Year's End

Maybe this year you’ve been down in the dumps
Or filled with remorse or despair;
Maybe you’ve taken your share of the lumps,
For which you’d no time to prepare.

Or possibly, things were triumphant for you,
With victory, joy and success;
Perhaps hidden talents burst forth in debut,
A relief and delight to express.

But whether these months have been minus or plus,
Today the year comes to an end;
And as it has been and will always be thus,
The past isn’t ours to amend.

The future, however, is waiting and blank;
We start with a shiny clean slate.
Let’s hope that ’14 will be one that will rank
With the best, with no room for debate.

Festive

The vendors on the corners
Popped up everywhere like weeds,
With all that glitzy New Year’s stuff
That everybody needs:

The sparkly light-up glasses
Flashing 2014;
The groggers, horns and necklaces
To jazz the New Year scene.

The hats displayed are every type,
In felt or neon plastic –
Derby and Fedora,
Even top hats, quite fantastic.

Festivity’s contagious
And for puttin’ on the Ritz
To welcome in the brand-new year,
You’ve gotta have some glitz!

Driving Through a Downpour

When driving through a downpour
You must keep a careful watch
And hope your driving record
You won’t have a chance to botch.

You have to raise your highway skills
By more than just a notch
And once at home, the thing to do
Is have a shot of scotch!

Family Planning

In China, they’re delighted
For the government just said
They could have a second child –
The old policy is dead.

Though there must be celebration,
There is silence there instead.
Streets are practically deserted –
All the Chinese are in bed!

The Hospital

Monitors flash vital signs
With reassuring beeps;
We watch the numbers blinking
As our friend, the patient, sleeps.

Nurses jot their findings down
And residents confer.
Life outside those corridors
Exists as just a blur.

Fluids, catheters and blood –
A lingo all its own –
The words seem like the most important
We have ever known.

Our friend awakes – we chat and laugh
And then he’s whisked away -
A new procedure hopefully
To keep bad news at bay.

We say goodbye and wish him luck
And though it seems unfair,
We’re grateful exiting the doors
Into the wintry air.

UPS

People paid a premium
So gifts would be on time.
Many never made it, though,
Which seems a Christmas crime.

Charging extra means to me
You plan to keep your word.
Saying “sorry” can’t correct
The letdown that occurred.

Spokesmen said they hadn’t planned
On how much people sent,
So workers handled what they could
But not to that extent.

Apologies will not suffice
For there are many frowns
From customers who think that UPS
Should change its name to DOWNS!

Quiet

Christmas Day is quiet –
Traffic’s light and stores are shuttered.
All the hype preceding it
Has fizzled out and puttered.

Families turn inward
And the only revenues
For the restaurants and movies
Are provided by the Jews.

If you took all the Sundays
And you rolled them in a ball,
They might finally rival Christmas –
It’s the quietest of all.

Unwanted

The kiosks selling Christmas trees
Shut down on Christmas eve
With many evergreens unsold,
Much more than you’d believe.

The workers start dismantling
Their temporary bowers;
Not many customers come by
In these remaining hours.

The trees nobody wanted
Get wrapped up and placed in piles.
They’ll never showcase ornaments
Or manufacture smiles.

But bargain hunters may pop up
To commandeer a tree
Which, after all the sellers split,
Is obviously free.

Not every fir or spruce on hand
Will find a welcome home
And so I will acknowledge them
Right here, within my poem.

Noshy

A rainy day – I stay at home
But notice something odd –
A constant need to nosh
Has me on kitchen promenade.

A bowl of chips, a Twizzler
And some sugar-coated nuts –
My salivary glands act up
The minute my mouth shuts.

Some sweet and sour cucumber
My husband’s sliced real thin –
I scarf a few and walk away
But soon I’m reeled back in.

A piece of cookie, just a bite,
For hunger’s not the lure –
When antsiness attacks,
A little snack must be the cure.

It’s dangerous to be inside
For most of a long day,
‘Cause doing so affects your mind
And also what you weigh!

Home Delivery

When I wake up and crack the door,
The New York Times awaits;
It’s something I can count on
And what joy it generates!

There’s so much news to savor
And the puzzle hones my wits.
That daily read provides me with
A host of benefits.

For years I trudged out to the store
To get my morning fix
And if I wasn’t home, I craved
The latest politics.

But now with home delivery,
I never miss a day.
The carrier keeps coming
Even if I am away.

It’s really such a luxury,
I think it can be said
It only could be better
If they brought it to my bed!

A Dirty Patch

The rules are posted on a sign –
The city’s made its mark –
Instructing drivers there are times
They’re not allowed to park.

The streets require cleaning
So at certain listed hours
The sweeper truck comes swishing through
And picks up trash and scours.

But certain selfish drivers
See those rules and just ignore ‘em,
Assuming that there’s little chance
A cop’ll come before ‘em.

