Mum's the Word

I bought a potted mum this fall;
Its buds were mostly closed.
It looked so full it would be gorgeous
One day, I supposed.

The petals that were poking through
Were bright and purply-pink.
I pictured them by my front door -
Quite perfect, I did think.

It took them days to bloom and then
I saw, to my surprise,
A burst of rosy daisy-twins
With yellow-centered eyes.

It is the fattest batch of mums
That I have ever seen -
Voluptuous, robust and bright,
Yet soothing and serene.

I know its color soon will fade
As frost makes itself known;
And as the petals do succumb,
Each branch will look like bone.

When that occurs, I'll gently place
My mum upon the ground;
Perhaps it will survive the season
When I'm not around.

And when, next fall, I check it out,
It's possible I'll see,
A new pink blossom, half-unfurled,
Just waiting there for me.

If not, I'll buy another one;
But 'til next autumn comes,
I'll get a charge each time I gaze
On my fantastic mums.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I am not a patient person,
Understatement of the year,
Still, my burgeoning frustration
Will to some of you be clear.

I’m online to make an album,
Photos fresh from my son’s wedding,
But the site’s not user-friendly –
That’s the message I am getting.

First I upload all the pictures –
That takes longer than it should –
Then I try to fill the pages,
And at first it’s looking good.

But each time I choose a layout,
Say four pictures on a page,
They keep altering my set-up,
‘Til I’m finally in a rage.

As I post my second picture,
The first photo disappears.
Then my four-pic layout changes
And I’m very close to tears.

I don’t do well with frustration,
So I yell and stomp and rant.
I am tempted to forget it,
But I’ve started – so I can’t.

For right now I’m on hiatus;
Thought I’d take a little break.
I’ll attempt to finish later,
Though that might be a mistake.

Many people undertake such projects,
All without a glitch;
If only patience lived in me,
I wouldn’t have to bitch.

Surprises

Life is filled with strange surprises,
Good and bad, in different sizes.
You can’t know which you are getting –
Funeral or joyous wedding.

Satisfaction may exist,
But then you fall and break your wrist;
Or you plan to go to class
When sickness lands you on your ass.

Car repairs may spoil a trip;
Exercise may hurt a hip.
Rain delays may halt a game;
Angry words may end in blame.

Picnic plans may be postponed.
You lose the best thing you have owned.
With no notice, jobs are ended;
Leases sometimes not extended.

Since we cannot know ahead
The time that we will end up dead,
We should grab each moment by the balls,
Expecting climbs, plateaus and falls.

Without predicting nature’s whims,
We can’t be sure who sinks or swims.
So start each day with wary eyes,
Preparing for the next surprise.

The Why

When you see a friend or neighbor
Who is looking sick,
You must make a snap decision
And say something quick.

You may comment on appearance,
Which requires tact;
You can’t say, “You’re looking lousy,”
Though that may be fact.

You can ask how things are going
And then take your cues;
‘Cause the ball’s not in your court
To talk about the news.

Or the final choice before you
Is to just ignore it;
Though it’s not quite sympathetic,
I am gung-ho for it.

The alternatives are awkward;
It’s a real hard sell,
Most especially with someone
That you don’t know well.

So I smile and give a greeting,
Then say diddly-squat;
Though my mind is racing,
Thinking what disease she’s got.

Would I be a better neighbor
If I asked what’s wrong?
Or would I be venturing
To where I don’t belong?

My reason to keep quiet
Is I hate to pry,
But life is simpler
When you do not know the why.

Sharing News

How do you communicate
When you have news to share?
Phone calls seem to be the best
If there’s no time to spare.

Email gets the job done, too,
But only if it’s checked;
Otherwise your words will be
Unable to connect.

Letters in the mail are fun
If you have time to wait;
But snail mail can’t be trusted
And may get there way too late.

Facebook is a venue used
To spread your scoop to friends.
Twitter, too, sends messages
Which brevity defends.

Long ago, with telegrams,
Our news was sent in code.
It took days to learn if we
Broke down or if we crowed.

I use the phone and email
And yet Facebook I resist.
I’m sorry I am not your “friend” –
I doubt if I am missed.

So if you want to send to me
Some pictures or some news,
Email me or make a call
Or mail it if you choose.

I promise I’ll get back to you
Online or on the phone,
But when I do, I will converse
With you and you alone.

Tune-Up

The human body’s like a car –
It starts out fresh and new;
But wear and tear appears
Because of all that it’s been through.

