A Toast

The year is over – wave goodbye;
There’s no way to retrieve it.
The days fly faster all the time –
I hardly can believe it.

For those whose year was filled with stress,
Let’s toast a new beginning;
‘Cause back within the starting gate,
There is a chance of winning.

And if 2010, for you,
Was chock-a-block with pleasure,
Here’s hoping that the year to come
Provides you with more treasure.

It’s always strange to land upon
The calendar’s last square.
It sneaks up, even though we’ve had
A full year to prepare.

Before the curtain’s final drop,
It helps to recognize
The many ways, both good and bad,
The year did so surprise.

And if we take a moment
Just to ponder and reflect,
We realize in the future
We don’t know what to expect.

So let us drink a toast
To next year’s mysteries concealed,
And hope we can accept
Whatever fate will be revealed.

From Memory

I often can’t remember
Where my glasses are, or keys.
I calm myself – it’s normal
And not Alzheimer’s disease.

But certain memories from the past
Are crisp and sharp and clear.
They’re lodged so deep within my brain,
They’ll never disappear.

If, years ago, you called me up
To chat or talk some jive,
You’d reach my Brooklyn number:
UL6-2955.

I haven’t lived in Brooklyn now
For over thirty years;
But in my mind, that phone number’s
The first one that appears.

My nana once remembered
Where she sat in second grade.
In reminiscing, her old self
Seemed like a masquerade.

She laughed that time and other snippets
From her past did pour:
Her first job, selling bloomers,
In a big department store.

I marveled then because, though senile,
She was quite herself;
Her recollections waited there
On an unconscious shelf.

The mind is really rather strange –
It’s like a treasure map.
It’s filled with tiny details,
Yet some places have a gap.

Poetry (Not) in Motion

The MTA has had its say
And made a dumb decision.
They’ve taken poetry away –
Let’s join in our derision.

For many years on bus and train
Some poetry was quoted;
But someone at the MTA
Thought it should be demoted.

Instead, there will be notices
Describing all the ways
The MTA’s improving things –
A sampler of self-praise.

I’ll miss those poems and quotes;
They added beauty, charm and class –
A step above from all the ads,
So bothersome and crass.

Whoever was in charge of this,
Prepare to catch some flak.
Perhaps this poet’s plea will help
To get us back on track.

Neither Snow...

We’re told so many things as children
That we do believe.
When kids learn Santa isn’t real,
They often weep and grieve.

And oh, how disappointing
When young tots unmask the truth –
That fairy’s really mom exchanging
Money for that tooth.

But yesterday, adults as well
Felt shocked and so betrayed,
Discovering our mailmen
Aren’t quite as they’re portrayed.

That famous quote of “Neither snow
Nor rain nor sleet nor hail…”
Is bogus now, because on Monday
Nobody got mail!

I guess we all survived without
Our catalogues and bills;
But what about the faith and trust
That well-known quote instills?

Forget it now – those postmen
Didn’t do their rounds appointed;
And like those kids with Santa Claus,
I feel so disappointed!

Snowman on 78th

After the storm, the plows were slow;
So many streets were closed.
I saw some cars abandoned –
Foolish drivers, I supposed.

A double bus was stranded
Right on 86th and First.
The cabs were few and far between;
The shovelers immersed.

The sun was brightening the day.
I loved just being out;
Though drifts and slushy corners
Made it hard to get about.

The most delightful sighting, though –
It made the day complete –
Was a little snowman sitting
In the middle of the street.

His tiny twig arms stuck straight out.
He had no hat or face;
But seeing him, you felt
That he belonged right in that place.

I’m sure the plows will squish him soon.
His parts will be dispersed;
But catch him if you can
On 78th Street, east of First.

It’s little things in life, you know,
That make it all worthwhile.
That unexpected snowman in the street
Sure made me smile.

First Snow

The weatherman predicted this;
They knew it was arriving.
It’s wonderful to wander in,
But not much fun for driving.