And so the sweeper sweeps around
The cars that will not budge,
Thus leaving certain city streets
With detritus and sludge.

Of course, those drivers drive away
And leave within their wake
A dirty patch the sweepers missed
For someone’s selfish sake.

Two Sides

In New York City, traffic lights
By walkers are ignored,
For getting someplace faster
Is the ultimate reward.

Except for little children –
Thus, the right way must be taught
And therefore, with confusion,
Situations might be fraught.

Today a dad was on the corner
With his kids in tow.
They crossed against the light because
The street looked good to go.

“But Dad,” the kids protested,
“Don’t you see the light is red?”
“When I’m with you, then it’s okay,”
Is what the father said.

“But never do this by yourself!”
Which surely contradicts
His children’s knowledge, sending them
A message clearly mixed.

An urban kid learns quickly
There are two sides to a coin
And often your companion
Lets you know which side to join.

Naysayers

When someone tells you, “That won’t work!”
Just smile and keep it quiet.
Though contradictions sure can irk,
You really shouldn’t buy it.

For sticking to your guns, you’ll find,
Will benefit you greatly.
By letting others change your mind,
You’ll get messed up, innately.

The trust you feel within your gut
Is there for your survival.
Ignore it and quite soon, a rut
Will welcome your arrival.

So let the naysayers say nay
And do what you’ve been doing,
‘Cause no one should be led astray
By anyone’s pooh-poohing.

Pillow Talk

My pillow sits there waiting
With my comforter in bed;
It’s so squishy it’s the perfect place
For me to rest my head.

Filled with fluffy down, not feathers,
You can squish it into shape,
Giving comfort, so conducive
To a sleepytime escape.

When I’m traveling, no matter
How expensive my hotel,
I am sure the pillows will prevent
My sleeping very well.

For like Goldilocks, I’ll find them
Way too soft or much too hard
And I’m certain many others
Can relate in that regard.

But at home, when bedtime beckons
And my eyelids claim defeat,
I am thankful for my pillow
As I snuggle ‘neath the sheet.

Almost

Such a busy day that I’m
Amazed I near forgot my rhyme!
I haven’t missed a day in years;
Obsessiveness to me adheres.

But luckily, I caught the slip
And so this date I will not skip.
It matters, really, just to me
Yet so far, it’s a guarantee.

There’ll come a day when I’ll forget
Or can’t get on the internet
And that won’t be a pretty sight,
For that’s one wrong I’d need to write!

           

Obligatory

At holiday time, it’s not hip
If certain gifts you choose to skip
     For a lot of folks wait
     The whole year for this date
And they’re counting on you for a tip.

If forgetfulness seems to prevail
And at gift-giving, sadly, you fail
     It’s not such a big deal
     But some time may reveal
That you’ve stopped getting service or mail!

Misplaced

Things misplaced don’t disappear
But where they go just isn’t clear.
Likely they’re not really lost;
To search, though, comes at quite a cost.

I’m inclined to self-accuse,
Questioning if things I lose
Are hiding out, which some will find
As evidence I’ve lost my mind.

In the end, though, life goes on
Though my earrings might be gone,
Their whereabouts a mystery
And like my brain cells, history.

Snowy Night

The Christmas lights are glowing,
Weather’s wildly snowing.
One thing I am knowing –
It’s lovely to be home.

The radiator’s hissing,
My honey’s here for kissing.
There’s nothing I am missing –
No place I’d rather roam.

The wine is poured and waiting,
The dinner prepped for plating
And I’m anticipating –
An ending for this poem.

Gridlock Alert

Today's a day for gridlock
So they've issued an alert
Reminding us that there's no way
The traffic we can skirt.

I wonder why the notice -
Do they think our plans will change?
'Cause a warning of the obvious
To me seems really strange.

"If we tell 'em 'bout that traffic
(And to hide it would be wrong),
Maybe they'll decide the city
Isn't where they do belong."

Yet there's irony at play here
'Cause if everyone would heed it,
Then there might just be no gridlock
So we wouldn't really need it!

The Best Smile Ever

Newborns don’t smile, unless it’s from gas.
They haven’t quite figured things out;
But one day when just the right time comes to pass,
They grasp what their world is about.

Those faces all grinning and cooing and such
Are people delighted they’re here.
Their rattles and jiggles and warm hugging touch
Make that fact undeniably clear.

So the babies reward us – they give us a smile
And watch as we melt and we glow.
That’s a sure way to know we’ll be here for a while,
For we might miss a grin if we go.

Those bundles of joy seem to rapidly learn
And they’re really amazingly clever
For they know our devotion they’re certain to earn
Just by flashing the greatest smile ever!

Laundry Room Rules

When doing laundry in a room
That’s shared by many others,
You can’t pretend no rules apply,
Like if you had your druthers.