The wrinkles, sags and scratches
Can compare to dents and dings;
And sometimes there is damage
From each pothole that life brings.

But when you push your body,
It’s like driving at top speed.
Your engine light comes on
And that’s a warning you must heed.

You feel like you can’t move an inch;
You sputter and you stall.
Your chassis needs a rest –
It’s like a little wake-up call.

And so today, I took the hint
And stayed home to relax.
The past few weeks my engine
Has been revving to the max.

Perhaps a simple tune-up
Will restore me to my prime;
At least I can maintain my thoughts
And set them out in rhyme.

Too Tired

I’m almost too tired
For writing this poem.
The day’s almost over,
And I just got home.

So I’ll just jot down
A few thoughts from my head.
It won’t be a gem,
Just a sparkle instead.

My body is craving
Some hours of sleep,
So into my bed
I am ready to creep.

I’ll type up these words
And I’ll hurry to post,
Knowing these verses
Are weaker than most.

But still, I’ll have managed
To stick to my plan;
And thus, I continue
The job I began.

Recap

In The New York Times today,
My son and his new wife,
Are pictured, smiling and serene,
And very true to life.

Last night we danced and drank a toast
To wish them wedded bliss,
As soon as they exchanged their vows
And sealed them with a kiss.

The night was magical to me,
So filled with love and joy,
But strange to realize that the groom
Was once my little boy.

I watched him circling the room,
Engaged in smiles and laughter,
And knew that he could handle
All the life stuff that comes after.

And we, the wedding celebrants,
With spirits high and glowing,
Danced the hora and soaked up
The warm good feelings flowing.

Today we’re tired and relieved
We had a perfect night,
And when I saw The New York Times,
That topped off my delight.

The Big Day

You plan, you shape, you agonize –
Each detail paid attention;
And when the day arrives,
There is no possible extension.

So many factors do exist
Outside of your control,
Despite the fact perfection
Has been, more or less, your goal.

The friends and family gather round,
Affirming their devotion.
Having them all there brings up
A fountain of emotion.

And now the big day has arrived.
The rest is up to fate.
You hope to let your worries go
And simply celebrate.

Pre-Wedding

Tonight we rally all the troops
For a pre-wedding dinner.
I’m not an expert on these things –
In fact, I’m a beginner.

The out-of-town guests from all ports
Will congregate to eat,
An opportune time for the
Joining families to meet.

From California, Colorado,
Florida they flew;
A testament to their support,
Familial blood like glue.

I guess we’ll schmooze and mingle,
Have a drink and share a laugh.
We’re all in this together
For the bride and groom’s behalf.

It’s really just a soothing time
Before the big event.
Calming jitters by uniting
Is the main intent.

We’ll dine, we’ll sip and hopefully,
Good feelings will be spreading,
All in preparation for
Tomorrow night – the wedding!

Tomorrow's Poem

Today I write tomorrow’s poem;
Tomorrow there’s no time.
I need a little quiet space
So I can mold my rhyme.

With visitors from out of town
And details to attend to,
I will not have the time to write
And don’t wish to pretend to.

So as you read these words today,
Don’t let yourself be fooled.
If others claim they saw me write,
Make sure they’re overruled.

But, since you are reading this,
Today’s become tomorrow.
Keep in mind that all these words
From yesterday I borrow.

It seems a bit confusing
And I do not like to boast,
But since I wrote tomorrow’s poem,
I will not miss a post.

Still Dark

I wake and glance outside
And see the sky is inky dark.
The buildings that my windows frame
Look menacing and stark.

Yet gradually some lights wink on,
A signal – we’re awake;
And slowly, others join them
And my view’s not so opaque.

I cannot see the people,
Just their beacons in the gloom.
I guess they’re girding for the day,
Not knowing what will loom.

But as I sit and write these words,
The sky tiptoes towards light.
My pre-dawn companeros
Cannot claim the copyright.

But if my fellow early birds
Did glimpse their daybreak view,
I bet they’d think they owned the dawn,
Exactly like I do.

Car Wash

Park your car on city streets –
There is no way around it.
If you’ve parked beneath a tree,
Then surely birds have found it.

If you have escaped the birds,
There’s soot and city dirt.
One glance at your once-shiny car
And oh, your heart will hurt.

So you head out to the car wash,
But, of this I have no doubt,
Before you give your car to them,
Please take your quarters out!

