Steam Heat

Baseboard heat’s expensive
And it isn’t so efficient.
Wood stoves only work when
Your wood pile is sufficient.

Coal is just too messy
And it’s slightly out of date.
Fireplaces must be vented
Or you suffocate.

When you really want to be
All cozy, warm and snug,
Steam heat is the way to go
For comfort like a hug.

The sizzle sounds escaping
From each radiator slat
Are all you need to feel relaxed,
Without a thermostat.

On winter days, returning home
With freezing hands and feet,
You’ll soon be feeling toasty
As the steam brings up the heat.

Although it sometimes gets too hot,
On frigid days it’s bliss.
It’s nice to nestle, listening
To harmonies of hiss!

Icicles

There’s one way to know we’re in Nature’s grip,
And that’s watching some icicles drip, drip, drip.
With each little drop, they get slightly shorter,
Turning from daggers to weak, wet water.

Catching the sun, they look made of glass;
As cold weather fades out, their short lives will pass.
Kids pluck them down – sometimes even suck ‘em;
Following that, they poke, prod and chuck ‘em.

While they exist, though, they’re sharp and sleek,
Exuding much more than a mild mystique.
Their beauty can’t last, which is sadly tragic;
But while they’re around, they are winter’s magic.

The Pits

I don’t like eating tangerines
Although I will admit
It’s not the taste that turns me off
Or gets me in a snit.

It’s knowing that each section has
Within its crescent, hidden,
A pit or two or three or four,
Unwelcome and unbidden.

If citrus is the tang I crave,
Tangelos do appeal;
And navel oranges, as well,
Have juiciness ideal.

But tangerines are more like life:
The good and bad stuff splits;
‘Cause even though there’s sweetness there,
You’ve gotta deal with pits!

Salad Bowls

I tossed out several salad bowls,
Real old and made of wood;
All scratched and cracked, they had to go –
I’d keep them if I could.

They had a matching larger bowl,
With serving fork and spoon.
We got them as a gift right after
Our brief honeymoon.

Though it was years ago,
I still recall, so sharp and clear,
The meals we served to friends
In such a stress-free atmosphere.

Nobody yet had children;
Most of us still had our folks.
We’d eat and laugh and drink our drinks
Or pass around the smokes.

We all had jobs and life was filled
With feathering our nests.
Sorrow and disease were woes
We hadn’t yet addressed.

Our lives were as unblemished
As those wooden salad bowls;
Our needs so simply sated
With some greens and casseroles.

Those days are gone; the bowls are, too.
Such remnants of the past
Remind us that all things must go,
But memories will last.

The Sex Life of Grapes

Perusing Tuesday’s New York Times,
Right in the Science section,
An article did catch my eye,
Engendering reflection.

It described how oenophiles
Would suffer the effects
Of lack of wine diversity
‘Cause grapes aren’t having sex!

The writer did explain, of course,
About combining genes;
Without it, reproducing’s gone –
For grapes, that’s what he means.

Though it seems rather silly,
I keep picturing a vine
With lots of pairs of grinding grapes
Each time I sip my wine.

‘Cause ever since that headline,
My mind’s trapped, with no escapes;
I close my eyes and laugh, ‘cause I see
Sexcapades of grapes!

State of the Union

The president speaks; the crowd’s on their feet,
All applauding to show their support.
Bipartisan unity, so it appears,
Or at least that’s what newsmen report.

Somebody was counting – I heard the result:
There were forty-five standing ovations.
It seems a bit over the top, don’t you think?
Though their actions need no explanations.

Watching them was familiar, reminding me of
Rosh Hashanah, when I go to shul.
We stand up and sit down, though without the applause,
At least forty-five times, as a rule.

These two different events, thought alike in some ways,
One should really not try to equate;
‘Cause we all are aware, in the U.S. of A.
We must separate temple and state!

Winter Coats

Yesterday was six degrees,
Today hit thirty-eight.
This crazy weather is just something
We must tolerate.

One day it’s too cold to walk.
The next, my coat’s unzipped;
But, just like most New Yorkers,
My coat closet’s well-equipped.

I have three jackets filled with down;
Today they were too warm.
I switched to wool, but may switch back
Tomorrow, for the storm.

We can’t complain – the weather’s fickle.
Still, we can prepare;
And thanks to weathermen, at least
We know which coat to wear!

Iron-y

With very little closet space,
My clothes get very wrinkled.
My husband’s quite okay with shirts
All rumpled, creased and crinkled.

