Licorice

Some folks call it “lick-a-rish;”
Others end it “iss.”
Either way, it is a treat
You shouldn’t quite dismiss.

Whether it’s a Twizzler,
Spiraled black or brown or red;
Or serious imported bites,
In boxes sold, instead,

You should give licorice a shot.
It’s sweet and oh, so chewy;
And unlike other candies,
It’s not sticky, stiff or gooey.

You may not find the varied shapes
From way back in the past –
Records, laces, ropes or dogs –
Not every one did last.

But still, it’s nice to have on hand
When you deserve a boost.
I often serve it to my friends,
A sweet reintroduced.

I think I will indulge myself –
A Twizzler ought to do it;
And I’ll enjoy my reverie
Each second that I chew it!

Mosquito Bite

Summer must be here and I
Will let you know the reason:
I got my first mosquito bite
To usher in the season.

It got me on the neck this time –
That much I can divulge;
I didn’t feel it happen,
But the proof is in the bulge.

That little pillow pop of skin
Reminds me with an itch;
I try to hold off scratching
But that really is a bitch.

I guess I’m pretty lucky
And that cannot be denied;
But, although it only bit me once,
I hope that sucker died!

To Be an Ant

Scurrying from place to place,
Needing just an inch of space;
Tunneling beneath the earth
On paths that lead to death from birth.

Working quickly for the queen;
Not much rest in that routine.
Instinct triggers what's innate -
Desire to cooperate.

Drawn to crumbs like moths to flame;
Don't feel pride or mirth or shame.
Life consists of treks for food;
Never time for fits of mood.

Imagine living as an ant -
I, for one, just simply can't!

To Blame

The barbecues were all fired up,
The tag sale items tagged;
The store was crowded - grill supplies
And drinks were getting bagged.

We'd driven through the car wash
So the car'd be nice and spiffy;
The weatherman implied the weather
Wouldn't be too iffy.

Yet just as we stepped through the door,
The sky became quite dark.
Despite the early sun,
The weatherman was off the mark.

The heavens opened up and sent
A burst of pouring rain.
At first I thought those dogs and burgers
Had been bought in vain.

It rained for fifteen minutes,
Then the sun came peeking through.
The tag sale must be over
But not so the barbecue.

I should have known that it would rain.
I'd caused the situation;
'Cause going through a car wash
Is a raindrop's invitation!

Natural Law

Central Park: we watched a hawk
Who picked apart his prey.
Many people gathered ‘round
To witness this display.

I thought he must be pulling at
A squirrel or a rat,
The creatures he’d encounter
In his urban habitat.

But soon I realized I was wrong
‘Cause, though it seems absurd,
The dinner he was picking at
Most likely was a bird.

I recognized its tail, by shape,
When lifted by his beak;
But really, what alerted me
Were all the birds, a’shriek.

For fellow avians came near
A’flutter and attacking;
They swooped right down and grazed that hawk
As he was gamely snacking.

I gave them credit for their nerve –
So brash, so bold, so brazen;
They tried so hard to vex that hawk,
Like outlaws, guns a’blazin’.

The hawk ignored them, had his meal
Then flew off, with pursuers;
The birds still hounded, but his flight
Dispersed the human viewers.

Yet we were grateful for the show –
Real nature, in the flesh.
You never know when natural law
And life will chance to mesh.

On Sale

I bought a flannel shirt today
Because it was on sale.
I should have bought a tank top
But let thriftiness prevail.

The shirt is soft and cozy warm,
In subtle gorgeous plaid;
As far as flannel shirts go,
It’s the nicest one I’ve had.

The fit was fine, the price was great –
I’ll wear it quite a lot;
But not for several months at least,
Because it is too hot.

I’ll add it to my closet
With my other winter clothes,
And there it will remain
Until the winter, I suppose.

The problem buying things on sale,
Especially ones to wear,
Is, by the time the weather’s right,
You might forget it’s there!