‘Cause even if you try to watch
Your car get soaked and shined,
The thought of being ripped off
Will be foremost on your mind.

The soap and brushes do their job;
The bird poop disappears.
You’ll swear the car looks better than
It’s looked in months or years.

You drive away so happy
Your car’s clean as it can be;
And there’s a spot just waiting for you –
Underneath a tree!

The Morning

In the morning, watch the people
Scurrying about.
Everything is possible –
All destinies in doubt.

You haven’t got a clue
How all the hours will unfold.
No one can predict what good
Or bad news you’ll be told.

There’s hope afloat – it’s in the air
And there on people’s faces.
As the day progresses,
Sometimes all that’s left are traces.

The world is cruel and heartless
And our dreams are squashed and stomped.
It’s much more likely that it’s negatives
With which we’re swamped.

Yet as we first begin our day,
We’ve got an empty slate.
Later on we’ll ponder
What’s presented on our plate.

I really love the morning –
Every one is filled with wonder.
Most often, as the hours go by,
That hope is plowed right under.

My Plants

I gave my plants a haircut.
They looked scraggly and wild;
But if they could express themselves,
I’m sure I’d be reviled.

‘Cause they don’t look much better now.
In truth, they’re looking worse.
Instead of an improvement,
I took two steps in reverse.

The half a dozen plants I own,
Lined on my windowsill,
Are there to add a little green
And so they fit the bill.

But when I do compare them
To all others I have seen,
I realize that the thumbs I have
Are anything but green.

Perhaps I should give up –
Admit it’s all a big mistake.
I’ll ditch my plants and buy instead
Some new ones that are fake.

I know it would be cheating
If I’m sticking to the letter,
But I do think that plastic plants
In my hands, might look better!

Standoff

So I’m in Central Park
On the reservoir track;
With my workout complete,
I was heading on back.

There were puddles galore,
So I stepped to the right;
Not prepared as I stepped
To encounter a fight.

See, the track has these signs
And what they advertise
Is the rule that your walk
Should be counter-clockwise.

There are folks who don’t care,
Some flat out disobey;
And most times I ignore them –
I couldn’t today.

‘Cause a woman in street clothes
With some attitude
Strutted right in my path –
That was way more than rude.

She was on the wrong side,
Not in exercise gear;
Yet her face said – Get outta my way!
I am here!

What I wanted to do,
Now I know it’s not subtle,
Was give her a good shove
Right into a huge puddle.

But instead I said she was wrong,
Then stepped aside.
The only alternative
Was to collide.

Some people are nasty
And have lots of nerve.
Here’s hoping some day they
Get what they deserve.

Take-Out

I really do not understand
Why people take out food,
Though I admit there are some times
I, too, am in the mood.

The food will never taste as good
As when it’s first prepared,
And when you nuke it, it sogs out
And cannot be repaired.

You eat on paper plates or else
The dishes that you own,
And you’ll be interrupted
By the TV or the phone.

When you are finished eating
All that take-it-home cuisine,
You cannot quite relax because
There’s quite a mess to clean.

I much prefer a restaurant
With dim-lit atmosphere.
Somebody serves my food to me
And pours my wine or beer.

The table is already cleared;
Somebody else has cooked.
There is no dust or clutter,
Or at least not where I looked.

When I am done they take my plate
And I don’t wash the dishes.
It’s almost like a fairy tale
When someone gets three wishes.

If I’m not eating out
I would prefer a home-cooked meal;
And since my husband’s quite the chef,
I’ve got the better deal.

Miner Miracle

Sometimes there’s a story
Unexpected in the news.
We’re used to the disasters,
Crime and violence and snafus.

But what’s so rare we possibly
Might not be comprehending,
Is when an almost tragedy
Comes to a happy ending.

The thirty-three Chilean men
Trapped deep inside a mine,
Remained alive below the earth,
Just waiting for a sign.

They rationed what they had to eat
And kept each other strong.
They knew for their survival
That they had to get along.

Despite their dread confinement
They seemed filled with strength and hope.
If it were me, I know that I
Would never ever cope.

Though weeks went by, the world kept watch
As strangers prayed and dreamed;
The promise of a rescue
Was as crazy as it seemed.

Yet yesterday, we held our breath –
Would everyone survive?
We watched transfixed as, one by one,
Each man emerged alive.

A miracle is what it’s called,
But what it’s really been
Is something we so rarely see –
The good guys get to win!