But I am not, and so each day
My iron’s set to “Steam.”
I glide the hotness back and forth
Like I am in a dream.

You’d think my clothes would be so crisp
I’d look like a Marine;
But somehow, in my DNA,
I lack the ironing gene.

I only have a mini-board,
But that is no excuse;
A semi-wrinkled garment
Is the best I can produce.

I guess it’s quite ironic
That, as birthdays give me chase,
The wrinkles on my clothes
Are less intense than on my face.

Unfortunately, there’s no iron
For that, I’m afraid;
‘Cause if there were, I guarantee,
My fortune would be made!

Water Towers

They’re round and squat, with pointed hats,
Rise scattershot, like flowers.
If you live in New York, you know
I speak of water towers.

On many buildings, they’re not there,
Or else they’re strangely hidden.
The current crop of architects
Makes sight of them forbidden.

Yet to their humble grandeur
I am drawn; these building toppers
Appear so proud and yet forlorn,
Like scenes in many Hoppers.

So many passersby below
Don’t know that they exist;
But once you do, their charm
Is quite a challenge to resist.

I can’t in paint immortalize
The beauty of these towers;
But praising them in poetry
Is well within my powers.

Medicine Chest

Have you ever checked the items
In your bathroom medicine chest?
I did exactly that today
And man, I failed the test!

The capsules, ointments, salves and pills –
How they accumulate!
I tossed so many, I lost count,
‘Cause they were out of date.

Not by a week, a month, a year,
But decades have slipped past
Since certain of those vials
Ever were supposed to last.

I saved a few from years ago –
I have mercurochrome!
And No Doz – “safe as coffee”
From my former Brooklyn home.

I kept a box of Listerine
With coupon, fifty cents;
There is no expiration date
Or year it represents.

There is a jar of liquid,
Good for itches, like a potion;
If you meet a mosquito,
Try my pink Calamine lotion.

My favorite, though, is really old –
It’s purple and it stains;
It’s Gentian Violet for the mouth –
On my shelf, it remains.

In case you visit and you need
An Advil or Bactine,
Don’t worry – those expire
In two thousand and thirteen!

Crumpet

I tasted my very first crumpet today;
They serve them in England with tea.
I thought it was really quite awful and yet,
I’m sure many Brits would disagree.

I toasted it lightly, expecting a crunch,
But it still remained soggy and bland.
Even adding preserves didn’t help it improve;
I had no more tricks at my command.

It tasted like it was a mongrel-like cross
Of a pancake and bad English muffin;
With a negative sweetness I didn’t expect,
One small bite and my mouth said, “Enough in!”

Oh, give me a bagel, bialy, or toast.
Of British treats, I like a scone;
But when breakfast or tea is next offered to me,
I hope I’m in a crumpet-free zone!

At The Transit Museum

I sat inside a subway car
From 1961.
The seats were made of wicker
That once made my stockings run.

I also wandered into trains
From years before and after.
The ads were so old-fashioned
There were teens there wracked with laughter.

Some I did remember:
Vote Miss Subways – pick a winner!
Others touted Oysterettes,
To add to soup for dinner.

There were ads for Burma Shave,
Lux, Juicy Fruit, Rinso;
Folks who held those subway straps
Once read them long ago.

It’s fun to travel back in time
And think of how I’d be
Squashed like a sardine
When riding on the IRT.

It got you where you had to go;
And then, what’s really strange
Was, on the bus, the driver
Took your dollar and made change!

These thoughts were triggered by a trip
To Brooklyn, just to see
A great museum, quite the place
To mull some memory.

And when I left, I took the subway
But the spell was broken
Because I used a MetroCard
And not a Y-cut token!

Drool

You know what really isn’t cool?
Waking up a’drip with drool.
Stopping this may be your goal,
But it’s out of your control.

Some saliva likes to seep
From our mouths when we’re asleep.
Then it’s on the pillow case
Or even worse, smeared on your face.

Pointing out the residue
Usually is quite taboo.
For the drooler, try to hide;
Flip pillow to the other side.

For the bedmate, understand
Embarrassment is close at hand.
So kiss good morning – do not fret;
At worst, you’ll get a little wet!

Slush

Snow that’s new is gorgeous;
It looks dazzling white and lush.
On the city corners, though,
It quickly turns to slush.