The Spice of Life

Some folks like their food real spicy;
Others lean towards bland.
Oftentimes the piquancy
Is not what you had planned.

There are those who favor bitter;
Many savor sweet.
Recipes that call for both
Are where the twain shall meet.

Certain people would declare
Their meal a real fiasco
If it didn’t have the sting
Of salsa or Tabasco.

Personalities, as well,
Are fiery or cool.
Foods reflect one’s temperament,
Though logic may not rule.

It’s possible that someone dull
Likes savory cuisine,
Yet someone sultry somehow lacks
That tangy pungent gene.

It’s like the nursery rhyme we learned
Of Jack Sprat and his wife:
Variety makes the world go round
And is the spice of life.

On Lower Broadway

The camera crews were out in force
Lined up, a dozen deep;
Hoping when their prey emerged,
They’d get a glimpse or peep.

They made me think of vultures
As they circle in the sky,
Just waiting for their target
To give up the ghost and die.

Both cameramen and vultures
Do their thing so they can eat.
Their victims can’t do anything
But suffer their defeat.

I’m not exactly sorry for
The man accused of rape.
It’s time for him to face the fact
He’s trapped and can’t escape.

Yet seeing all those cameras
Poised and aimed just like a threat,
I wonder if we need to see
The pictures that they’ll get.

Old-Fashioned

My friend got a Nook and isn’t thrilled;
It was a birthday gift fulfilled.

She likes the fact that she can load
A bunch of books for on the road.
It’s portable and bright to read;
A reading lamp you do not need.

But if you want to look ahead,
You’ll wish you had a book instead.
Or if you need referring back,
You’ll rue the pages that you lack.

A book is tactile and its heft
Lets readers know how much is left.
You stick a bookmark in your place
And need no batteries or case.

Technology improves some things,
But I don’t covet all it brings.
To read a story, let me look
At words in an old-fashioned book.

The End of the World

The world didn’t end
Despite every prediction.
Some things in life
Are much stranger than fiction.

All who believed
To the core of their being
Must have wondered today
What it was they were seeing.

“Why, the world looks the same!
Somehow I thought we’d capture
Perfection, at least,
When sucked up by the rapture.

Instead, what I see
Are the bills I’d not paid
And the money I spent,
Thinking I had it made.

Now I’m left in a mess
But I’m really not scared
‘Cause when Judgment day comes,
I’ll again be prepared!”

Calm Poet

An article I read today
Described attacks by bears.
The writer said, when males attack,
You’re captured unawares.

He also emphasized the fact
All bears are not the same.
Just like two humans differ,
Bears can stake a matching claim.

“Not every person that you meet,”
He went on to compare,
“Is nasty mugger or calm poet;”
So I say – no fair!

Every poet isn’t calm.
To prove it, I’ll insist
That, for the record, here’s a poet
Who’s bemused and pissed!

Showers Predicted

It’s rained ‘most every day this week –
Good news for all the flowers.
We can’t complain, ‘cause weather’s whims
Are not within our powers.

Umbrella sellers have been pleased
And stores which peddle boots;
Perhaps they and the weather gods
Have labored in cahoots.

I’ve stepped in puddles more like lakes
And dripped from each extremity;
For keeping dry, it seems like
Staying home’s the only remedy.

It isn’t raining as I write
But showers are predicted.
I hope the sun comes out
And weathermen are contradicted.

‘Cause raindrops hailing seem to be
Like bullets in a battle.
Another cloudburst and I’ll think
I’m living in Seattle!

Politicians

Why can’t politicians
Keep their privates in their pants?
It seems they whip ‘em out
The minute that they have a chance!

They knock up all the household help,
Force interns to their knees;
Attack the maids and misbehave
To varying degrees.

A female who’s in politics
Lets common sense prevail,
Then doesn’t have to claim
She’s on the Appalachian trail.

A word of caution to the males –
Nobody likes a skipper
Who keeps one hand upon the helm,
The other on his zipper!

