Thirsty

Iced tea can be caffeine free,
Although caffeine is fine for me;
And if it's diet tea you seek,
Your search won't take you up the creek.


Variety in drinks abounds;
Compared to years past, it astounds.
The flavored teas, like peach or berry,
All taste quite extraordinary.


Some are lemon, others plain;
If tea's no good, the ades remain:
Gatorades, in colors bursting,
All to quench you when you're thirsting.


Fruit punch, seltzer, Hi-C, Snapple;
Juices: orange, grapefruit, apple.
Sodas, not just Coke or Pepsi;
Red Bull, curing narcolepsy.


There's no end to what's in style
When you check out the soft drink aisle.
If I'm thirsty, though, I'll drink
Some nice cold water from my sink!

Going Out of Business

Two stores that I like quite a lot
Are closing shop for good.
They've both been open many years
Close to my neighborhood.


One sells country knick-knacks -
Rustic items I admire.
As a peruser of their wares,
I'm often, too, a buyer.


From picture frames and baskets
To the tchotchkes all displayed there,
I've countrified my country home
With purchases I've made there.


And now the sign says - All Must Go!
I glumly bought a rug.
I told the owner she'd be missed,
But all she did was shrug.


The other store sells furniture;
I'd shopped there long ago.
Their Going Out of Business sign
Brought me up with a Whoa!


The prices had been slashed to bits;
Such bargains could I snare.
Before I turned around, I'd bought
A sofa and a chair.


I'm sorry to see both stores close,
But just like life, I know
That nothing lasts forever;
Sadly, everything must go!

Grooving

We went to hear a blues band
In a restaurant in town.
Although called "blues," it wasn't
Music that would get you down.


The vibe was friendly in the room,
Though most folks there were locals.
The band was really excellent -
Guitars and drums and vocals.


We sipped our wine and shared some cake
And grooved to songs all new to us.
I watched the other patrons, too,
Most younger than the two of us.


They downed tequila shots and danced,
Flirtations on parade.
They flaunted all their sexiness
In hopes of getting laid.


Observing them, my mind went back
To single days, long past.
It's really wild how decades
Seem to disappear so fast.


So sitting there last night, I felt
Both satisfied and set.
I've downed enough tequila shots,
But life's not over yet.


I still can groove to rhythms
That a fine band can provide,
With the future spread before me
And my husband by my side.

Swing!

Heard a swingtime band last night,
Performing in the park.
Their music floated in the air
Until the sky turned dark.

They played the tunes made famous by
Glen Miller and Count Basie;
And people tapped their feet or danced
From Chapin* up to Gracie.**

Duke Ellington and Tommy Dorsey
Both were represented.
The audience, from young to old,
All smiled and seemed contented.

Two couples started dancing,
One of which was really great.
They had their moves down pat, so smooth;
Such joy they did create.

For though they sure were having fun,
Their faces lit with glee,
Their swinging mesmerized observers,
One of whom was me.

I wish I knew those moves they nailed,
So effortless and sure;
Instead, I tapped my feet and swayed
To rhythms crisp and pure.

It was a lovely evening out,
An unexpected treat;
And only if I knew those moves,
Could it have been more sweet.

*private school  **Gracie Mansion

Cleavage

Noticing a woman’s breasts
You really can’t avoid;
I’m simply uttering the truth,
Not being paranoid.

I’m talking ‘bout those boobs encased
In bras that make them pop.
I have no clue how that must feel
Since I am light on top.

But in the summer, tank tops rule
Or low-cut V’s or T’s;
And cleavage takes up center stage
To varying degrees.

Some women call attention to
Their assets, and they strut.
Your eye is drawn to what’s on view
And really, nothing but.

A necklace hanging in the crack
Accentuates what’s there.
Though I am hetero, I find
It’s so hard not to stare.

I wonder how I’d handle it
If I were so endowed.
I think I’d show off, too, and be
Both in your face and proud!

Patience

Though patience is a virtue,
It is something I am lacking.
When forced to wait for anything,
My peace of mind’s sent packing.