The flakes are fluttering in flight
Like monochrome confetti;
Because we had fair warning,
Most of us are stocked and ready.

I’ve had my walk, I’ve done my chores,
And now I’m home, all snug.
The whirling weather pulls me
To the window, like a drug.

The wind is whipping much more wildly
Than it was before.
According to the weatherman,
We should prepare for more.

So let it snow! I’m here inside,
All cozy, calm and warm.
This really is the place to be,
Protected from the storm.

Tomorrow we will have to deal
With shoveling and such;
But now I watch the swirling snow,
Enjoying it so much.

Empty Boxes

Once the gifts are opened
And the wrapping paper tossed,
The empty boxes sit, forlorn,
Their magic all but lost.

That flat screen fifty-inch TV
Must be plugged in and blaring;
To keep that sucker a surprise
Took hours of preparing.

That iPod and Nintendo Wii,
With docks and games and apps -
It sure required self-control
To keep them under wraps.

The jewelry and cameras,
All the clothes, perfume and toys,
Took days of thought and hoping
They’d engender joyful noise.

But whether all the gifts were met
With glee or with chagrin,
Dismantled boxes join the garbage,
Now their next of kin.

What held a treasure soon converts
To flattened, useless trash;
Its lovely wrapping ripped to shreds,
Discarded in a flash.

And soon the luster, too, will fade
From every gift so dear;
But there’ll be all new empty boxes
Christmas time next year.

Confessions on Request

I was walking past a church
And there, in writing, was expressed
The times for mass and, too, a note:
Confessions on request.

I’m not a Christian, so
It’s quite mysterious to me.
If you admit your sins, you’re clear
For all eternity?

I know there is some penance –
Certain prayers you must recite;
But does that wash away your guilt
Like magic, overnight?

It seems a better deal than what
My people do endure.
When we’ve done something wrong,
Our inner blame grows more and more.

How lovely it would be to just
Acknowledge what you’ve done,
Confess it all, be cleansed and then
Be guilt-free at square one.

I’m not about to change religions
But I am impressed
To think you can unburden all your sins
At your request.

I wonder if it’s easy
To commit an indiscretion
Knowing you can slough it off
With just a quick confession.

For me, it wouldn’t work –
It isn’t how my mind is built.
I’d probably confess and still
Be wracked as well by guilt.

Kneedy

Assuming that you like to walk or run or dance with ease,
You’ll find it hard to do so if you’re stymied by your knees.
I often walk for miles each day, in sunshine or in rain;
But suddenly one knee of mine is giving me some pain.

At first I just ignored it and believed I’d walk right through it,
‘Cause based on my experience, I knew that I could do it.
Since I’m a little older now, though, maybe I should rest it.
I might be doing damage and I have no need to test it.

So yesterday, when I got home, I packed the knee in ice.
Today it felt okay so I ignored my own advice.
I walked a lot of miles, in boots, to meet up with some friends,
Rejecting public transport as a means to reach my ends.

And now the pain’s returned, which is the price I have to pay.
Tomorrow I’ll go easy on it – keep the ache at bay.
I’m riding on the bus now and reflecting on this page
About the ways our bodies disappoint us as we age.

I hope my pain will vanish soon, like smoke upon a breeze;
‘Cause I am quite dependent on my former pain-free knees!

En Route

I do not have a magazine
To read while on the bus.
I didn’t feel like lugging one –
It seemed like too much fuss.

My book was just too cumbersome
To schlep around as well;
I figured I could occupy my mind
For just a spell.

I spent the day with friends
And now I’m tired, heading back.
At first I feel annoyed
That written words are what I lack.

But as long as I have paper
And a pencil with some lead,
I can jot down all the thoughts
That I have floating in my head.

And so I write these words
While on the bus en route to home.
My lack of what to read
Encouraged me to write this poem.

Hats Off

I wish I’d lived when hats were in –
They seemed to be required.
In photos from the forties,
All the heads were so attired.

