Beach Parade

On the beach in a sunny clime
I'm watching the parade,
Shocked to see a host of butt cheeks
Gutsily displayed.

Women of all ages strut
In bathing suits so tiny,
You cannot avoid a look
At someone's jiggling heiny.

Menfolk, on the other hand,
March by without their shirts,
Hairy bellies hanging out -
Just looking at them hurts.

With all the flesh that's there on view,
A horror show in motion,
I try to turn the other cheek
And stare out at the ocean.

Pumpkin Ice Cream

An ice cream that I really love
Comes out just once a year.
You have to take advantage
'Cause it soon will disappear.

It's pumpkin and it's really yum,
But let me make this clear -
It doesn't taste like pumpkin pie
Or even pumpkin beer.

I like those, too, but neither one
Would make me stand and cheer,
For only pumpkin ice cream
Gets my taste buds all in gear.

Most other months to coffee
Or to raspberry I'd steer,
But in the fall I'm thrilled
When pumpkin ice cream does appear.

As winter time approaches
It will all be gone, I fear;
So indulge if you can find it
Or you'll wait another year.

What Once Was

You used to have to lick a stamp
Or else it wouldn’t stick;
And if you didn’t wind your watch,
Of course it wouldn’t tick.

At one time when you watched TV
You couldn’t change the station,
Unless you got up from the couch
And caused a knob rotation.

The oven wouldn’t work unless
You lit it with a match;
And pasta wasn’t in a box –
You made the dough from scratch.

The freezer needed boiling pots
Of water to defrost;
And roller skates were useless if
Your skate key wound up lost.

As years go by and things improve,
It’s easy to forget
The way that life once used to be
And could be that way yet.

But progress marches on and so
Nostalgia finds its place,
Reminding us that what once was
Has slipped from our embrace.

A Piano at a Party

A piano at a party
And a person who can play
Add as much to the festivities
As sunshine does to day.

Toss a singer in the mixture,
One who knows the words by heart,
And you’ve found a way to make that party
Really stand apart.

For before too long, some others
Will be drawn in by the song,
And more voices will be added
As the evening rolls along.

There is nothing more uplifting
Than good music folks can sing;
All you need’s a piano player
And the joy that he can bring.

Half-Price

With Thanksgiving one day over,
I was shopping in a store;
Had to fill up on some groceries,
A necessary chore.


I was looking for some muffins
Or perhaps a coffee cake,
When I saw a Half-Price sign
Which I assumed was a mistake.


It wasn't, though, because the cakes
And cupcakes on display
All had messages in icing
Saying, "Happy Gobble Day."


In bold oranges and yellows,
Iced-on turkeys were ideal,
Meant to decorate the table
At someone's Thanksgiving meal.


Yet these leftovers were sitting,
Looking lonely and bereft,
'Cause of all the baked selections,
Somehow they alone were left.


For half-off someone will buy them
Though Thanksgiving Day's no more;
But I walked on by, determined
That this discount I'd ignore.


'Cause the holiday is over
And though leftovers are fine,
Buying supermarket rejects
Somehow seems to cross the line.

A Bulldog Looked At Me

I passed a bulldog on the street;
He strutted with his master.
His pace was fairly slow, I thought,
Since I was walking faster.

But as our paths crossed, suddenly,
He stopped and gave a look.
I gazed right back and our eyes locked –
One look is all it took.

He wouldn’t budge – his owner tugged;
What spell had he come under?
And all I thought was why’s he staring?
I was filled with wonder.

One final tug, he turned around
And left without delay.
I guess I’ll never know just why
He looked at me that way.

So We May Feast

Most offices are closed today
And so is every school.
Department stores are shuttered
And museums, as a rule.

You cannot buy a stamp because
The post office is shut.
Forget the beauty parlor
If your tresses need a cut.

Many restaurants decide
To give their chefs a break;
And hopefully, you didn’t wait
To buy that pie or cake.

Yet some employees still get stuck
And must report to work –
Nurses, cops and firemen
Have jobs they cannot shirk.

Gasoline attendants
And the workers at the zoo
Are expected to show up today
To do what they must do.

Pilots, cabbies, deli clerks,
Some pharmacists and doormen
All must do their duty,
Just like soldiers and Peace Corps men.

So those of us who have the day
To celebrate and feast
Should be grateful that from daily chores
We’ve somehow been released.

Yet we owe a debt of thanks to those
Whose jobs provide a living
That allow the rest of us to have
A labor-free Thanksgiving.

Wet

Though umbrellas keep us dry
I’d like to share a little tip –
Be real careful on the subway
‘Cause the wet ones like to drip.

