Holiday Dilemma

With the fourth of July on a Wednesday,
Seems like everyone's slightly confused;
Though for children and fireworks makers,
They're sure to be extra-enthused.

For those on vacation, you've got a whole week
With the fourth falling smack in the middle;
But if just a long weekend is all you can take,
Then your choice is a tough as a riddle.

Do you pack up and leave on the Friday before
And drive home as the fireworks burst?
Or do you start your weekend in holiday mode
As excitement gets slowly reversed?

This dilemma extends to each township as well -
When to sponsor your bang-up display?
On the Fourth when some people will not be around
Or on pre or post-Fourth Saturday?

To the purist, the answer is clear as can be
For the Fourth of July is unique;
So let's celebrate Wednesday, although I am sure
We'll hear cherry bombs all through the week!

Pre-Existing

How can something pre-exist?
It either does or doesn’t.
If I were stricken with disease,
I either was or wasn’t.

When anything exists, it is;
Or it is nonexistent.
To travel back in time, it seems
Is out-of-reach and distant.

If health care will not cover me
‘Cause I’m already sick,
Then I must try to cure myself
And I should do so quick;

But even if I’m cured, I’m told
My problem’s “pre-existing.”
Insurance will not cover me,
Some people are insisting.

I find it quite confusing
And at times I could have sworn
That I’ve somehow pre-existed,
Prior to my being born.

Politics and Ice Cream

Start to talk Obamacare
With a perfect stranger,
And you never know if you’ll
Hit pay dirt or find danger.

Politics is tricky stuff
So maybe your rapport
With someone you just met today
While at the Jersey shore,

Could turn out to be based upon
Agreement on one thing;
But even if it was,
A little pleasure it did bring.

A sunny day, an ice cream cone,
Good friends and to the mix,
Toss in an unknown person
Willing to talk politics…

And what you get is just a smidge
Of life as lived each day
In towns both big and tiny
All across the U.S.A.

Music

Whether you like rock or rap
Or classical or jazz,
Music is the equalizer
Everybody has.

Often we’ve heard quoted, “Music
Soothes the savage beast.”
Listening to music helps
Emotions get released.

Opera may make you cry
And hip hop make you dance;
Show tunes make you sing along
And some inspire romance.

Salsa music makes you move
And reggae makes you jive;
Marching music, so emphatic,
Shouts, “I am alive!”

We need sunshine, food and drink
And love to help sustain us,
But music is the magic
With the power to unchain us.

Shakespeare in the Park

There is magic in the air
As twilight turns to dark
And some are witness to the treat
Of Shakespeare in the Park.

The tickets can be had for free
(You wait in line for hours)
And sometimes while you’re waiting,
There is brutal sun or showers.

Yet what rewards await you!
Shakespeare’s language, acting’s best,
A gentle breeze, the birds a’twitter:
Nature’s joys expressed.

The audience, quite riveted,
Just sparkles with delight –
So fortunate to be a part
Of such a wondrous night.

It isn’t often wealth or fame
Or privileged pedigree
Can’t equal what the Delacorte
Bestows on us for free.

An opportunity like this
Is rare within the city,
And missing out on such a prize
Would truly be a pity.

Ann Romney's Blouse

Mitt Romney's wife was criticized
(Though she was not defensive)
Because she chose to wear a blouse
Considered quite expensive.

She wore it on a TV show
So she would look her best,
But journalists decided that
She’d failed the litmus test.

All those who like to criticize
Were ready with their clucks,
Delighted to reveal that blouse
Surpassed nine hundred bucks!

Though prices through the stratosphere
I cannot comprehend,
I wonder why reporters care
What politicians spend.

John Edwards’ haircut, Palin’s suits
And now Ann Romney’s blouse,
Provide the ammunition so
The columnists can grouse.

Such splurges prove to all of us
Those folks are out of touch.
They have no clue that most of us
Would never spend so much.

Yet still, I find it strange these facts
Are told with fevered pitch;
Beware of candidates like these –
They’re not like us – they’re rich!