My grandmother had lots of hats,
The boxes striped and round;
And on my visits, one by one,
On my head they were crowned.

I loved an orange one adorned
With tiny safety pins.
I modeled that one most of all,
My grandpa grinning grins.

How great to have a hat to match
Each blouse or dress or suit.
To polish off an outfit, why,
There is no substitute!

Of course, you can buy hats today.
I wear mine when it’s cold;
And young folks sport them jauntily
To look all rock and rolled.

But I’m referring to the time
When dressed-up heads weren’t bare.
Not living then, I missed my shot
At being debonair!

Not in Store

I’ve had enough of stores;
My limit’s finally been reached.
My former shopping passion
Has been permanently leeched.

I won’t be lured by coupons,
Sales or bargains or no tax;
No longer will I waste my time
Perusing all the racks.

The clothes all look the same to me,
The high end and the low.
I have so much at home to wear
And have no plans to grow.

Who cares if all my jeans
Do not reflect the latest style?
They’ve served me well so far
And they will last a good long while.

I don’t know if it’s age, but
It appears that I’m immune.
When temptation sings its song,
I cannot recognize the tune.

I’ll leave shopping to the young
Or else to those who love its lure;
But I plan to walk on by
And keep myself out of each store!

Car Trouble

When you think that your car isn’t acting quite right
And your husband is not a mechanic,
There really is not very much you can do –
So what I do, of course, is to panic.

I’m watching the heat gauge as it inches up
And I’m certain that trouble has landed.
I’m picturing us on the side of the road –
Freezing, tired and hungry and stranded!

It’s Sunday so service repair shops are closed.
It seems that our car needs some oil.
The reservoir cap feels cemented in place;
My stomach is starting to roil.

The car’s getting old – it has many more miles
Than the previous cars we have owned.
The time might be right to replace it with yet
One more Subaru, newer, but cloned.

But we finally stop at a gas station where
The attendant helps take off the cap;
And we feed her some oil and the heat gauge goes down –
Then we’re back on the road in a snap.

So I take a deep breath and I try to relax.
I let go of my panic and fear;
And I think to myself – why, this car is the best!
It will certainly last one more year!

Dust I Must

When someone says, “You could eat off the floors,”
They don’t refer to mine.
I wash the floors when they look gross,
But most days they look fine.

“Good Housekeeping” would not reward me
With their golden seal.
They’d look for someone, unlike me,
Who scrubs and scours with zeal.

My mother was far worse –
I am the apple, she the tree.
Perhaps the perfect homemaker’s
Not in my pedigree.

Yet I am not a total slob.
My home won’t earn disgust;
‘Cause when I notice any shmutz,
I’ll cave, and dust I must!

The River

I love to walk in Central Park –
What joy it does deliver!
But sometimes, I am in the mood
For walking by the river.

I’m talking East, not Hudson,
‘Cause it’s close to where I live;
Though it isn’t Central Park,
It has a lot to give:

The gently rolling water
With the sun’s reflected rays;
The boats, sometimes the Circle Line,
Creating waves and sprays.

The seagulls, looking much more regal
Than their pigeon friends;
The Roosevelt Island tram, whose cable
Gracefully suspends.

It’s peaceful by the river.
It allows your mind to rest;
And next to Central Park
It is the place I like the best.

Get Down

In the winter, when it’s freezing
And you cannot hack it,
You’ll be warm and cozy if
You’re wearing a down jacket.

Even if the chance of snow
Or sleet is quite remote,
You can’t go wrong if you are snug
Inside a down-filled coat.

Wool is never warm enough
And there’s no need for fur.
Bundle up in down and you
Will never utter “Brrrrrr….”

So while the stores are having sales,
Indulge - you won’t regret it.
Let nature throw the works at you.
Will you be cold? Forget it!

A Stranger's Joy

On a crowded subway train
Just past Grand Central Station,
A smiling woman gave a shout
With obvious elation.