You have to note the starting time
And when the cycle ends,
‘Cause someone else upon
Your punctuality depends.

It’s understood by all that if
Your washer or your dryer
Comes to a halt and you’re not there,
Then here’s what will transpire:

A person waiting takes a cart
And fills it with your washing,
Just shoving it this way and that
By flattening or squashing.

The slacker gets what he deserves
And has no cause for kvetching,
For he should know what time his clothes
Are done and up for fetching.

We all goof up from time to time
But here is my advice –
If you ignore communal rules,
Expect to pay the price.

Unpacking

As much as I don’t like to pack,
You’d think that after coming back
I’d simply do things in reverse,
But emptying is almost worse.

The dirty stuff goes in the wash
But since I overpack, well, gosh!
I have to sort and put away
The unworns for another day.

They’re wrinkled, though, so should I wait
To iron at a later date
Or hang them up with crease and fold?
Procrastination’s taken hold.

My suitcase sits for several days
And it will take a few delays
Until at last I zip it closed,
And order’s once again imposed.

The People

I'll remember the museums
And the fine historic homes.
There's been mention of both music
And parade within my poems.

But it really is the people
That will stick inside my brain
For connections, even brief ones,
Are the gems that I'll retain:

Chuck, the artist, born in Kansas,
And his very lovely wife.
If we settled in Savannah,
They'd be friends of ours for life.

Southern Cecil, full of knowledge
Of his charming, tree-lined town,
Gave a walking tour quite wonderful,
While putting "Yankees" down.

Two young salesclerks selling honey
And a waitress from the west;
A museum guide in Clarksdale,
Whose collection so impressed.

John and Eileen from Virginia,
On the rooftop bar called Rocks
And the docent who directed us
To bagels and to lox!

Tim the piano man and Judy,
She a member of my tribe;
John the concierge, exuding
Such a quirky Southern vibe.

I could keep this up forever
But I'll tie it up, quite neat -
Yes, the greatest part of travel
Is the people that you meet.

Small Town Parade

The classic cars were wired with lights;
The folks inside them waved.
They rolled upon the cobblestones,
Of which the streets were paved.

The marching bands banged big ol' drums;
Batons were tossed and caught,
More exciting than a show
Where tickets must be bought.

Karate kids displayed their kicks
And tots rode on the floats.
Savannah's t-shirt weather meant
No scarves or winter coats.

The girl scouts and Kiwanis club,
Miss Someone's School of Dance
And every local church group
Got to dress up, wave and prance.

For everyone who watched and clapped,
And I, of course, was one,
This charming holiday parade
Was sure a lot of fun.

Unexpected

A museum in Savannah -
There's some Warhol on display,
Specifically the ones about
The death of J.F.K.

A sign precedes your entry
Warning that there is on view
A depiction so disturbing
It may not be right for you.

We were drawn like moths to fire
To the designated spot,
Where a little screen played endlessly
The film Zapruder shot.

It's been colorized and so we saw
The pink of Jackie's suit
As her husband's blood got splattered;
We just stood there staring, mute.

Through a dozen loops, we watched it
And we couldn't tear away,
Remembering how everything
Was altered on that day.

Vacations can surprise us
And this one's made me reflect
That there's always something to be found
You didn't quite expect.

Beating the Storm

My husband made our travel plans -
He likes to and I don't,
So though I never should complain,
It's doubtful that I won't.

Together we'd decided on
Two cities to explore,
But just three days in Memphis?
I was really wanting more.

Yet reservations had been made
So we left Tennessee;
It's lucky I was not in charge
Or there we still would be.

For Mother Nature zapped that state
With quite an icy storm
And we're here in Savannah,
Where it's short-sleeve weather warm.

Fate could be the reason
We avoided getting stuck,
Or my husband is a genius -
But it's probably dumb luck.

In Person

When a place becomes immortalized
In song or written word,
You wonder if the image matches
What you've read or heard.

It's similar to when you get
A real-life close-up look
At a painting you have only seen
In prints or in a book.

So now I've been to Memphis
Every song will be more real -
I'll understand the references
To music heard on Beale.

I've stood at the Lorraine Motel
Where Dr. King was shot;
It all was so familiar,
I was rooted to the spot.

The picture only comes alive
When you are there, up close.
If travel is the cure,
I recommend a double dose!

Landsman

I never thought that there would be
A landsman here in Tennessee,
Who shares my background and my ways
And celebrates my holidays.

A chance encounter - who'd expect
The east and south to so connect?
A few quick words, enough to tell
This person knows from kvetch and kvell.

Surprisingly, our paths crossed twice.
In Memphis, once would not suffice;
Where strangers want to share their food,
There's haimish in that attitude.

It might be fate that brought this meeting -
Lively, fun but oh, so fleeting,
To remind us - look around
For kindred spirits may be found.