Perverts

When I heard the news
The latest pervert was convicted,
I felt glad he’d pay
For all the pain that he inflicted.

Though he’ll go to jail
(And hopefully, will rot in hell),
It sounds as if his victims
Aren’t faring quite so well.

Their detailed stories fill me
With disgust and downright rage;
What the perpetrator’s feeling, though
Is very hard to gauge.

He had to know that what he did
Was horrible and wrong;
Among the lowest of the low
Is where he does belong.

He did it with impunity
And no one said a word;
Accusing such a trusted soul
Seemed totally absurd.

The lesson to be learned is that
Appearances can lie;
Suspicions should be followed –
No exceptions should apply.

My heart goes out to all of those
Who suffered at the hands
Of the perverts who deserve the fate
Society demands.

Birth-Day

When someone has a birthday,
We rarely think of birth,
Although we do acknowledge
It’s the day he joined the earth.

But from a mom’s perspective,
If she lets herself go back,
The images of birth-day
Cake and candles surely lack.

While I waited for a taxi,
My small suitcase by my side,
I was counting my contractions,
Feeling slightly terrified.

At the hospital, the doctor came,
Arriving in a sweat,
His jogging interrupted,
Saying, “You’re not ready yet.”

So he left to take a shower
As I huffed and puffed and cursed,
And my husband, feeling helpless,
Got to see me at my worst.

But a bunch of hours later,
There he was – my brand-new son!
His birth-day was a joyous one,
When all was said and done.

Today he’ll celebrate that day,
All grown-up, with a wife,
Oblivious to how it was
When he first came to life.

I’m glad that’s so, for birthdays shout,
“I’m glad to be alive!”
And only moms recall the way
Their children did arrive.

G'Raitt!

Springsteen has his Jersey girls,
But I don’t belong there.
When Bon Jovi takes the stage,
I would just feel wrong there.

Randy Newman’s songs are great
And I love Paul Simon.
Billy Joel does justice to
His lyrics’ perfect rhymin’.

Carole King can nail a tune
And I dig Tom Petty.
If James Taylor is performing,
Get me there – I’m ready.

Yet there’s someone who can cause
My blood to percolate
When she belts a melody –
I’m talkin’ Bonnie Raitt.

Sorta country, kinda rock;
Deep and rich and bluesy.
Every note and word she sings
Is sure to be a doozy.

When I catch her on CD,
The radio or stage,
She still sounds as good to me
As she did half her age.

Keep on groovin’, Bonnie Raitt
And let your music soar;
‘Cause when I hear your magic voice,
I want to hear some more.

Unease

Many things can cause unease:
Heights, the dark, loud noises, fleas;
Crowded places, public speaking,
Rocking chairs that won’t stop squeaking.

Body odor, traffic, roaches;
Birthdays as old age approaches.
Vampire movies, tunnels, rats;
Caves with tons of flying bats.

Spiders, lightning, doctors, death;
Elevators, garlic breath.
Fire, bedbugs, snakes and worms;
Subways, strangers, germs, germs, germs!

Clowns, exams, a first-time date;
Flying, swimming, gaining weight.
Airport scanners, roller coasters;
Bridges, missing children posters.

Each of us becomes obsessed
With what it takes to make us stressed.
What’s strange is that my bugaboo
Most likely will not bother you!

Panic

The heat is like a burlap bag
That’s fastened ‘round your head.
In several minutes, you’ll succumb
And feel like you are dead.

The subway, though, is cold as vodka
When it’s nicely chilled.
Although there’s not a seat, the coolness
Makes you rather thrilled.

The train is plowing on its path
When suddenly, it stops.
The lights grow dim, the A/C dies
And man, your heart just drops.

The panic starts to pulse and pound
As sweat pops from your pores.
Attempts to think of pleasant things
Your racing brain ignores.

You keep your eyes fixed on the page,
But nothing’s making sense.
You wonder if the others trapped
Are feeling quite as tense.