“Today’s my birthday, everyone!
I’ve just turned twenty-three!”
And she went from anonymous
To subway V.I.P.

Lots of “Happy Birthdays” followed;
Also many grins.
The world would be a better place
If, each day, as it spins,

We all could follow this girl’s lead
And, disregarding dangers,
Announce some new accomplishment
To groups of total strangers.

Imagine sharing someone’s news –
It might just be contagious.
Happiness expressed out loud –
So novel and outrageous!

I guess eventually we might
Feel jealous, cross or jaded;
And many people do not want
Their private space invaded.

But still, I did admire so
That birthday person’s nerve,
And hope her day was filled
With all the joy she does deserve.

Frozen Treats

The ice cream shop I passed today
Was empty – no surprise.
When temperatures are freezing,
Ice cream doesn’t tantalize.

In rural places, ice cream stands
Close up once it gets cold.
They know that in the winter
Not too many cones are sold.

But in the city, reasoning
Like that just doesn’t fly.
Urban logic takes those rules
And kisses them goodbye.

So even if it’s ten degrees
And frost forms on your lip,
You’ll find a place to have a scoop
Of double mocha chip.

We city dwellers like to know
Our cravings can be met.
That’s partly why we live here –
Not in Osh Kosh or Tibet.

Although I passed that ice cream store
And was too cold to splurge,
I like to know it’s waiting there
For when I get the urge.

Waiting Room

There aren’t chairs sufficient
For everyone who waits;
Amenities deficient
And TV news that grates.

The décor’s pretty boring.
There’s litter on the floor.
So far nobody’s snoring;
I’m sure that that’s in store.

A sign announces eating
And drinking aren’t allowed.
That sign’s the only greeting
To welcome all the crowd.

We sit and wait for hours
While patients are post-op.
We must obey the powers
Of people at the top.

The day drags on forever,
But we cannot complain.
We’ve no IV’s to sever,
No nausea or pain.

Our purpose is providing
Support and love and cheer.
Our hope, of course, is riding
On their knowing we are here.

We pop into recovery
To say a quick hello;
And then make the discovery
They’ve got a while to go.

And so we’re back to waiting,
Which I guess I’m glad to do;
‘Cause this anticipating
Means at least they made it through.

Choosing a Tree

I’ve never bought a Christmas tree.
The holiday’s not mine;
But every year I check out
Every spruce or fir or pine.

I walk by all the outdoor stands
And deeply breathe the scent,
While tallying inside my head
The money I’d have spent.

Of course, I’d always pick a tree
Real full and fresh and fat;
Just getting it inside, I’d feel
Just like an acrobat.

And then the ornaments! What fun
To add some every year.
I’d be the first one in the stores
Before they’d disappear.

It’s easy just to fantasize
And then to amble by.
A Christmas tree is not a purchase
I could justify.

But when I watch the people
As they ponder and assess,
I realize who needs more to add
To my December stress.

So I stroll on and leave behind
A world I will not enter;
And if I need a tree, I’ll go
To Rockefeller Center!

Sunday Brunch

Sunday brunch is not my thing.
To me, there’s no appeal.
Dinner time is when I’d want
The atmosphere and meal.

It’s just too long for me to wait
For coffee and some toast.
I like my breakfast early
When I’m hungriest the most.

And as for lunch, I’m happiest
With ice cream or a snack.
At dinner time I get my fill
Of calories I lack.

Yet all the local restaurants
Are filled with crowds for brunch.
It’s a scene more lively than
At breakfast or at lunch.

It looks inviting, even more
When it is wet and cold;
Perhaps I’d cave and try it
If invited, truth be told.

But ‘til that time, I’m happy
Sitting home and sipping joe;
Yet ask me out to dinner
And I’m always set to go!

Fresh Flowers

Buying fresh flowers is really a treat.
They’re not really something you need;
But somehow they make the house look more complete
And your home looks more spiffy, indeed.