I hate to stand in line in stores
‘Til my turn comes for paying;
And in the car, the merging lanes
Make all my nerves start fraying.

It drives me nuts to make a call
And then be put on hold.
I can get very testy,
Which is what I’m often told.

I registered for courses;
All acceptances are mailed.
The empty mailbox mocks me –
Maybe plans will be derailed.

I’m trying to be patient
But I know I’m not succeeding.
My type A personality
Knows just what it is needing:

Some instant satisfaction,
Answers given while I wait.
It’s the drawn-out holding pattern
That I really, really hate!

Curveball

When life throws you a curveball,
You hit it or you duck it;
Or else you watch it fast approaching
And just holler, “#$%* it!”

We cannot always rightly guess
The pitch that life is pitching;
So we must take a swing at it.
There’s not much point in #$%!*ing.

But one thing I am certain of,
You can’t just up and quit.
Accept the curveballs that are thrown,
‘Cause sometimes life is #$%*!

Amy Winehouse (1983-2011)

I did not know her music,
But I’ve read of her travails.
It seemed that all her problems
Only ratcheted her sales.

Her concerts made the news because
She barely could perform;
For her, intoxication
And/or drug use was the norm.

Like Kurt Cobain before her,
And like Jimi, Janis, Jim*,
Her talent seemed authentic,
Her survival chances slim.

It really is a shame to hear
That someone is found dead
At the age of twenty-seven,
With a lifetime still ahead.

But tortured souls have got to do
Whatever they are drawn to,
And we can only wonder ‘bout
The places they have gone to.

It’s sad to be so talented
But plainly, quite tormented.
I’d rather have less talent
But be somewhat more contented.

*Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison

The News

Read the news and it’s all bad –
The murders and attacks.
A pleasant story here and there
Is surely what it lacks.

A little boy en route from camp
Is killed for being trusting.
The details, rendered bit by bit
Are sordid and disgusting.

A gunman on a rampage
Takes out scores of folks in Norway.
He dresses as a cop and strolls
Into a youth camp doorway.

On top of that, the government
Is almost out of money.
I don’t know all the details
But the outlook isn’t sunny.

The stories pile up, one by one;
Not one can coax a smile.
Sometimes I envy those secluded
On a desert isle!

Adaptation

Lizards lounge in tropic climes;
Snakes live where it sizzles.
A human, on the other hand,
In heat like this, just fizzles.

Camels trek across the sands;
Vultures search for carrion.
To people, though, this weather seems
A trifle adversarian.

Genetically, we aren’t meant
For temps that reach a boil.
Just stepping out of doors today
Makes one want to recoil.

Perhaps as global warming spreads,
Our skins will grow much thicker;
But ‘til that time, indoors is fine
For this hot city slicker.

Rules

“No photographs!” the guards implored.
To my surprise, they were ignored.
The cell-phone cameras snapped away,
No matter what the guards did say.

The guards were powerless, of course.
No one could possibly enforce
A rule like that among the crowd
Who could care less what was allowed.

Back in the pre-cell-camera day,
A rule meant that we’d all obey.
Yet modern times cause folks to question;
Rules are seen as mere suggestion.

How far will defiance go?
That is what I’d like to know.
When people drive right past red lights,
We’ll see what mischief that incites.

I grew up following the rules
And so, with other likewise fools,
I will abide by set commands
Before society disbands.

Alexander McQueen

I waited for an hour plus
To gaze at the McQueens,
Displayed to highlight just the point
Where art and style convenes.

The clothing was quite magical,
But most bizarre and dark.
You wouldn’t wear a dress of his
To stroll through Central Park.

With feathers, leather, shells and beads,
Tartan, wood and lace,
He made a statement with his clothes
Up front and in your face.

Accessories were crazy wild –
The shoes, the hats, the jewels;
The fashion police were shocked, I’m sure,
‘Cause he broke all the rules.

I’m not a fashionista
But I sure enjoyed the show.
It let me glimpse a world of which
There’s so much I don’t know.