Transported (by Mark Rylance)

Today, while in the audience,
Reality was thwarted.
Life outside did fade away
And we were all transported.

We witnessed something magical,
An actor so amazing
His talent cannot be conveyed
Despite the critics’ praising.

You’d have to see it for yourself.
I really can’t describe it;
Like speaking of a precious wine,
You simply must imbibe it.

At curtain time, the crowd jumped up
And roared while madly clapping.
The actors bowed and beamed and felt
Such good vibes overlapping.

But really, all of the applause
Was aimed right at the star.
The adulation he raked in
Could fill a reservoir.

He soaked it up and in his joy,
He did a gleeful bounce.
Exhilaration such as that
Did all awards just trounce.

The actor and the audience
United with affection;
And I felt humbled to be part
Of such a rare connection.

My Mother's Face

Today’s glance in the mirror
Made me wish I could erase
The image that looked back at me,
Which was my mother’s face.

I do not mean her younger self,
So 1940’s vamp,
But more a senior version
Which bore aging’s glaring stamp.

It’s something we don’t want to see.
I think we often cling
To visions of ourselves so filled
With all that youth can bring.

But years unfold and take a toll
And grant us no protection
From what the mirror offers us –
A reason for reflection.

We can’t quite help who we become.
The years won’t cut us slack;
But when I pass a mirror hence,
I hope myself looks back.

Belated

A birthday card that gets there late,
A day or two beyond the date,
Becomes a nice way to remind
The celebrant that, though inclined
To feel that special day is done,
It isn’t quite, to everyone.

And so it lingers, like a scent
That keeps the air quite redolent
With memories of the time just past
Before they dissipate at last.

Of course, although it feels so good
To open cards sent when they should,
The late ones, we can thus surmise,
Provide a blessing in disguise.

Above and Beyond

When someone really goes beyond
The normal call of duty,
It simply knocks your socks right off –
It’s such a thing of beauty.

Confronted by a person who
Has certain “special needs,”
Some turn and look the other way
And others do good deeds.

Today I did experience
A magical event.
I hope the ones responsible
Know just how much it meant.

My daughter’s birthday was the best!
We had a private tour
Of New York’s Wax Museum –
Who could ask for any more?

And I could travel ‘round the world,
Traverse a million miles,
Before I’d find another way
To get those beaming smiles.

So thanks to Darren, at Tussaud’s
And Phyllis, who arranged it.
We had the most amazing time –
Not one way we’d have changed it.

It really reaffirms your faith
In humans when you find
That there are people who exist
So nice they’ll blow your mind.

We owe a debt of gratitude
And, I would be quite lax,
If I forgot to also thank
Those figures made of wax!

Wait Time

You get down to the laundry room,
But see your clothes still spinning;
There’s not a thing that you can do –
Your wait time is beginning.

Or if you’ve an appointment
With a dentist or M.D.,
Prepare to settle in and wait –
How long’s a mystery.

You’re pacing in a pharmacy
‘Til your prescription’s filled,
Or standing in a line for stamps
And not exactly thrilled.

You might be queued up for a bus
Or searching for a train,
Appealing to the powers that be
Will likely be in vain.

No matter what you’re waiting for,
It’s really so annoying;
That wasted time should be applied
To something you’re enjoying.

I really wish that I could be
Productive while I wait,
But usually I simply let
My anger escalate.

Occasionally I succeed
And have some discipline;
This poem was started while my wash
Was cycling at “Spin.”

Friday the 13th

Don’t walk beneath a ladder
Or let a black cat cross.
Your mirror mustn’t shatter –
Seven years will be your loss.

Be sure you don’t step on a crack;
Say “Bless you” for a sneeze.
If salt spills, toss some past your back
And most important, PLEASE,

If you are superstitious,
Keep those warnings close at hand.
The 13th may be malicious
When on Friday it does land.

You never know what’s waiting
So be careful on this date.
Don’t waste time by instigating –
Just a fool would tempt his fate.