They may create a puddle
On somebody else’s shoes;
Since the subway has some whackos,
You may have a lot to lose.

So when you’ve been in a downpour
And you board a bus or train,
Tightly fold up your umbrella
So nobody will complain.

If you don’t you may discover
Something that you will regret –
That a lunatic who’s dry
Is not as bad as one who’s wet!

November Twenty-Second

Forty-eight years ago
JFK died.
If you were living then,
You must have cried.

TV ran on and on –
Pink hat and shots;
Oswald and Ruby
Connecting the dots.

Bloodstains on Jackie,
The LBJ pledge;
All of America
Sitting on edge.

John John saluted,
The widow in black.
Innocence ended
And never came back.

Each twenty-second
The month of November,
Those moments flash back
And I pause to remember.

Sandwich

On the one side, aging parents,
Fighting Alzheimer’s and such;
Yes, it’s sad, it’s hard and yet,
So many suffer in its clutch.

While the other side has babies
As our children’s children come.
It’s both joyful and amazing
Being granddad and grandmom.

And so we become the filling,
For with each and every bite
There is happiness and sorrow,
Anguish mingled with delight.

Though we can’t predict the future
And we shouldn’t live with dread,
It’s a fact that there will come a time
When we’ll become the bread.

Past Forward

I packed my plaid valise
For a journey from the past.
I didn’t know exactly
Just how long my trip would last.

On my feet were comfy saddles,
On my neck my favorite dickey.
I was thirsty so I bought myself
A tall and cool lime rickey.

Though I’d miss my new Victrola,
My transistor was along.
I could listen to the Good Guys
When they played my favorite song.

On the bus ride to the subway,
As my driver gave me change,
I saw he was chewing Sen-Sen
And I thought it kind of strange.

Near the subway I got pizza
At the special lunchtime price –
Just a quarter for a soda
And a dripping-oil slice.

Then I used a dime and nickel,
Got my token for the train;
Caught my stockings on the wicker seats-
Man, is that a pain!

As I started my excursion,
Leaving all I knew behind,
I was filled with awe and wonder
At the future that I’d find.

But a tiny nagging feeling
Made me question my whole trip,
For there might be certain changes
That could make me lose my grip.

Then I settled in, deciding
I would simply wait and see.
After all, it’s just the future,
And how different could it be?

Wasteland

I flip the TV channels –
It’s the nightly thing to do;
But the only shows worth watching
Are reruns of SVU.

When there were seven stations,
There was always something good;
With one TV, the family gathered,
Like a family should.

When late night came, the shows went off –
A pattern came on screen,
Or static with a steady hum –
You turned off the machine.

But now the shows drone on all night.
The TV doesn’t rest;
And yet with all the choices,
I am very unimpressed.

For more and more I cannot find
One show to entertain;
And some of them, I really fear,
Could fizzle out your brain.

So once again I will accept
What TV has to give.
I’ll spend another hour or two
With Elliot and Liv!

Pre-Dawn

Early morning, still in bed,
Half-awake yet dozy,
I snuggle down into the sheets
Where it is warm and cozy.

The room is dark but lines of light
Go gliding on the ceiling,
Reflections from the cars outside
Whose soft thrum is appealing.

It’s never silent, never still.
There’s always sound and light;
But waiting for the dawn to break
It always feels just right.

I love the early morning dark.
It soothes me like a salve,
Preparing me to face the day,
Whatever kind I’ll have.

A Week Away

Thanksgiving’s just a week away –
How come it’s here so fast?
It feels like just a smidge of days
Since Labor Day has passed.

I’ve heard that as you age, the time
Just slips right through your fingers;
And even though you wish it would,
The season rarely lingers.

And so next week, we will indulge
In our Thanksgiving meal;
For New Year’s Eve is creeping close
And nipping at its heel.

Despite our protests, days will drop,
Just one of life’s designs;
But first, I’d better hurry up
And buy my Valentines!

Out of Style

Though I hate giving clothes away,
There comes a time that I’ll
Put something on and must admit
It’s really out of style.

That denim dress I used to love
With jet black velvet collar,
Would likely, in a thrift shop,
Bear a tag that says “One dollar.”

And likewise for that flowered frock,
So comfy when I wore it.
It now appears so frumpy
Even I cannot ignore it.

Those high-waist jeans and puff-sleeved shirts
Have kept my closet crowded;
And when I try them on, my husband’s eyes
Grow glazed and clouded.

“Awful! Ugly! Throw them out!”
I hear his sage advice.
They’ve not been worn in many years
So it’s no sacrifice.