It’s puddly and squishy.
It’s grimy and it’s gray;
And when the cars speed by
It shoots up in a dirty spray.

If your boots aren’t waterproof
And into slush you step,
Your feet will be so wet
You’ll be a candidate for strep.

You really can’t avoid the slush –
It’s just a winter fact;
But here are several helpful hints
So you’ll know how to act.

Wear knee-high boots, real watertight,
Then stride right in and squoosh.
Avoid the icy hillocks or
You’ll end up on your tush.

Never wear a coat you love –
Wear one that’s old and tattered;
‘Cause you can’t avoid the fact
That you will soon be splattered.

When the temperature goes up,
The slush will disappear.
With my tips you’ll do just fine
This slushy time of year.

Bag Check

When you enter a museum,
Guards are there to search your purse;
So I open up the zippers,
But I wonder which is worse –

The fact that nothing’s hiding
In a crevice, pouch or nook,
Or the realization that the guards
Did not exactly look?

If I were packing pistols
Or a hand grenade or knife,
I’d glide right through, I guarantee –
I’d bet my very life.

So what point is pretending?
It’s a con, a game, a sham;
‘Cause they’re not seeing much
With such a cursory exam.

But we all play along
And everyone feels safe and sound.
I hope if bad guys slip right through
That I am not around!

Football

Football fever’s at its peak;
For some fans, the future’s bleak.
Others pray and place their bets
For the Patriots or Jets.

There are sometimes some surprises;
Heroes in all shapes and sizes.
Real fanatics cling to hope
When teams are on a downward slope.

As for me, I must confess,
Though I like football more than chess,
It’s not a game I care about;
Whoever loses, I won’t pout.

The players take two steps, I’ve found,
And then they’re piled up on the ground.
The clock gets frozen, so one minute
Soon has near an hour in it.

Occasionally, there is some running
Or a pass that’s long and stunning;
But to me, it’s mostly boring,
Even as the teams are scoring.

I’ll watch for a little bit
Because my husband’s into it.
I don’t care though, on the whole,
Who makes it to the Super Bowl.

Soon we’ll know which teams will play.
Frenzied fans will have their day.
I’ll cheer, too, but here’s my reason –
Coming up is baseball season!

Aleve

I’ve written here about my knee –
Well, it was getting worse.
The pain was in “fast forward” mode,
And I preferred “reverse.”

I used an ice pack, but it didn’t
Really help at all.
I started thinking what I needed
Was an overhaul.

Perhaps I should break down and see
A doctor, who would tell
What evils lurked within and if
Arthritis there did dwell.

But then it was suggested that
I swallow an Aleve.
For aches and pains in joints and muscles,
It’s known to relieve.

I’d never taken one before
But thought it worth a shot;
And man, oh man, I was amazed –
Relief is what I got!

Now that was twenty hours ago;
My pain has not returned.
I know it isn’t permanent,
But this is what I’ve learned:

If you think only doctors help
Your anguish – you’re naïve.
Your suffering may go away
If you pop an Aleve!

Books

Publishers are worried –
Sales of books have seemed to dwindle.
Many folks instead are buying
E-books for their Kindle.

I am not among them.
I prefer a book with pages;
The very act of turning them,
To me, is what engages.

I don’t want an announcement
Telling me how much I’ve read.
I look at where my bookmark is,
And see how much instead.

I don’t care if the font is crisp
And easy on the eyes;
The print in every book I read
Seems just the perfect size.

I like the feel of book in hand –
Its cover, spine and heft;
And if I had to give that up,
I think I’d feel bereft.

So keep your Kindle or your Kobo;
You can have your Nook.
I’m heading to the library
To get myself a book!

Napless

Although the aging process
Causes energy to sap,
I won’t cave to exhaustion
And refuse to take a nap.

Unless I’m sick, I’m not in bed
Except at night, to sleep;
Though sitting on the sofa,
Open eyes are hard to keep.

Especially when I’ve been traipsing
Here and there all day,
I order my eyes not to shut,
But they do not obey.

Yet closing them for just a sec,
With drooping, nodding head,
Is not the same to me at all
As crawling into bed.

Let nappers nap and sleepers sleep –
No judgment will I make;
But as for me, until it’s night,
I’ll fight to stay awake.

Starbucks

Starbucks wants to change its logo,
Take away its name.
Somehow, without saying “Starbucks,”
It won’t be the same.

It’s green and circular right now,
A mermaid at its center.
I don’t know why a mermaid’s there
And don’t know its inventor.