Our Mark

A dog who lifts his leg to pee
Against a trunk’s solidity
Just simply wants to leave his mark –
It lasts much longer than his bark.

An artist, in a matching fashion,
Leaves the markings of his passion.
Canvasses shout loud and clear –
I exist! I once was here…

Writers do the same with phrases,
Hoping thus to garner praises.
We all want to leave our mark
Before our destiny goes dark.

Crowned

I’ve got a temporary crown
Until my coronation.
In two weeks’ time I’ll get one
Worthy of a true ovation.

It took two shots of Novocain
To render me quite numb;
‘Cause when it comes to dental pain,
I’m wussy as they come.

It serves me right for munching on
Some popcorn late at night.
I heard a crunch and, off the bat,
Knew something wasn’t right.

And so I’m sitting here right now,
With chipmunk cheeks concealing
My temporary crown and waiting
‘Til I’m back to feeling.

‘Cause eating will be quite a joke;
The thought makes me recoil.
Ironic, that I have a crown
But feel so far from royal!

Collective Nouns

A group of fish is called a school.
A bunch of whales, a pod;
And crows comprise a murder,
Which I’ve always thought was odd.

Many goats become a tribe;
Lots of apes: a troop.
Hares: a warren; chicks: a clutch
And geese: a flock, not group.

Squirrels form a scurry;
Antelopes create a herd.
Platypuses make a puddle,
Which just sounds absurd.

Bats, a colony do make;
Butterflies, a flight.
Oysters congregate in beds;
For hamsters, horde is right.

Collective nouns are lots of fun.
Let’s bring this lesson home:
Many rhyming lines like this
Combine to form a poem!

My Bag

My pocketbook must weigh a ton;
It’s furrowing my shoulder.
I wish that I could carry less
Since I am getting older.

I try to winnow down my load,
But it’s all stuff I need.
If I took just one item out,
I’d miss it, guaranteed.

My wallet’s first, with bills and coins,
My cards for credit, plus
Some discount plastic and
A Metrocard for train or bus.

My cellphone’s next with business cards
Which nestle in its case;
A make-up bag with items used
For touch-ups on my face.

Another pouch holds several pills –
Like Advil and Aleve;
Some cough drops, band-aids, tweezers
And some more you’d not believe.

A tissue pack is vital and
A book for taking notes;
Assorted pens and pencils
To keep track of anecdotes.

A calendar to write down dates
And, naturally, my keys;
Receipts and crumpled hand-outs
Add some bulk in small degrees.

What’s really most amazing,
As I schlep this bag around,
Is that men don’t carry anything –
A mystery profound!

Mothers' Day Again

Hurry! Get your flowers!
Visit Mother with a bunch.
Take her out to dinner
Or, if you are early, brunch.

Let her feel like she’s a queen
On this one special day.
She deserves the card and meal
And even the bouquet.

All the effort she’s put in
Cannot just be ignored.
Certainly some posies
Should be given as reward.

What everyone should keep in mind –
All daughters and all sons –
Is that one day is not enough;
How ‘bout the other ones?

Your mom’s entitled to a sign
Throughout the live-long year
That all the love you feel for her
Will always persevere.

So have a happy Mothers’ day –
Go celebrate in style;
But calling her tomorrow
Will earn you a bigger smile.

Cursive

They aren’t teaching Cursive writing
In the schools today.
If students want to print their notes,
It seems to be okay.

I find this rather shocking,
Since we had it drilled in school;
But it’s no longer needed
As computers seem to rule.

The funny thing’s that many students
Cannot read in script.
Without that Cursive practice,
They’re not really well-equipped.

“It looks like Hieroglyphics!”
One such pupil did explain.
Though she struggled to decipher it,
Her efforts were in vain.

So older-generation folk,
You want to be subversive?
Write a daring message –
Just be sure that it’s in cursive!

Wacko in the Laundry Room

So I’m minding my own business
Waiting for the wash to end,
And I hear a conversation
Which I cannot comprehend.