Then suddenly the lights go bright;
The train begins to move.
The air kicks in, your heart slows down;
Imaginings improve.

It doesn’t take too much to go
From calm to full-blown panic.
Just fathom how I would have fared
On board the doomed Titanic!

Budapest and Prague

Went to Budapest and Prague -
Got a little taste.
Travels give you memories
That do not get erased.

Marveled at the synagogues,
Saw the famous clock.
Visited a Nazi camp
With images to shock.

Rode the Metros and the trams;
Wandered cobbled streets.
Drank my share of local beer,
Savored ice cream treats.

Gorgeous buildings everywhere,
Artwork quite amazing.
Walked the bridges and saw views
Deserving people’s praising.

Castles, palaces and shops,
Boat ride on the river.
Chamber music played with
All the charm one could deliver.

Dealt with language barriers,
Crowd and blazing heat;
Challenges each day, like
What to do and where to eat.

Fellow tourists joined and split
In various directions;
Yet we managed to establish
Rarefied connections.

Flying home and looking back,
I think I understand
How travel gives you so much more
Than what you thought you’d planned.

Bonding Over Beer

Setting: outdoor pub in Prague.
On the table: brews!
Reason: hungry, tired and
So many beers to choose.

At the table next to us,
Americans on tour,
Drinking beer in every town,
As much as pubs could pour.

We had forty years on them.
Still, we started yakking,
Trading stories, facts and jokes;
Subjects weren't lacking.

That's what's great about a pub -
Different people blend
And before you know it,
Every stranger seems a friend.

Several lagers later,
We got up and said goodbye.
Once we would have kept their pace;
Now we'd dare not try.

Yet we spent a lovely night
Bonding over beers.
Amazing how some yeast and hops
Can override the years!

Beckoning

Wander the streets of a place unfamiliar
Looking for somewhere to eat.
Deal with exhaustion, the heat and the crowds
Which make disorientation complete.

Suddenly someone's materialized,
Like a genie right out of Aladdin,
Inviting you in...the best seat in the house!
And your out-of-sorts mood starts to gladden.

He asks where you're from and you tell him New York;
He knows that he's reeled in a live one.
You start to talk films and his heroes are such
That you realize this guy is a jive one.

Yet he's charming and sweet and adept at his craft
As you notice him casting his net;
And the restaurant surely must be well aware
That the crowd's left them so in his debt.

It's really a skill to be friendly and warm
And quite cunning and slick all the same;
But our dinner was lovely and so, after all,
He deserves only credit, not blame.

Shoes by the River

In 1944 or so,
The Nazis did deliver
A group of Jews in Hungary
Into the Danube River.

They lined them up and shot them dead -
Not one did soldiers save -
A Jew was not considered worthy
Of a normal grave.

Before they shot them, one command
Was, "First, take off your shoes."
The shots rang out and that was all
Remaining of the Jews.

Today in Budapest, you'll see
Lined up along the shore,
A lot of beat-up shoes in bronze
To stay forevermore.

And looking at those shoes, you'll find
The past has come alive.
The Jews who wore them somehow
Beat the odds and still survive.

Memorials have power if
They don't let us forget,
And those shoes by the Danube
Left me strongly in their debt.

Lost and Found

In a foreign city,
You try to get around.
Sometimes you get lost, but then
Eventually, you're found.

If language is an issue,
It complicates a bit.
You cannot let frustration
Let you fall into a snit.

The locals offer guidance
To get you on your way.
A map or body language works
When English they can't say.

There always are surprises, though -
Some new friends in the group,
A subway ride (with no A/C!),
A cold pea minted soup.

And on the rooftop garden now,
I sit and write these words,
With serenades of sirens and
A bunch of local birds.

Tonight we'll cruise the Danube,
Which sounds pretty much sublime.
Perhaps an inspiration for
Another prime time rhyme!

Up on the Roof

Up for twenty hours, 
Many in the air -
Landed in a foreign city,
Near I don't know where.

