’s the kind of day
That totally transcends.

A Little Taste

Memorial weekend, when I was a kid,
Was a time that we more than embraced;
For the summer, like simmering soup on a stove,
Let us sip just the tiniest taste.

We spent all our summers on grassy green fields
In a bungalow far from the city;
And in May, when the holiday time rolled around,
We piled into the car, feeling giddy.

The journey felt long and we could not contain
All that bubbling anticipation.
When we finally tumbled out free from the car,
We were frantic with exhilaration.

We flung the door open, our breathing on hold,
And quick ‘round the room glances ranged;
And then we’d relax with a sigh of relief,
Because nothing, of course, had been changed.

We ran out to search for our summertime pals,
Made note of the ways each had grown;
Then returned to our bungalow, snuggling down
To the best sleep I ever have known.

For the nights were quite cold, so we bundled ourselves,
Oh, how long ago all of it seems!
And we drifted to sleep, feeling more than content,
Into look-ahead summertime dreams.

The rest of the weekend I can’t quite recall.
So many things time has erased;
But I’ll never forget those Memorial Days
And the joy of the summer’s first taste.

Boots

Here’s an observation
I am sure no one refutes,
No matter what the weather’s like,
Some gals are wearing boots!

I cannot understand it;
There’s something I’m not getting,
‘Cause every time I wear my boots,
My feet cannot stop sweating.

Only when it’s freezing cold
Will I slip on a pair,
Yet these women strut like
They’re completely unaware.

Today I saw a lady clad
In shorts and thigh-high leather;
Boots like those do not belong
In muggy late-spring weather.

It really is bewildering
How such a style grows,
But as for me, I’m glad it’s time
To flaunt my painted toes!

Ideas

It isn’t enough just to have an idea,
Whether formed by fact or intuition,
Unless you’re intending to nurse it along
And follow it to its fruition.

Ideas can be had, dime a dozen, it’s said;
Just thinking of one’s no big deal.
But not everybody has got what it takes
To turn one into something real.

Though each tiny seed that goes into the soil
May be filled with potential and power,
Only the few that are tended with care
Will reward us by sprouting a flower.

Souvenirs

Am I the sole New Yorker
Who, when visiting Times Square,
Stops to kill time in a souvenir shop
And wants to buy things that are there?

I love the salt and pepper set
That resembles taxi cabs;
And a pair of socks with a city scene
Has me making wallet grabs.

Place mats decorated with
Each colored subway line
Make me want to buy a few –
I love that cool design!

Picture frames and coffee cups
With famous New York sites
Must appeal to those of us
With New York appetites.

“I Love N.Y.” imprinted on
A t-shirt, all a-glitter,
Isn’t really something
A New Yorker should consider.

Thus, I have to stop myself
From giving in and splurging;
My tourist instincts have to be
Prevented from emerging.

For I’m a real New Yorker,
Native born and native-bred;
I’ll wait until I travel
And buy foreign junk instead!

Barefoot Man

It’s nice to be barefoot when walking the beach;
You can dig your toes deep in the sand.
And kicking your shoes off in luscious green grass
I something I can understand.

But today, in the park, on the reservoir track,
I encountered a shirtless athlete,
And to my surprise, he was striding along
With no sneakers or socks on his feet.

The path’s made of dirt and it seems pretty smooth
But for bare feet, it’s not too appealing;
For under its seeming innocuous mask,
Who knows what it can be concealing?

Perhaps there are pebbles or really sharp rocks,
And possibly spiders or bugs;
But even if nothing unpleasant is there,
The mention of it causes Ughs!

The man looked content and relaxed and quite fit
And his face revealed no kinds of clues
As to why he decided, on Central Park turf,
To exercise wearing no shoes.

Booking a Spa

Here we are, five women,
Trying to plan an outing.
If you think this is easy,
Your sanity I’m doubting.

We’ve got the date and venue,
A not-too-far location.
We’ve all agreed that what we need
Is a spa for a quick vacation.

Should we get two rooms or maybe
Can we get by with a suite?
We’d really like a kitchenette
To make our stay complete.

Does the gym have zumba classes?
Is the pool outside or in?
Are the spa facilities as nice
As the last place we have been?