It’s a wacko from my building
And her dog she’s talking to,
Though why he is in the laundry room,
I haven’t got a clue.

He was sniffing ‘round my ankles
So she called him to her side
And announced, “She doesn’t like you,”
In a tone both cruel and snide.

She continued, “Have you noticed
That she never says hello?”
Maybe that’s because the two of them
I’ve chosen not to know.

I’ve overheard so many
Conversations “they” have had.
I wonder if the dog’s aware
His owner is quite mad.

Yet still it made me angry
To be chastised – so unfair!
Even if it’s to a canine,
As if I’m not even there!

The pooch seemed non-judgmental,
As expected for his kind.
My opinion of his owner is
She’s really lost her mind!

Cinco de Mayo

Let’s drink a Margarita –
Lots of restaurants have a deal.
We’ll get into the spirit
With a tasty Tex-Mex meal.

Today’s Cinco de Mayo,
So tequila fits the bill.
Most people only know that
Many glasses we should fill.

They do not know the history:
How soldiers did subdue
The French in Puebla, Mexico
In 1862.

Four thousand Mexicans did fight
And so we celebrate
The freedom they earned May the fifth,
A most auspicious date.

But all we need to know is that
It’s such a festive time.
So pour some nice tequila shots
And don’t forget the lime!

Second Chance

Some streets within the park today
Were carpeted in pink.
The rain had brought those blossoms down,
Which really make me think…

So much of beauty has a chance
To reassert itself,
Like objects in a thrift shop
Waiting calmly on a shelf.

Those knickknacks hope somebody
Will appreciate their worth.
Their prior owners gave them up
Like blooms that fell to earth.

But hopefully, another soul
Will see them as a treasure;
Just like that blossom carpet,
Which gave me a jolt of pleasure.

We all deserve a second chance
To strut our special stuff;
‘Cause oftentimes it really seems
That once is not enough.

Completion

How wonderful to finish something
Once you’ve got it started.
Oftentimes ambition fizzles,
Or it’s just departed.

Then your project languishes,
Awaiting your attention.
You forget about it,
Though that wasn’t your intention.

Whether it’s a household chore
Like laundry, bills or cleaning,
Or something more creative
Where your talents have been leaning,

It’s equally annoying when
You have no time to do it;
For it can’t be completed when
You just cannot get to it.

But every now and then you find
You’ve gotten something finished!
The feeling of accomplishment’s
Not easily diminished.

And then you feel quite proud until
Reality sets in.
So many projects still await,
You’ve no time to begin…

The Devil

The Devil’s dead, or so they say;
Most people will rejoice.
He represented evil
In his face, his words, his voice.

He’s taunted us for many years
While holed up in his cave.
So many prayed that very soon
He’d rot inside his grave.

They got their wish – Bin Laden’s dead;
But while I watched the cheering,
Disturbing memories from the past
Kept in my mind appearing.

I saw those jeering Muslims
In a raucous celebration
As we grappled with the knowledge
That our grief caused their elation.

Now our citizens are clapping
‘Cause their leader has been killed.
Believe me, I am quite relieved
His horrid heart’s been stilled.

Yet singing in the streets about it
Seems a bit unnerving;
Since we’re the good guys, we must try
To prove that we’re deserving.

For Naught

Sometimes all your thoughts are fraught
With fear and dread and worry;
Though some solace may be sought,
It’s not found in a hurry.

Anxiety crescendos ‘til
You’re feeling frail and frantic;
And then, because you know the drill,
Your stress becomes gigantic.

You try to breathe and calm you heart.
It’s hammering like crazy;
And all your nerves are pulled apart
Just like a “loves-me” daisy.

At last you must confront your task;
You’re feeling quite on edge.
You hide your face behind a mask
Like a protective hedge.

But then a miracle occurs
‘Cause though you were distraught,
The line ‘twixt truth and terror blurs;
Distress was all for naught.

Ah, worry! What a waste of time!
It saps us of our steel.
Indulging it we try to climb
Past what it does reveal.