Yet still, I fold them lovingly
And pack them for the poor.
Perhaps someone can use the clothes
I won’t wear anymore.

I picture people picking through
My former favorites pile,
And hear them cluck their tongues and say,
“Was this thing once in style?”

Jiminy!

In Beijing, China, there’s a sport
That has a mighty pull.
It’s kind of like a bullfight,
But it doesn’t have a bull.

Competitors get special food
Like shrimp, red beans and liver.
For extra treats, a maggot’s
What the trainer will deliver.

The champions are often those
Whose chirps are really loud.
The most ferocious fighters
Know just how to amp the crowd.

It doesn’t have much danger
Yet excitement runs real high.
They toss the losers to the streets,
But no one has to die.

Contenders draw the gamblers in
And sometimes there’s a raid;
But mostly it’s a wholesome sport
Where moxie is displayed.

In case you haven’t guessed it yet –
And I, too, was amazed,
It’s Chinese cricket fighting,
Leaving fans psyched up and crazed.

Perhaps a lesson can be learned
By watching their approaches,
For surely we can have events
Employing New York roaches!

Drained

Sometimes something shakes you up
And leaves you feeling drained.
It messes up the neat façade
You always have maintained.

It rattles you right to the core
And hangs you out to dry.
It doesn’t pay, as you calm down,
To grapple with the “why.”

For that’s the way that life pans out –
We go from ups to downs.
Smiles and laughter quickly flip
To worry lines and frowns.

So when you’re walloped, take a breath
And have a cup of tea;
Tomorrow is another day
And who knows what will be.

"Well, She Was Just Seventeen..."

I heard that line and presto!
It was 1962.
This band was great, but who they were,
I didn’t have a clue.

My room was painted pink;
My AM radio was on.
Before I got the lyrics down,
The song had come and gone.

But soon enough those pale pink walls
Were filled with Beatle faces.
I close my eyes and conjure up
Those pictures in their places.

What happened to that fresh-faced girl
Whose future lay ahead?
A song can bring me back to her,
Connected by a thread.

Some melodies are magical,
Transporting us, so fast,
To the time those tunes were new,
A moment never meant to last.

And hearing such a song we fall
Enchanted, back to when
We didn’t know we’d never be
That younger self again.

“I saw her standing there” for me
Performed its magic trick.
I see myself at twelve but wonder
Just what made me tick.

Seasonal

A winter fan enjoys the snow
And all that it achieves:
Peaceful blankets, falling flakes
And cozy fireplace eves.

A springtime buff likes flowers
And a switch to shorter sleeves.
The gentle breezes are rewards,
Or that’s what he believes.

A person who loves summer
Finds the warming sun relieves
All the tensions we face daily
With the magic spell it weaves.

But the autumn/fall fanatic
Revels in what she receives –
A panoply of color
And the crunch of fallen leaves.

Corduroy Day (11/11/11)

It’s Corduroy Awareness Day,
So let us be aware.
If you’ve no pants of corduroy,
Well – get yourself a pair!

This date was chosen just because
It looks like corduroy.
I’m sure that cynics might suspect
That reason is a ploy.

Perhaps it is, but that’s no cause
For wearers to curtail
The donning of some corduroy
With thin or thicker wale.

Eleven tripled comes but once
While we are still alive,
So on this date it would be great
If everyone would strive

To sport a bit of corduroy –
A jacket, shirt or pants
To celebrate this special time –
Today’s your one-time chance!

Prank

Out to buy some candy
With her teen-aged son in tow,
She never knew what hit her –
How could anybody know?

Two adolescents, fooling ‘round
Thought it would be real smart
To aim at some poor passerby
And toss a shopping cart.

They were on an upper floor;
She was down below.
When the cart went over – smash!
It hit her with one blow.

Now she’s in intensive care
And they have been arrested.
Surely there are better ways
Machismo can be tested.

Lives are ruined all around;
Some dreams have surely ended.
That prank had repercussions
Deeper than what they intended.

When the Cord is Cut

I was completely out of touch,
A speck among the crowds;
Untethered like a loose balloon
Just drifting past the clouds.

You couldn’t reach me if you tried
And that was really strange,
‘Cause even just a block away,
I still was out of range.

My isolation was profound.
I felt so all alone;
And all because I did forget
To charge my friggin’ phone!

Catalogs

As the holidays draw near,
Anxiety starts growing;
I empty out my mailbox,
Which is close to overflowing.

It isn’t bills or greeting cards
That’s taking all the room;
It’s catalogs, so fat and full
Of items to consume.