Knowing When

Knowing when to shut your mouth
Is not an easy thing.
Sometimes folks don’t want to hear
The insights you can bring.

There are times it’s better that
Opinions stay inside,
Even when you are convinced
Your view is justified.

So next time you are itching to
Point out someone’s mistake,
Take a breath or count to ten
And keep your thoughts opaque.

Often nothing’s gained
And good intentions can confuse.
By opening your mouth
There might be quite a bit to lose.

The Point

When you’ve got a point to make
You have a lot of choices:
Serious, sarcastic, scathing –
You can pick your voices.

If you choose satirical,
You’ve gotta have some guts,
‘Cause many people you’ll offend –
No ifs or ands or buts.

Tonight I saw a play that really
Nailed the tongue in cheek;
Broaching history in minstrel guise
Was quite unique.

It was a very clever means,
Though some might be defensive,
To show the awful ways that people
Act when they’re offensive.

The goal was reached with song and dance,
For tragedy, so rare;
The audience sure got the point –
And I’m glad I was there.

Jangly

I have an ankle bracelet
That I bought while in Madrid.
I hemmed and hawed but chose to buy it,
And I’m glad I did.

It’s made of bronzish colored beads
With turquoise stones that dangle;
And from each stone there hangs a bell
That when I walk does jangle.

My husband hates the noise it makes;
It does attract attention.
I guess whoever made it
Had in mind just that intention.

I wear it when I’m wandering
Among the city’s crush,
But take it off in places
Where I’d get a glaring “Hush!”

So if I am museum-bound
Or off to see a play,
My noisy anklet stays behind
Until another day.

Its jingling when I walk gives me
A bouncy attitude.
A little jangle’s all it takes
To elevate my mood.

Refrigerator

My friend has a refrigerator,
A choice I’d never pick.
It’s sleek and shiny, stainless steel,
So magnets will not stick.

My fridge is covered, every inch,
With magnet souvenirs.
One glance can tell you where I have
Vacationed through the years.

The magnets serve to hold in place
Some photos I won’t change:
My grown-up children, toddler-age –
I guess that might seem strange.

Yet once I stick a picture there,
It’s permanent, in place,
Reminding me of magic times
Of which it holds a trace.

I add new magnets every year;
The snapshots stay the same.
A current picture will instead
Be mounted in a frame.

The gallery my fridge displays
Has glimpses of the past,
And in my kitchen you can see
Those memories held fast.

John Lennon

John Lennon would be seventy
If he were still alive.
His death is surely not what's made
His legacy survive.

But after all, when we reflect
On Lennon's brief career,
It's natural to ponder
What he'd do if he were here.

Would he appear on Letterman,
With Yoko at his side?
Would he perform with Ringo,
Half the Beatles, glorified?

Perhaps he'd write an opera,
In the style of Elton John;
Or maybe he'd just write and draw,
His music passion gone.

Would he be bald and fat
Or still be hip and mod and cool?
It's possible that teens might even
Scoff and ridicule.

I doubt it, though, but still these thoughts
Pop up inside my head.
We'll never know, but most of us
Are sorry that he's dead.

Pigeons

Pigeons rule the city scene;
They burble, strut and coo.
Admitting that you like them
Would be thought of as taboo.

They leave their droppings everywhere -
No statue goes unmarred;
And they can fly right in your face
If you’re not on your guard.

I’ve heard it said they spread disease,
Some type of plague or rabies.
The only thing I wonder, though,
Is where are pigeon babies?

We never see them in their nests,
Don’t witness their first flights.
We notice them when they’re full-grown,
Descending from some heights.

It really would be quite a coup
And worth a camera’s click,
If someday someone caught on film
A newborn pigeon chick.

Most every creature starts out cute,
At least that’s my perception.
I wish that I could prove that pigeons
Aren’t the exception.

Repeating History

As we learn about the past,
When we read up on history,
We realize lessons learned don’t last
And why becomes a mystery.

Conflicts in the Middle East
Will stay forever heated.
Years of famine and of feast
Are doomed to be repeated.

Prejudice and hatred lead
To battles, war and death;
Enemies and friends both bleed
And sigh at their last breath.

We build memorials to those
Who sacrificed their lives,
And lay a stone, a wreath or rose
For husbands, sons or wives.

If only people could foresee
The future’s thorny path,
Perhaps they’d learn to disagree
Without revenge or wrath.

The world would be a better place,
Quite close to paradise,
If our mistakes we would embrace
And never make them twice.