Spent the whole day walking.
Who'd waste time on sleep?
'Til exhaustion into
All my bones did start to creep.

Bolstered by gelato,
A burger and a beer,
I thought I'd perked up just enough,
Then ended up right here:

Up on the rooftop garden,
Designed by my hotel.
Imagine if I always
Had the chance to live so well!

It's lovely, calm and peaceful,
With just a hint of breeze.
I rarely feel relaxed like this,
So totally at ease.

The sun is peeping through the clouds
And it is so serene,
I wish that every reader knew
Exactly what I mean.

Adventure

Travel to a place unknown
And open up your mind.
Though the guide books give you tips,
Who knows what you’ll find?

Possibly a hidden gem
Or a friendly local.
Maps can only go so far
To make the highlights focal.

Better, then, to take a chance
And wander through the city.
Missing how the natives live
Would surely be a pity.

Have your passport stamped and then
Proceed upon your quest;
There adventure beckons you,
But you supply the rest.

Uncertain

Tomorrow is uncertain,
So celebrate today.
The possibilities await,
Like pastries on display.

So choose the one with most appeal
And take a giant bite;
Perhaps its pure deliciousness
Will whet your appetite.

For life is unpredictable
So while we’re here, indulge.
The future holds a question mark
That no one will divulge.

We cannot know from day to day
If we’ll be stressed or thrilled,
But if our choices satiate,
At least we’ll feel fulfilled.

Let 'er Rip

There are some who meditate
To help relieve their stress.
Others have a glass of wine
When under great duress.

I know people who calm down
By quilting, knitting, sewing;
Some folks get frustration out
By vacuuming or mowing.

There are those who nap or pace
Or sit and bite their nails.
Others do what I resort to
When each option fails:

It’s something I’m not proud of, but
When stress becomes extreme,
I get to someplace private
And release a blasting scream.

For only then, when I’ve let go,
Will I be feeling fine;
And then, to guarantee that fact,
I’ll have that glass of wine.

The Puerto Rican Day Parade

The Puerto Rican Day Parade
Took over mid-Manhattan.
It was a celebration of
A culture we’d call Latin.

The crowds converged to stroll and march,
Bandanas by the dozens;
In red and white and blue they strode
With nephews, nieces, cousins.

They blew their horns (ay mi, the noise!)
And waved their flags and banners,
Not caring if some local folk
Might mind their boisterous manners.

A thousand policemen on patrol
Made sure that all was civil;
And tourists soaked it up, amazed,
Their gazes all a’swivel.

Though every group deserves to have
Its special marching day,
I think next year I’ll do my best
To try and stay away.

Obsolete

Record player needles,
Stamps you have to lick;
Watches that you have to wind
So they can start to tick…

Cameras that require film,
Phone books, huge and thick;
Doctors who make house calls
When you’re home and feeling sick…

Ribbons for a typewriter,
Milk with Nestles’ Quick;
Brylcreem, where a little dab
Will make your hair look slick…

All are gone or heading there
And it’s hard to pick
What we think will disappear
Or what, perhaps, will stick.

Life evolves so rapidly
And changes happen quick;
Predicting obsolescence
Is a true magician’s trick.

A Poet's Wares

Poetry is thought distilled;
You squeeze it and condense it.
When intent has been fulfilled,
You’re ready to dispense it.

Many poems don’t get that far;
They stick with their creator,
Unreleased into the world
Or maybe saved for later.

Those that make it take a chance
That after they’re inspected,
They will be forgotten fast
Or, even worse, rejected.

Poets choose their words with care
And offer up their wares
In hopes that somewhere in their realm,
There’s somebody who cares.

At the Grounds for Sculpture

An afternoon excursion
Filled with friends and food and art
Takes an ordinary Thursday
And just blows it off the chart.

Just a stroll throughout the gardens,
So impeccably maintained,
Proves that Nature has the power
To keep callers entertained.