Where I live, there are florists, but that’s not for me;
My tastes run more simple and cheap.
The delis and markets have, I guarantee,
A selection for pockets not deep.

The bunches of daisy-like flowers appeal.
They’re colorful, cheerful and bright;
And at four or five dollars, they’re really a steal –
In a vase, they fill me with delight.

Some people like flowers of plastic or silk –
One purchase will last through the year;
But I’d be unhappy with buds of that ilk,
As real as such blossoms appear.

No, give me fresh flowers – I don’t need a scent.
It’s the color and feel that I crave;
And I’d much prefer them when I am alive
Than adorning a spot on my grave.

Thirty Years

Thirty years ago today
My father sadly passed away.
Though he was only fifty-five,
His heart could not keep him alive.

When those awful words were spoken,
I felt like my heart was broken.
We had talked the night before,
Not knowing he was at death’s door.

He’d joked because they’d shaved his chest;
Laughing was what he did best.
He then admitted he was scared;
I reassured him, unprepared.

He lived for two more days without
Awaking, then his heart gave out.
The funeral is all a blur,
But I know that what did occur

Was, as the limousine drove ‘round,
My dad was nowhere to be found.
I looked for him, and realized then,
He’d never be with us again.

The years have passed – the ache is less;
So many feelings to express.
My father’s name is still a’ bloom;
His grandson waited in my womb.

My son grew up, though never knowing
All that love he missed while growing.
I don’t need candles to remind –
We feel the love he left behind.

While I Was Gone

Getting away is really nice,
But so is coming back;
Waiting there for me to read
Is lots of mail – a stack!

Catalogues and cheerful cards
With lovely season’s greetings;
Bills to pay and notices
Of some upcoming meetings.

Newspapers and packages
I ordered, in a pile;
So much stuff accumulates
In just a little while.

Still, I love to sift through
All that’s waiting there for me.
I savor every envelope
That’s there for me to see.

It doesn’t take a lot of time
‘Cause always, without fail,
There’s so much more that’s waiting
When I access my email.

Pigging Out

A license lets you drive a car,
A motorbike or boat.
Another license shows the world
You own your dog or goat.

Poetic license gives a writer
Leeway with the rules.
You're allowed to ditch
The ordinary grammar tools.

When I'm away, I have a license
You've not heard about.
I can abandon my routines
And yield to pigging out.

I will eat three times as much
As I'd consume at home.
Sometimes it's quite justified,
Like, "When you are in Rome..."

But other times, it's just a way
To give in and to splurge;
Well, since I'm on vacation
I'll indulge my every urge.

Ice cream, shakes, an extra beer,
Some chips and dips and fries.
Luckily, vacations end
Before I'm up a size.

Then when I am back at home,
With appetite all stoked,
I take that pig-out license
And declare that it's revoked!

Freezing in Florida

Flew to sunny Florida
To pay a little visit.
Usually the warmth, compared to home,
Feels quite exquisite.

Yet today I took my walk
In New York winter clothes,
All bundled in my coat and scarf -
My water almost froze!

The local paper's headlines
Did announce, for all to see,
It hasn't been this cold down here
Since 1893!

I won't put on my bathing suit;
This weather seems unreal.
The love from all my relatives
Is all the warmth I'll feel!

To Build A Fire

When the temperature drops,
What I really require,
If I’m in my house,
Is the roar of a fire.

It makes the room cozy,
Appealing and snug.
It’s like the enveloping
Warmth of a hug.

My husband decided
He’s had quite enough.
To tend to the fire
Took painstaking stuff.

The lugging and stacking
Of wood was a pain;
The stoking was constant
And made him complain.

And then all the cleaning –
The ashes and dust!
He quit, and on me
A new job has been thrust.

I’m up to the challenge, though –
I do not mind.
Three fires so far
I’ve set up and designed.

I doggedly tended,
Stoked, bellowed and fed;
My husband was glad
It was not him instead.