Do massages last an hour?
Are the facials recommended?
Will we leave there feeling so relaxed
That our karma’s been transcended?

Will the restaurant be open?
Are you sure that they’ll have fish?
Do you think this little getaway
Will fulfill our every wish?

So we sat and talked it over,
Made some calls and checked the site;
And we booked our celebration –
So much work for just one night!

Walking the Dogs

Took two greyhounds
For a walk:
One is Waldo
One is Hawk.

Both were rescued.
Both are needy.
They no longer
Must be speedy.

Now their job
Is just to heal.
The home they’re in
Is just ideal.

It’s filled with love
And tender care.
I have no doubt
They’ll flourish there.

It’s magic when
Your weekend features
Contact with
Such regal creatures.

Journey

In winter, when highways are empty,
You can get from Point A to Point B;
But when summertime makes its appearance,
Journeys don’t have that same guarantee.

‘Cause everyone wants to go somewhere
When the weather is sunny and warm,
And the cars on the turnpike, like insects,
Come together and make up a swarm.

There are places to go, but to get there,
You suffer through traffic’s embrace;
As frustration climbs higher and higher,
You crawl along at a snail’s pace.

You pictured a glorious weekend,
But soon enough you are bereft;
And after a torturous car trip,
You’re sorry that you ever left!

Girl on the Train

Pink-shirted person
On the subway train:
How did you navigate
That terrain?

Perhaps your companion,
Your mom, I guess,
Helped prevent
Undue duress.

I watched you grab a dollar
From your mother’s hand
To donate to a beggar.
Did he understand

That you saw in him a person
Needier than you?
Yet he took your contribution,
So I guess he knew.

I looked at you and wondered
How it really feels
To cruise the city, gliding
On electric wheels.

It put things in perspective
But it doesn’t last.
No matter what – we get back
To our problems, fast.

You’re stuck inside my head, though,
With your ponytail;
Young woman motoring through life
Beyond the pale.

I cannot quite imagine
What your days require;
But just your presence
Makes me reach a little higher.

Words

Sometimes words can be upsetting,
Maybe even hurt.
The reaction that they’re getting
May not be overt.

Statements uttered may be taken
Not the way you meant them.
What’s inferred can’t be forsaken –
Too late to repent them.

Thoughts expressed when anger reigns
Are oftentimes regretted;
Venting loses more than gains –
Resentment might be whetted.

Better just to let it slide
And not take it to heart.
Don’t get so preoccupied –
You’ll soon be torn apart.

Molehills into mountains
Can be made if you’re a fool.
Drips don’t equal fountains –
Not unless you add some fuel.

Gone

Sometimes things get lost
And never ever found.
You cover tracks you’ve crossed,
Check every inch of ground.

You scour every crack
Of every turn you’ve taken
And think you’ll get it back,
But sometimes you’re mistaken.

You mentally retrace
Your every single move;
It’s got to be someplace.
You’ve got something to prove.

You cannot second guess
The status of your brain.
Who needs the added stress
The mind can entertain?

You’ve got to let it go;
You’ll soon get it replaced.
You know deep down it’s not
The worst thing you have faced.

Stop looking and accept
The fact it’s truly lost.
Forget the tears you’ve wept –
It isn’t worth the cost.

Hot & Cold

In the course of one day,
As the hours unfold,
Sometimes I’m hot
And sometimes I’m cold.

Whatever I’m wearing,
It somehow seems wrong;
When I go out, I
Bring a sweater along.

For I never can trust
When I venture outside,
That the warmth that I need
What I wear can provide.

In a restaurant or store,
A museum or home,
I am hostage to some
Out of balance syndrome.

I know what you’re thinking –
But that’s not the cause.
It isn’t hot flashes;
It’s not menopause.

Whatever it is,
I can live with it fine.
It’s not a big deal;
It seems rather benign.

Just as long as I’ve access
To shawl, shrug or sweater,
I’ll take care of the problem
And soon will feel better.

The solution I’ve found
Isn’t really abstract:
Every outfit’s like math –
And I add or subtract!

Procrastination 2

I’ve been meaning to clean out my closets.
They’re bulging with things I don’t wear;
But whenever I think about starting,
The energy needed’s not there.