Imagine if McQueen still lived –
I’d not have had the chance
To see his creativity
And how it so enchants.

I’m sorry that he died so young
And too, by his own hand;
I understand, though, why his clothes
Were so much in demand.

Guided

My friend was driving to the beach;
Her GPS was guiding.
I wondered, as we heard commands,
Just where that voice was hiding.

A satellite was tracking us
And giving us directions;
Most often, on the money,
But sometimes with imperfections.

How does it work, I’d like to know;
It’s really quite amazing.
No longer do we stare at maps
Until our eyes are glazing.

But every time we veered off track,
That voice “recalculated;”
And after several such events,
That voice I kind of hated.

Yet finally we found our way;
The GPS did lead us.
If we’d decided to take charge,
I doubt if it would heed us.

Technology is in control;
It helps us when we drive.
Before it came along, I wonder,
How did we survive?

Left Lane Blues

When driving on a highway,
Often lately I’m bereft
Because I’m stuck behind
A crawling driver on the left.

The left lane is for passing
Or for driving at quick speeds,
And trailing some real slowpoke’s
Not what anybody needs.

No matter the speed limit,
If someone is on your tail
And you are in the left lane,
Well, it’s time for you to bail!

Move over to the middle
Or the slow lane on the right;
Don’t hold up all that traffic,
Which some people do for spite.

The rest are merely clueless
So they cling to that left lane,
Driving slow enough to make
The rest of us insane!

Sometimes they’ll get the message
If I’m driving on their ass;
They’ll blink and glide on over
So I finally can pass.

The world would be a better place
If all those driving fools
Would be a bit more courteous
And stick to all the rules!

The Hand of Fate

I watched a caterpillar
As it crawled across the road,
And realized fear was not a part
Of its genetic code.


At least I do not think it is,
For really, I can't know.
That caterpillar's pace, however,
Seemed to be quite slow.


The traffic's very light most times
Yet still, some cars go by;
And if the timing isn't right,
That creature's bound to die.


It moseyed on its little feet
As I walked by in wonder
If it would safely get across
Or else be ripped asunder.


A car sailed past, but I'd moved on;
I kind of held my breath,
Not knowing if a tire might have
Squished my friend to death.


I didn't check, for after all
I would have been too late.
I guess all Nature's creatures
Always tempt the hand of fate.

Weeding

Something that a garden's needing
Often is a little weeding.
Also, in my driveway's treads,
Weeds do poke their little heads.


Though my thumbs are far from green,
I know weeds should not be seen;
So I pull and yank and pluck
When invaders run amok.


Still, these plants keep on returning.
Here's the lesson I am learning:
Just like people, plants that lack
Usefulness keep coming back.


Wouldn't we all give a cheer
If low-lifes all would disappear?
Let weeds and bad guys stay alive
But far from where the good guys thrive.


Then beauty'd have a chance to grow.
Yet wishing will not make it so;
So I'll keep weeding if I choose,
As human weeds invade the news.

Shopping

Why is it that many chores
Require us to visit stores?
Supermarket, drug store, tailor,
Post office for stamps or mailer;

Card store, wine shop, watch repair,
Parlors for your nails or hair.
Emporium for gifts or clothes,
Shoe salons for shoes or hose.

Big box stores for an appliance,
Warehouse shops for sofa clients;
Florists, cleaners, laundry places,
Businesses for canes or braces.

Some folks choose to shop online,
Worshipping that e-tail shrine;
But I don’t mind my chore excursions –
They provide some nice diversions!

Bastille Day

Today’s Bastille Day for the French.
To me, it has no meaning;
Though at French restaurants, I’m sure,
The French will be convening.

They’ll celebrate with escargot
And pop corks on champagne.
No Frenchman in the world
From Bastille parties will abstain.

But as for us, Americans,
We’ll have our beer or wine.
Today is nothing special
In America’s design.

And likewise, on July the fourth,
As firecrackers flew,
The folks in Paris lived their lives
And didn’t have a clue.