Every store and company
Appears to be contriving
To ram their products down our throats,
And more keep on arriving!

Their shiny pages catch our eye
And, like a siren’s song,
They lure us to the land of debt,
Where we do not belong.

For though we flip the pages
With desire and with greed,
We realize there’s a lot to want
But nothing that we need.

Even gifts don’t have to be
Extravagant and shipped;
I know that I would much prefer
If presents could be skipped.

So let’s take all the catalogs
And chuck them with the trash.
Perhaps our friends and relatives
Will settle for some cash!

Getting the Words

Getting the words from my head to the page
Is sometimes the easiest thing.
It’s like they’re attached to a pulley and thus,
It’s as simple as yanking a string.

At other times, though, they get mired in a bog
And I can’t drag them out of the muck.
At moments like those, I just sigh and give in,
‘Cause I know for a while I’ll be stuck.

Yet eventually, there will be a release
And I’ll polish those words ‘til they shine;
Then I’ll sit down to write and the rhymes will line up,
As the easy and stubborn combine.

Stragglers

I watched the runners racing by,
The leaders like gazelles;
And hours later came the stragglers
In their living hells.

The early racers had the crowds
All cheering their support.
For those still chugging on at dusk,
Such comforting fell short.

The packs in front had sunshine,
Water, camera crews and food,
Keeping smiles and spirits soaring
In that moving multitude.

So the slowest marathoners
Get the raw end of the deal:
No spectators or sustenance –
I wonder how they feel.

As long as they keep slogging, though,
It doesn’t really matter.
They didn’t think they’d get their medals
On a silver platter.

And yet my heart goes out to them –
Determined and still racing,
Despite the hunger, cold and darkness
That they must be facing.

Let’s hear it for the stragglers,
Whose hope does not diminish.
Perhaps that will be just enough
To get them to the finish.

Quenched

Whenever I’m feeling quite blah,
I will not unwind at a spa.
            I pour a cold beer.
            My woes disappear;
And all I can utter is…..Aaaah!

Almost-Fight

On an early morning walk today
I saw an almost-fight,
A parking place the timber
That a spark could help ignite.

Some angry words went back and forth
Soon followed by a curse;
That was the spark and so I thought
The scuffle would get worse.

Instead, the challenged one backed off –
It did not come to blows;
‘Cause punching never solved a thing,
As everybody knows.

I didn’t stop so I don’t know
The ultimate conclusion;
But in this case, a peaceful end
Would just be an illusion.

It’s really not the greatest way
To have your day begin,
For whether you are right or wrong
You certainly can’t win.

A morning squabble sets the tone
For one horrendous mood.
Sometimes it’s best to keep your anger
Shackled and subdued.

Cough

I’m feeling just a little off.
It’s just a little cold;
But yet there’s this annoying cough
That’s got me in its hold.

I carry lozenges in case
The cough gets out of hand.
I use my fist to shield my face
As custom does demand.

But on the bus or in the train,
In close proximity,
Are many folks who won’t refrain
From raining germs on me.

They sneeze and hack and do not think
Of using hand or tissue
To halt what will, in just one blink,
Explode as slimy issue.

And thus, the germs float in the air
Where currents are directing
Their paths to guide them everywhere
And coat us, unsuspecting.

So when my cough begins to fade –
Who knows how long ‘til then –
Somebody’s new germs will get sprayed
And soon I’ll cough again!

Freezer Jeans

Levi Strauss suggested
That we wash our jeans too much.
Machines waste so much water
And we use them as a crutch.

The company wants us to know
That cleaning them’s a breeze.
You don’t need suds or washers,
You just pop them in to freeze!

That’s right – the freezer, which will help
To take away the smell.
I really wonder if that tact
Would work out very well.

It’s hard to picture, nestled
Next to ice cream, bread and ice,
My unwashed jeans and all because
Of corporate advice.

I’ll take my chances that the earth
Will not run out of water;
And I’ll keep washing by machine
Just like I think I oughter.

‘Cause sometimes good intentions,
Though some people they’ll appease,
Will have most of us just cluck our tongues
And utter loudly – “Please!”

One Bar

I neglected to charge up my phone;
I’m in that forgetfulness zone.
            If you try then to call,
            You won’t get me at all
So I guess you should leave me alone.

I’m down to one battery bar.
You know that won’t take me too far;
            So if I should get stuck
            I’d be plumb out of luck
And it won’t matter how close you are.

Hence the moral, I think, has to be
Check your battery or you will see
            That you’re quite out of range
            And that fact will not change
‘Til you’re plugged in – just take it from me!