I should go through old papers and file them
Or toss all the ones I don’t need;
But as soon as the thought breaks the surface,
The desire begins to recede.

If I donate old toys, books, and knick-knacks,
There’ll be so much more room for display;
But despite all the best of intentions,
I can’t get myself to obey.

How nice it would be if the table
Were polished, uncluttered, and bare;
But since no one’s coming for dinner,
I find that I really don’t care.

Someday I will tackle these projects,
Although their extent is forbidding.
We all have a dream we must follow;
But in real life – now, who am I kidding?

Sunday Night

Sunday night’s the time
To get set for the week ahead.
Many who despise their jobs
Begin to fill with dread.

Even if you like your work
Or if you are retired,
Still a reckoning on Sunday night
May be required.

All the loose ends must be tied
And knotted, crisp and neat;
For Monday morning should start fresh,
No errors to repeat.

The weekend’s over – with it, goes
Reality’s diversion;
With the sunrise, we must start
On our unknown excursion.

For who can tell if this new week
We’ll find joy or despair?
At least on Sunday night
All possibilities are there.

Someone Else's Birthday

On someone else’s birthday,
You put your needs aside,
And try to give the celebrant
The best you can provide.

You plan the day encompassing
Activities adored
By birthday girl or boy –
It doesn’t matter if you’re bored.

You eat the foods requested
And the cake’s whatever flavor
The person celebrating
Really loves and thus will savor.

You buy the gifts to make the day
Feel special and exciting,
And only those who fit the bill
Will be who you’re inviting.

If others add balloons or cards
To ramp the day up higher,
That helps to guarantee
That magic surely will transpire.

Your goal should be to make the day
Both fun and worry-free;
If you succeed, you know
A happy birthday it will be.

Solicitations

Mrs. Bauer, won’t you give
For multiple sclerosis?
Saying no is hard – what if
You had that diagnosis?

Charities that call you up
Annoy, invade, intrude.
They foolishly believe they’ll catch you
In a giving mood.

But often they just interrupt
And I cut short the call,
Feeling rather justified
And outraged at their gall.

Other groups in search of funds
Mail various appeals,
Laying on the guilt –
Do you know how this illness feels?

Help us find a cure for cancer,
Autism and tumors,
Alzheimer’s and dystrophy:
Such choices for consumers.

Feed the poor and look – this child
Needs one small operation.
Help out those disabled vets
Who suffered for our nation.

Send some kids to summer camp –
Support the Fresh Air Fund.
Israel needs your contributions
And should not be shunned.

I could name a hundred more.
The numbers are unnerving,
And every year I send some checks;
I know they’re all deserving.

But I won’t ever make a pledge –
I’ll cross you off my list –
If you keep calling me at home
‘Cause man, that makes me pissed!

Over the Counter

I was stuck in the drugstore,
Staring at the shelf,
Trying to select the proper
Pills for myself.

Do I go generic?
Or stick to tried and true?
Dayquil or Nyquil?
What’s the thing to do?

Do I need a cough suppressant?
Will my headache go away?
Capsule, caplet, soft-gel, liquid?
There’s a dizzying display.

Can one pill treat every symptom?
Should I spring for extra-strength?
I’ve been up and down the aisle,
Boxes fill each inch of length.

Finally, I made my decision:
I picked Duane Reade’s brand, non-drowsy.
Guess I should have stayed there longer,
‘Cause I still feel really lousy!

Breakdown

Have you ever noticed things break down
Together, in a group?
And all of them must be replaced
In what seems one fell swoop.

The vacuum cleaner made a noise
And next thing, it stopped sucking.
My kitchen timer, chicken-shaped,
Then suddenly stopped clucking.

I ordered a new timer
(This one’s shaped just like an egg);
And then I realized that a kitchen chair
Needs a new leg.

The car mechanic noticed
That the brakes were really shot.
The thought occurred to me
That breaking brakes was what I’d got.

The next to go was more expensive
Than we had yet faced;
The washing machine died and yes,
It had to be replaced.

The toaster oven sounds real weird:
You start it and it groans;
And we can’t see Caller ID
‘Til we upgrade our phones.