If I were born not in New York
But rather gay Paree,
I’d toast because today would be
A holiday for me!

DNA

Some people are a little lazy;
Others just a wee bit crazy.
Some are neat and some are slobs;
Certain folks can’t hold down jobs.

There are those who love to roam;
Their counterparts remain at home.
Some are quiet, others loud,
Standing out in any crowd.

Some love Nature, others don’t;
Some take risks while others won’t.
There are those who must have pets;
Also those who shrink from bets.

There are people who crave action;
Some can’t get no satisfaction.
Kvetchers really must complain;
Others calmly handle pain.

Changing things might be your goal,
But how you are you can’t control.
Accept the fact that you can’t stray
Too far from your own DNA.

Programmed in your very cells
Are codes creating joys or hells.
Some deny that they exist,
Yet patterns constantly persist.

Things can change to some extent.
To therapists, that’s evident;
But mostly, we remain the slave
To DNA our parents gave.

Outage

Con Ed had a lot of doubtage
‘Bout what caused our power outage.
For sixteen hours, we did swelter;
Home became a stuffy shelter.

Walking nine flights in pitch black
Could cause some panic to attack.
Those who lacked a flashlight’s beam
Went down a bit in self-esteem.

Sleep was tough, with lots of sweat;
Dribs and drabs were all we’d get.
No computers or TV;
What I missed most, though, was A/C.

Finally, Con Ed came through,
Doing what they had to do.
We suffered, but it wasn’t lasting;
Now I’m cool, with A/C blasting!

Sunburn!

Spent the day at the beach and I sort of got burned.
You’d think that by now I should really have learned.
Although it’s delightful to sit by the ocean,
You’ve gotta keep slathering high-number lotion.

I thought I was covered, but not quite enough,
Or else my sun lotion was not up to snuff;
‘Cause parts of my body are lobster-shell red,
While other parts got nicely golden instead.

I know that I’ve written ‘bout how I like shade.
I sometimes ignore my advice, I’m afraid;
But I’ve learned my lesson – next time at the beach,
I’ll cover up so all those rays will not reach.

I guess as we age, it should be no surprise
That we still can behave in ways not very wise!

Boardwalks

 I read a story in the news
The Drifters would have hated;
Their “Boardwalk” song appears to be
A little bit outdated.

For boardwalks lately seem to be
No longer made of wood.
They’re substituting concrete
Which can’t be considered good.

A boardwalk is a walk of boards,
At least that’s what it claims.
There surely was a reason when
Some things were given names.

But wood does not last long enough
So as it rots or splits,
The city’s using concrete
Which the government permits.

The joggers hate the way it feels,
The locals miss the smell;
Not many people like the switch,
As far as I can tell.

We’re overwhelmed by concrete
From the sidewalks that abound;
A boardwalk is the one place
Where we’d hope wood would be found.

Alas, another change is made
That really does amaze;
Another reason why we miss
Those charming “good old days.”

3,000!

For Yankee fans, there’s nothing sweeter
Than a day like this,
When Yankee captain Derek Jeter
Brought each fan to bliss.

He homered for that special hit –
Three thousand! What a feat!
Then three more hammers, all legit,
Helped make his day complete.

For any player, 5 for 5
Must be the greatest feeling;
But not too many have that drive
Or are near as appealing.

So thank you, Derek, for your spark,
Your talent and your grace.
Today you really made your mark
At home, the perfect place.

All You Need

All you need when you entertain
Is some seating, some food, some booze;
You don’t need caviar or champagne –
Just be careful which friends you choose.

If you’ve chosen well, you can have a blast.
Laughter won’t be in short supply;
And before you turn ‘round, so much time will have passed,
That the time’s come for saying goodbye.

But the smiles linger on from the hours you’ve spent.
You are filled with contentment and pleasure;
For when good times are had, all the bad fades away
And that feeling is something to treasure.