He’s not off the hook, though.
He’d be if he could;
‘Cause no way in hell
Will I chop up the wood!

Ordering Online

So I order a couple of things online
And click once on “Submit;”
But nothing happens – nada –
So I wait a little bit.

Although it says – “Please click just once,”
I give a second click;
But still I’m getting no response
As time goes tick – tick – tick.

I call the site up on the phone,
Hear Muzak while on hold;
And when at last a person answers,
This is what I’m told:

“We have a problem with our site.
Your order has gone through;
But since you clicked the button twice,
Guess what? You ordered two!

We seem to have a little glitch,
So customers can’t tell
Their orders have been processed…”
And I said – what the hell!

“We’ll get a representative
To help you – just you wait.”
So now I’m listening again
To music that I hate!

Okay, the service rep comes on
And tells me – “Do not fret.
Your order hasn’t gone through twice,
Or even one time yet!”

I’m writing this while still on hold;
A supervisor’s needed.
Next time I’ll listen to advice
I really should have heeded:

A bird in hand bought in the store
Trumps two birds bought online.
If I take this advice to heart,
I’m sure I’ll be just fine!

Coupon

Stores will try to lure you in
With lots of discount pricing,
But there is one thing that they do
That’s tops in their enticing.

Many shoppers can’t resist it;
Crowds, like birds, will swoop on
Any items they can find
For which they have a coupon.

Spend a hundred dollars now
And later you’ll save twenty;
Add up the percentages
And it sure seems like plenty.

So I wander through the aisles
With coupon clutched in hand,
And feel like I do not belong
In this consumer land.

There are bargains to be had
But I have no success.
I come home empty-handed,
Quite a failure, I confess.

My pocket holds my coupon
So I pull it out in sorrow;
And realize, in delight, it won’t
Expire ‘til tomorrow!

At What Cost

How many hours does it cost
To search for something you have lost?
It might be something you’ve misplaced
That’s vanished like it’s been erased.

Perhaps you dropped it when outside;
If so, your hopes will soon subside.
It might be hiding in plain sight,
Just hoping that you’ll reunite.

You agonize and pull your hair
When it won’t turn up anywhere.
But often it is gone for good,
A fact you should have understood.

At last that moment happens when
You know you’ll not see it again.
Your sad acknowledgement, a sigh,
Is equal to a glum goodbye.

I think all people have been there,
With objects lost to who knows where.
No matter how we may evolve,
Some mysteries we cannot solve.

Close to Perfect

Today was close to perfect.
Here are all the things I did:
Read my book so it’s not overdue,
Heaven forbid!

Next I took my morning walk,
Then breakfast and The Times;
Worked the puzzle, checked my mail,
Then dressed for winter climes.

Headed out to Union Square
For crafts there on display,
Stopping first for sustenance
At the Chocolate Café.

Had a cup of cocoa brew,
So deep and rich and sweet;
And, too, a chocolate Madeleine,
Which made the meal complete.

Next checked out the crafty things
And bought myself a hat;
Raced on to a movie,
Which began just as we sat.

Headed back uptown for dinner
At a favorite place;
The wine and food were excellent,
A meal I could embrace.

Now I’m home, reflecting on
A day that rates an A;
My husband gets the credit ‘cause
He made it be that way!

Into the Storm

When the weather’s wet and windy,
It’s a special treat
To curl up and remain indoors;
Such luxury is sweet.

A working person cannot choose
To call in sick for weather.
No matter how you dread it,
You must get your act together.

Sometimes even when you’re off,
You’re forced by obligation
To venture out into a storm
To reach your destination.

Today was such a day for me.
Despite my knuckles clenched
Around my strong umbrella,
In two minutes I was drenched.

The sweeping winds and pounding rain
Allowed no chance to hide.
I wished I could have changed my plans
And spent the day inside.

But I went out and braved the storm,
Though I will not deny
I would have been much happier
At home, relaxed and dry.