Our good old Dell computer
Is so slow it’s like it’s broken;
I hope I haven’t jinxed it
By the words that I’ve just spoken.

I wonder what malfunction next
Is waiting in the wings,
Enjoying all the aggravation
Each disaster brings.

The irony’s that replacements,
Although brand-new from the store,
Are never quite the quality
As what you had before.

So they won’t last as many years
As their old counterparts.
I wish at least they’d stagger
All the times when each departs!

Cold

Can you catch a cold from being cold?
“No,” is what I’ve oft been told.
I don’t believe that “No” is true –
‘Cause from a chill my cold just grew.

I’d underdressed for a brisk May day;
My goose bumps shamefully on display.
Spent time in a house without its heat;
My shivering I kept discreet.

I could have asked and been provided
With a sweatshirt, but decided
No – so I sat all day freezing,
And the next day, I was sneezing.

Now I’m coughing, throat is sore,
Symptoms I cannot ignore.
I’ve a headache and I’m beat;
I surrender, in defeat.

Makes me wonder ‘bout that saying.
Next time I’ll be disobeying;
‘Cause if I’d just worn a sweater,
Guaranteed, I’d feel much better.

Close Encounter

In the country yesterday,
My morning walk was slowed
When suddenly I saw a fox
Just standing in the road.

It looked at me and made a sound,
More like a yip than bark;
Then turned and dashed into the woods –
Its sudden absence stark.

Before it vanished from my view,
It stared at me once more;
And then it yipped again in case
I’d missed the hint before.

A man appeared and filled me in:
He’d seen a mama vixen
Playing with her kits nearby;
She’d warned me not to mix in.

I was rather nervous, hoping
She would not come back.
All the time I headed home
I pictured an attack.

The fox and I felt just the same;
That’s why we both recoiled.
Neither one of us would let
Our Mothers’ Day get spoiled.

Mothers' Day

Mothers should be celebrated
Every single day,
But instead it’s once a year –
Well, what is there to say?

You enter into parenthood
And do what you must do.
Quite often, in a family,
The mothers are the glue.

We hold it all together
With a little help from dad;
And wonder, when our kids grow up
What life they’ll think they had.

Psychologists assign us blame.
We must be trauma’s cause;
But hopefully, with age, such thoughts
Will give our children pause.

Perhaps they’ll somehow understand
The depth of how we feel
And recognize a mother’s love
Is bottomless and real.

It’s lovely to receive a card,
Store-bought or made by hand,
‘Cause it acknowledges that sometimes
Things work out as planned.

And, in addition, if you got
To see your kids today,
Appreciate the fact
Good fortune held you in its sway.

Mothers’ Day will soon be gone
Yet if you are in luck,
That glue that you set long ago
Will still be strongly stuck.

The calendar records the time,
One day like any other;
You do not need a holiday
To reach out to your mother.

For she is always there for you
When life gets tough or hard;
Her blood is flowing in your veins –
She needs no gift or card.

Visiting

Visiting with people
You used to see each day
Reminds you that things stay the same
Although you’ve been away.

There may be some new items
On walls or desks or boards,
But basically, it hasn’t changed –
You hear the same old chords.

It’s great to see those faces
You’ve worked beside for years;
So many hours comparing notes
You’ve shared in your careers.

But now you’re on the outside
And the glue that once was strong
Is loosening a bit, and yet
You feel you still belong.

It’s rather satisfying
To stop and say hello.
Your memories will keep the link,
But then it’s time to go.

Eating Early

Younger people like to eat
When the sky’s quite dark.
Dining earlier, to them,
Does lack a certain spark.

I remember years ago,
We’d go to eat at nine;
Ordering a full-course meal,
A huge carafe of wine.

Dessert and coffee we’d consume;
We’d finish by eleven.
The candlelight, the food, the drink –
An evening made in heaven.

Now we love to find a deal:
The prix fixe bargain dinner.
Order by six-thirty and
By eight, you’re home, a winner.

Let the younger folk believe
Such early nights absurd;
In thirty years, they too will crow
About the early bird!

Sick Passenger

When they say on the subway,
“A passenger’s sick,”
You know there’s a problem –
So I get off quick.