No-See-Ums

There's just one reason why a screened-in porch becomes erected,
And that is so its occupants from bugs might be protected.
Yet there exist such tiny insects that cannot be seen,
And they are very capable of getting through a screen.


I've heard them called no-see-ums and that name is very apt.
I saw them not but felt them and it seemed like I was trapped;
For even though these little buggers stayed out of my sight,
They made their presence known with every never-ending bite.


I scratched all night as bumps appeared on each inch of my skin;
It was a battle that there was no way that I could win.
Those little critters left me feeling like one giant itch;
I guess that Mother Nature sometimes sure can be a bitch!

Shade

At the beach or pool, I used
To stretch out in the sun.
When I turned a golden brown
I knew that I was done.


Even as the sweat dripped down
My skin, white as a ghost,
I realized after several days
I would be brown as toast.


But nowadays, I seek the shade
When at the pool or beach.
I'm covered up with lotion, too,
So harmful rays can't reach.


It's quite relaxing underneath
Umbrella, tree or awning;
I watch the people in the sun,
Where danger's threat's not dawning.


I'll make it through the summer
With no bronze upon my skin;
But hopefully, those cancer cells
Have no way to sneak in.

Warning

Technology is wonderful
Sometimes, but not this morning;
Because our brand new car decided
To flash us a warning.

Buying something new you hope
You would be problem-free;
Yet nowadays, advances
Have removed that guarantee.

An exclamation point appeared;
The dashboard did display it.
I heard my husband's "uh-oh,"
Not believing he would say it.

I checked the manual and found
The tire pressure's low.
I should be grateful but I wish
I didn't have to know.

So now we have to check it out
And I am rather pissed.
I miss the good old days when
Ignorance could keep you blissed.

Yard Sales

Stop in at a yard sale
And see someone else's junk.
Often, it's not quite pristine
But topped with dust and gunk.

There's possibly a treasure
Hiding, waiting to be found;
But more than likely, it's just stuff
You'd hate to have around.

Still, when yard sale signs appear
It gets some people flocking.
If you've never stopped at one,
I'd find that news real shocking.

So yes, I sometimes make a stop
To check the items shown;
But I leave empty-handed 'cause
I have junk of my own!

Who's Boss?

Last night I heard the fireworks;
This morning there was thunder.
The juxtaposing of the two
Made me sit back and wonder

If Nature's not reminding us
Which one of us is boss;
And with her booms and bellows,
Well, the message comes across.

For mankind's greatest efforts
Seem quite puny, when compared
To Nature's power she shows off
Which leaves us running scared.

So Nature, we bow down to you.
In majesty, you rule;
And when we try to match you,
Our attempts seem miniscule.

Memorized

At one time, poems were memorized -
Required, when in school.
The teachers thought that somehow
This would prove a useful tool.

We stood in front of classmates
When our time came to recite.
The expectation was, of course,
That each word would be right.

I'll bet that most folks from those days
Can still recite their poem.
It somehow lodged inside our brains
And made itself at home.

My poem was "Trees" by Kilmer;
Think of it - a man named Joyce!
I recited at assembly
In a loud but shaky voice.

I presented with a partner,
Each of us assigned a half;
But Sidney said he'd start it off,
Which now can make me laugh.

But at the time, I was so mad!
My final lines, you see,
Involved me saying, "Poems are made
By fools" (big pause) "like me!"

The whole sixth grade cracked up, I'm sure.
My face was red, I know it;
But isn't it ironic that
I've turned into a poet?

As far as being thought a fool,
It may be that is so,
But I can blame that poem
I memorized so long ago!

Every Full Moon

Every full moon has to wane
Once it’s completed waxing;
The same way you must know that pain
Will lurk while you’re relaxing.

Nothing beautiful can last.
Perfection’s not forever;
Though mankind, since the long lost past,
Still chases this endeavor.

Anything ideal is meant
To tease and then be fleeting.
With one taste it’s evident
That joy won’t be repeating.

So savor that full moon each night
You’re graced with its reflection.
Ephemeral is its delight
Until its resurrection.