There’s something that I must admit –
When I heard of the change
In logos, I was so surprised,
‘Cause this is what’s so strange –

I never noticed that there was
A mermaid there before.
I drank the coffee and the cup
Was something I’d ignore.

I know I hated all their terms,
From grande down to tall.
Whenever I get coffee there,
I always ask for “small.”

But if you asked me to describe
Their logo, I would bring
A mental image saying “Starbucks”
Circled in a ring.

I’d never see a mermaid there
So Starbucks, for your sake,
If you remove your name, I think
You’re making a mistake!

Impending

My quilting class tomorrow
Has been canceled in advance.
The organizers weren’t giving
Nature half a chance.

The supermarkets must be jammed
And running low on stock;
As people check their fridges,
To the stores they all do flock.

The snow plows and the salters
Have to be on high alert;
When just one snowflake hits the ground,
Their power they’ll assert.

Teachers and their students
All are hoping for a storm.
It would be great to stay in bed
All cozy, snug and warm.

Bosses have put plans in place
In case they can’t commute.
Parking rules will be suspended –
That’s not in dispute.

The city and surrounding ‘burbs
Will follow, blow by blow,
The weatherman’s report as he
Describes the coming snow.

But ‘til the moment that those flakes
Start floating from the sky,
We should remember there’s a chance
This storm will pass us by.

Broken

Objects break, and that’s a fact.
Glasses shatter, cups get cracked.
Plates get chipped and pans get dented;
Damages can’t be cemented.

Something smashed to smithereens
Makes a mess for one who cleans.
The breaker feels remorse and shame,
Especially when named for blame.

Yet many things can be replaced,
The image of the first erased.
So there’s no cause to be upset
‘Cause agita is all you’ll get.

Let it go – just clean the pieces.
Count to ten, ‘til anger ceases.
Any object’s just a token;
Just be glad your heart’s not broken.

Hands off Huck!

Someone came along and changed
The wording of Huck Finn.
If Twain were here, I can’t conceive
The snit he would be in.

Yes, there are words offensive
But they stem from different times;
And epithets, though vulgar,
We cannot consider crimes.

Yet where does someone get the nerve
To alter someone’s writing?
To mess with Shakespeare, Poe or Twain
Is riotous inciting.

If anyone objects to language
Written, published, read,
Let him or her produce and peddle
Other words instead.

But do not tamper with the greats –
Don’t modify one word.
The very thought of doing so
Is totally absurd!

Tinsel

I’ve searched about and note a drought –
So tinsel’s out, without a doubt.
For each discarded tree I see
Is, sadly, silver tinsel-free.

When I was small, as I recall,
The protocol that would enthrall
Was tinsel draped – no branch escaped –
On trees street-scraped on which we gaped.

And yet today, I’m sad to say,
That bright display has lost its sway.
The trees look stark – just green and bark –
They’re sad and dark without that spark.

So tree folk, hear: please volunteer
To cheer the atmosphere next year.
Reconsider tinsel’s glitter –
It makes litter worth a Twitter.

Avoiding the Closets

Sometimes on a nasty day
With heavy rain or snow,
I choose to stay indoors if there is
No place I must go.

I’ll read and do the crossword,
Answer e-mails, read some more;
I’ll nosh or watch TV, all to
Avoid a certain chore.

It’s cleaning out the closets!
Just the thought gives me the chills.
There’s so much there to sort through,
Each one’s stuffed right to the gills.

The clothing that I haven’t worn
For over twenty years;
The files and paperwork that’s left
From previous careers.

The sheets and towels that I saved
For reasons sentimental;
The knickknacks, toys and 45’s
I once thought instrumental.

The empty boxes I held onto
Just in case I’d need them;
The books I kept from college,
Though I never plan to read them.

Today’s the day for closet cleaning –
I should just embrace it;
But first I’ll read a little more,
‘Cause I don’t want to face it.

And then I’ll take a little break
And maybe phone a friend.
My closets will remain untouched –
On that you can depend!

Tony's

To construct a brand new subway,
New York City had to claim
Tony’s restaurant’s location,
And it really is a shame.

For so many years I’ve dined there;
Always had a special meal.
Now it’s closed and when I pass it,
It feels more than just unreal.

No more perfect calamari,
Penne drenched in vodka sauce;
Oh, the broccoli, oil and garlic –
I am aching from the loss.