MetroCard

I used to carry tokens;
They got mixed up with my change.
I kind of miss them in a way –
I guess that might seem strange.

‘Cause now I use a MetroCard.
It seems okay, but then
A lot of times it doesn’t work
And I’ll see “Swipe again.”

I might not have the movement down –
I’m too fast or too slow –
But it’s annoying when I’m in
A hurry, on the go.

My token, once put in the slot,
Was gobbled and digested;
And I was granted passage
Without words, as I’d requested.

But when my card won’t register
And I’m told to reswipe,
I miss my tokens and resent
The MTA card hype.

Sometimes when we step forward
We encounter things we lack;
In my opinion, MetroCards
Result in two steps back.

Jelly Apple

I often bring a jelly apple
In my bag for lunch.
I love its combination
Of both stickiness and crunch.

Sometimes it’s topped with coconut;
Most often, it’s just nuts.
When someone sees me eating one,
Her mouth opens and shuts.

Is that a jelly apple?
I am asked by one in shock.
Wherever did you get it?
They think I turned back the clock.

At first I do explain
That these are from a modern batch.
The jelly’s soft and gooey
So your teeth will not detach.

It’s hard to find the ones I love,
With coating hard and brittle.
When you eat one of those
Your face is covered in red spittle.

But oh, that first determined bite
To crack that outer shell!
If you have sunk your teeth in one,
You know that feeling well.

The candy apples sold in stores
Remind us of our youth,
But nothing’s quite the same today –
And sadly, that’s the truth.

To Thine Own Self...

My friend and I set out today
And we were on a quest;
My son is getting married
So I want to look my best.

This friend’s a make-up connoisseur
So it became her duty
To transform my face, unadorned,
Into a made-up beauty.

I’m not accustomed to the creams
And powders of foundations;
My friend was quite perplexed
At all my petty protestations.

But when the make-up expert
Finished fixing up my face,
I felt that I looked dead
Or not quite of the human race.

I didn’t buy a single thing;
The venture was misguided.
I’ll look just like I always do
Is what I have decided.

And if the camera cracks because
My visage spoils the frame,
I’ll give them my apologies
And I’ll accept the blame.

Keep It To Yourself

When most people ask you,
How are things going?
They really don’t mean it –
They’re happy not knowing.

The best thing to do
Is to say things are fine.
Everyone’s looking
For answers benign.

The time to be honest
Is not on the phone.
Stick only to chit chat;
Leave problems alone.

‘Cause even those friends
Who are loyal and true,
Might feel bad if you kvetch –
There’s not much they can do.

If you feel the need to
Unburden your soul,
Convince yourself you must
Exert self-control.

So keep conversations
Real cheery and light.
Don’t be such a downer;
It’s really not right.

Hang up sounding upbeat
And take a deep breath.
At least you have not
Bored somebody to death.

Raffle

I bought a raffle ticket –
The prize was a vacation.
I guess the winner will have cause
For one big celebration.

My money went to help support
A charity deserving;
But if I win, I think it will
Be quite a bit unnerving.

The trip is to a country
That I’ve visited before.
There are so many places
That I’m dying to see more.

Included is a rental car
Which I’d be loath to drive;
With steering on the wrong side,
I may not return alive.

The dates might interfere with
Other trips that I have planned;
And if I’d turn it down,
Nobody’d really understand.

I know most raffle tickets
Cause the buyers to enthuse,
But if I’m being honest,
Well, I really hope I lose!

Mirrors

“Dad, do you see something here on my face?”
A young daughter asked of her dad.
“Two eyes, mouth and nose,” he replied, and I thought,
For an impromptu answer, not bad.

“No, anything else?” the girl questioned again,
As I listened to their dialogue.
“Well, actually, yes, I do see something else,”
The father responded – “A frog!”

His daughter then giggled, but soon settled down
And repeated her query once more.
She explained what she meant – was there food on her face?
He said back, “That’s what mirrors are for.”

But to me it was plain as an unseeded rye
That she had all the mirror she needed;
And that dad should be glad for in no time at all
His reflection will be superseded.

Too fast she’ll grow up and she won’t want to know
What he sees when he looks at her face.
A mirror is only the first thing she’ll use
To usurp what he thought was his place.

But I kept my mouth shut – let them live in the now
And enjoy their connection, so sweet;
‘Cause years from now they won’t remember at all
How they once made each other complete.