Add some monumental sculptures
And a classy, tasty meal,
Then you’ve hit on the equation
For a day that’s quite ideal.

Circumstances rarely happen
(If they do we have to splurge)
When good health and lovely weather
And friends’ schedules converge.

So today, I’m feeling grateful
For a few delightful hours
With some loved ones, food and sunshine,
Gorgeous trees and art and flowers.

Flotsam

I saw some flotsam floating by
Or maybe it was jetsam.
Whichever one it was, I know
The river always gets some.

It’s strange that if I’d spotted it
On sidewalk, road or street,
It would have just been detritus
That I had chanced to meet.

But floating cast-offs seem to take
A step up on the scale,
For, carried by the currents,
They’re explorers setting sail.

And where they’ll settle, we can’t know
But out there on the sea,
Unlike the city’s litter,
They are rambling and free.

Leftovers

I loved my fat Thai noodles.
They were such a perfect lunch;
But after four big dumplings,
I was filled up quite a bunch.

I ate as much as I could eat.
The portion was absurd;
‘Cause when I lay my chopsticks down,
I’d only scarfed a third.

The waiter took my leftovers
And packed them in a tin,
With plastic cover and
A paper bag to put them in.

He left it on my table
And I took it when I paid,
Real pleased that dinner for tonight
Was sitting there, all made.

But walking home, quite suddenly
My meal came crashing through.
The soggy-bottomed bag had ripped,
So what was I to do?

For on the sidewalk was displayed
Pad See Ew in its glory.
I scooped it up as best I could,
And that’s the end of story.

There is a moral to this tale –
When you go out to eat,
A noodle in the belly beats
A noodle on the street!

Puddle Power

A toddler and a puddle’s
Like a magnet and some nails.
All logic is abandoned;
Spontaneity prevails.

There’s no thought of discomfort,
Of one’s clinging clothing damp;
Just joy in jumping jauntily,
A puddle pounding champ.

As we grow up we lose that edge
And life becomes a muddle.
Perhaps we’d sort it out if we
Could splash into a puddle!

Fifty Shades of Brown

A novel that I haven’t read
Is Fifty Shades of Grey.
I know what it’s about, but why the grey?
I couldn’t say.

The only greys that I could name
Are charcoal, smoke or ash.
But fifty shades of brown?
Now, I could name them in a flash!

There’s mocha, chocolate, bittersweet,
Mahogany and umber;
Burnt sienna, saddle and
More tans that I could number.

Butterscotch and caramel,
Espresso, cocoa, rust;
Copper, coffee, khaki, chestnut –
There are more, I trust.

Cinnamon and chicory,
Malt and dirt and clay;
Sand and nutmeg, earth and mud
And one I cannot say.

Camouflage, bamboo and beige,
Bronze and fox and mink;
Camel, pecan, palomino –
Time to stop, I think.

I’ve made my point; as colors go,
I think it’s fair to say
That Fifty Shades of Brown makes sense
Much more than Shades of Grey!

Portable

A muffin’s very portable;
I toss one in my bag
And pop a piece into my mouth
If spirits start to sag.

I slice it up and baggie it;
It takes up little space
And I can nibble secretly
At any time or place.

If hunger pangs crop up
Or if my stomach starts to growl,
I needn’t search provisions out
Or gnash my teeth and howl.

I reach into my pocketbook
And rip a little piece;
As quick as that, the noises
In my belly start to cease.

So when you leave your house,
Into your bag you should be stuffin’
A perfect pick-me-up
That’s also portable – a muffin!

Stench

I’m sitting by the river,
Just relaxing on a bench,
When I’m suddenly accosted
By an unaccustomed stench.

I look around but do not see
A reason for the smell.
It’s coming from the water, then,
As far as I can tell.

The question that I pose myself
Is – what am I to do?
Sacrifice olfactory nerves
Or sacrifice the view?

In life, it’s not all positives
That come to us each day.
The rippling waves have tipped the scales –
I’ll hold my nose and stay!