It was welcoming and cozy,
Always crowded and abuzz;
When we had a celebration,
Tony’s would be where it was.

Though they have a west side version
And I’m sure the food’s as good,
I had comfort and convenience
In my east side neighborhood.

Maybe someday they’ll reopen
If they find another space;
But until that time, no restaurant
Will ever take their place.

The city’s like a bully,
Pleading eminent domain;
But losing Tony’s we have lost
Much more than we will gain!

To Be Walking

Some people never ride the train –
They much prefer the bus.
Suburban folk find both a pain –
Think driving is a plus.

A lot of people love to bike
And some roll ‘round on skates;
Yet many others really like
How flying liberates.

For city folk, a taxi’s fine
Or van or limousine;
Convenience often does define
The needs of our routine.

But as for me, if I’ve a choice
To get from A to B,
I’d rather walk, ‘cause I rejoice
In all that I can see.

The route is mine as is the pace;
I’m solely in control.
The sun or breeze is on my face;
It lifts my very soul.

What others see as exercise,
Resulting in some balking,
For me’s exactly just my size –
I can’t wait to be walking!

Under the Hood

If your car emits a noise that’s strange,
Most folks do as they should –
They pull a lever and proceed
To check under the hood.

Those pipes and wires may contain
Some clanks that don’t belong;
A skilled mechanic can detect
Exactly what is wrong.

The human body’s like a car
With parts beneath the hood;
And when they act up, we’re aware
That something isn’t good.

Of course, we all self-diagnose,
With Web MD and such;
But even doctors cannot always
Find the truth by touch.

They X-ray or do MRI’s
To have a glimpse inside;
And sometimes surgery’s on tap
To help distress subside.

These thoughts occurred to me because
I had a facial twitch.
It’s vanished now but it raised
My anxiety to pitch.

It made me think of all our parts
Below our skin, well-hidden;
Unless we’re doctors, access to
Their workings is forbidden.

But like a car, sometimes a tune-up’s
All we really need.
Too bad our warranty
Won’t promise health that’s guaranteed!

Chopped

Today I saw my poem in print
And part of it is missing.
I feel as angry as a snake
Who’s threatened and is hissing.

Imagine if you were a chef
And someone stole your spices;
Or if you were Ralph Lauren
And somebody slashed your prices.

A surgeon in the O.R. needs
Each scalpel and all knives;
And take away a painter’s paints –
Make note of how he thrives.

You would not tell musicians
That their songs should be condensed;
And shortening a sermon would leave
Preachers quite incensed.

I guess what really got me
When the damage caught my eyes
Is nobody told me I’d be cut –
It was a cruel surprise.

I know I should be grateful
That my words were even printed;
But I’d have been prepared
If cutting verses had been hinted.

Instead I did expect a tree
Of stanzas, fat and plump;
But there for everyone to read
All I found was a stump.

I’m sure that every writer,
Even if their writing’s flopped,
Would agree with me that it’s not right
To be unfairly chopped!

The Melt

With all the snow that we’ve been dealt,
It’s finally time for it to melt.
Piles that once reached to the sky
Now graze my ankle, not my thigh.

All the drifts, once gleaming white,
Have lost their sparkle, with their height.
The snow that’s left is grimy gray,
Fit for neither boots nor sleigh.

And snowmen – hatted, buttoned, belted –
Leave just puddles, once they’ve melted.
Rain today may help complete
The snow’s exile from the street;

But since there are no guarantees,
What’s left will very surely freeze.
Tomorrow, we will pay the price,
‘Cause then we’ll have to shovel ice!

A Time for Firsts

On the number one day of a very new year,
It’s time to take the plunge;
Let’s gather all regrets and qualms
And label them “Expunge.”

For new adventures, we’ll set out –
Impromptu, unrehearsed;
Embracing all things new so we’ll
Experience a “first.”

I’m eating dinner in a place
I’ve never tried before.
Perhaps it won’t be quite as good
As restaurants I adore.

But since the calendar is fresh
Just like a wiped-clean slate,
I’ll take a chance and sample
Different foods upon my plate.

Perhaps I’ll wear some earrings
I’ve been saving with no cause;
I’ll quietly enjoy
Some psychological applause.

For every time we have a first,
We don’t need to announce it.
If it makes you smile, why risk
That others may just trounce it?

Instead, just try a lot of firsts –
So many things are waiting.
Nobody needs to notice how,
Inside, you’re celebrating!