“Police activity,” too,
Is a phrase I don’t get.
My mind conjures up
Every type of a threat.

When you live in New York,
Your antenna’s on high;
And you wonder what warning
Such words do imply.

But you rein in your panic,
Or push it away.
To be in New York,
That’s the price that you pay.

So you stay in your seat
Or you get off the train.
If the day ends up safely,
How can you complain?

Obligations

Sometimes you’ve gotta do something
You’re not in the mind-set to do;
However, if you just ignore it,
You know you’ll have something to rue.

We all have our own obligations;
We fill them or else come unglued.
But once in a while, if we’re honest,
We can say that we’re not in the mood.

Your choices are obvious, aren’t they?
Delay it, ignore it, or do it –
Somehow you’ll regret it, I’m certain,
If you shrug it off and then say “Screw it!”

So take a deep breath and begin it.
You know this advice is correct;
And when you’ve completed your project,
You’ll know you deserve some self-respect.

Ironically, my inspiration
For writing these words, so precise,
Is that I didn’t feel up for rhyming –
But I’ve taken to heart my advice!

Stroller Girl

What is the age
You develop a style?
I know that for most of us,
It takes a while.

You notice the clothing
Of those who surround you,
And take to observing
The great world around you.

Attention is paid
To the fashions in stores,
And soon you decide
What goes into your drawers.

By the time you’re a teen,
All those feelings inside
Start to make themselves known
And you’re struttin’ in stride.

Though your outlook may change
As you grow and mature,
Underneath it all, some of us
Stay insecure.

But not all! For this morning
I had a surprise
When a true fashion plate
Passed in front of my eyes.

Her sunglasses were huge,
In her hair, a chic bow;
And her outfit belonged in
A top fashion show.

She was sipping a drink
Through an oversized straw,
And she looked so good
All would see just what I saw.

She possessed such panache,
She was cool as could be.
How’d she get to that point
By the ripe age of three?

For this dazzling chick,
Looking like a high roller,
Was enjoying the ride
In her mom-powered stroller!

Passwords

I went to place an order
On a site I’ve used before,
But I had to give my password,
Which is something I abhor.

I know passwords do protect us
From those sneaky online thieves,
But as soon as I create one,
From my mind it up and leaves.

I’ve tried things to help remember
And I jot them down somewhere,
But the websites all rebuke me,
Which I think is just not fair.

I tried signing as a newcomer,
But couldn’t play that game
‘Cause they realized that they knew me
Soon as I typed in my name.

Oh, we’ll email you your password
Just in case you did forget!
Well, it’s been more than an hour
And they haven’t emailed yet.

It is really so annoying;
I can’t stand it anymore.
Perhaps I’ll be old-fashioned
And I’ll head out to the store!

Kentucky Derby

Why should I care ‘bout an annual race
In the faraway state of Kentucky?
Even if I were to wager a bet
(Which I’m not), I’m not usually lucky.

I’m not into gambling – horses or slots,
So money’s not part of the deal;
The horses are really magnificent beasts –
That surely adds to the appeal.

It’s fun to decide on a jockey and horse
(I choose by the looks and the name),
So I can have someone to root for, and then
If they win, I’ll join in the acclaim.

So much hype factors into these special events:
The Super Bowl, Masters, World Series,
That it doesn’t much matter if you are a fan;
You can cheer and not answer folks’ queries.

So when Derby time comes, every year I’m transfixed
As the bugle sounds and it begins;
And I couldn’t care less if my pick comes in last
Or comes charging and actually wins!

A Taste of Summer

Summer, to me, is an overripe peach:
It’s messy and drips on your face.
At this time, it’s usually quite out of reach,
Impatiently eying spring’s space.

Yet once in a while, it plans an attack,
So sneaky you aren’t prepared
For the sweat that will suddenly roll down your back
And the bellies the women have bared.

Most people seem thrilled – there they are in their shorts,
Their flip-flops and tank tops or tees;
The crowds fill the streets and the weather reports
Tell us it might hit ninety degrees.

So I don my capris and, Scrooge-like, I go out,
Not enjoying my sweaty shirt-cling;
And I hope that the weatherman carries some clout
‘Cause he said next week we’re back to spring!