Piano Man

In Memphis, on Beale Street,
The piano man played,
A whiskey on ice at his side.
He commanded his fingers
And oh, they obeyed
And we all tagged along for the ride.

He sang what he liked
And he'd take a request
And he did a fine job at the keys.
If it were an interview,
He'd passed the test
For his voice and his playing did please.

The few of us there
Tossed some tips in his jar
And we clapped and I'm sure he felt good,
But there's one just like him
In so many a bar,
Never earning the money he should.

But he raised up our night,
Gamely playing his role
And we're lucky we walked through that door;
Yet no matter how much
He gave out of his soul,
He'll be back the next night, giving more.

Cold Call

A train derailed, the newsman said,
And there are people hurt and dead.
If someone that you love was there,
Then call this number, if you dare.

Imagine if you had to choose
To call or wait to have some news.
The agony of knowing not
Would try what patience someone’s got.

Though phoning could provide relief,
For some, there might be only grief,
Discovering an act of fate
Has made their loved one doubly late.

Anxiety

It’s natural to be nervous
When you’re trying something new.
Your mind won’t be of service
If it lets your panic through.

Anxiety’s expected
When you cross unknown terrain
And the problems you projected
May be hard to ascertain.

So accept that your misgivings
Are the standard and the norm,
Since each minute we are living’s
Got potential to transform.

Take a breath and then get ready
When it’s time to take the plunge.
Take those negatives, so petty,
Slap them silly, then expunge.

Though it’s really not that easy,
Somehow most of us get through it.
Yes, you might feel sick or queasy,
But much better once you do it.

Friends of Friends

When you spend the night with friends of friends,
Your comfort level rises,
Because you have a common link
And there are no surprises.

The friends with whom you share this bond,
Like Velcro or like glue,
Provide the means for other folk
To stick so well to you.

It’s wonderful to have such pals,
‘Cause other friends they share
Are often just the ones for whom
Their stories they prepare.

And then you have a common ground
On which to sow and reap,
Connecting you both on the surface
And below, down deep.

An evening spent in company
Of friends and friends of friends
Is likely one so pleasant
That you hope it never ends.

T-Day Plus One

A turkey gets stuffed
And so do we
And that’s Thanksgiving
To a T.

For overeating’s
De rigueur
Since that is what
A feast is for.

The food left over
Might entice,
But there’s no need
For gorging twice!

Thanksgivukkah

Happy Thanksgivukkah!
Latkes and turkey!
Protocol here is
A little bit murky.

It hasn't happened
For thousands of years
And we'll all be dead
Before it reappears.

So watch all your football
And spin your best dreidel;
Slurp up that pumpkin soup
With some kneidel.

Savor these holidays;
Celebrate twice,
'Cause having Thanksgivukkah's
'Specially nice!

Anniversary

We said “I do” and tied the knot
On a crazy day to wed.
Most people had a turkey dinner
On that day instead.

November twenty-seventh, years ago –
Yikes! Thirty-eight!
And no one, hearing of our plans,
Thought they should set us straight.

Who marries on Thanksgiving?
It’s an awful day to travel,
With traffic adding extra stress
To help the nerves unravel.

But yet, despite the tension
And some gloomy, drizzly weather,
We rallied and survived the day
And we are still together.

In hindsight, I suppose that we
Might choose a different date,
But one thing I would never change
Is he who is my mate!

A la Mode

Although my list is lengthy
Of desserts that I adore,
There’s one that I cannot resist
And leaves me wanting more:

A crumb-topped pie with berries –
Pretty simple, it would seem –
Just slightly warmed and crowned with
Some vanilla bean ice cream.

The filling should be thick and sweet,
The berries slightly oozing;
A mix works well, but blue ones
Are the berries I’d be choosing.

The crust should be delicious, too.
The ice cream scooped on high;
And as for calories to count,
Those rules do not apply.

My mom passed down her love of sweets
And one that she bestowed
Was berry pie (store-bought, but still)
Served warm and a la mode.

Moving Day

My son’s new home awaits him –
Freshly painted, scrubbed and bare.
I hope it will embrace him
And that he’ll be happy there.

We raised him in the city
But he’s always yearned for space
And now, with wife and baby,
He has found his nesting place.

It isn’t all that far away
But lacks that city strife,
A lovely place to raise a child
And settle with a wife.

I’ll have to drive to visit now.
We’re thirty miles apart;
But there will always be a spot
For him within my heart...

And for his family as well –
His new suburban son,
Whose growing days and escapades
Have only just begun.

The moving truck will be there soon;
The rooms will warm and fill.
We’ll gather on Thanksgiving,
Celebration on the bill.

Modern

I bought some pumpkin in a can
To make a pumpkin bread.
In days of old, I would have used
A pumpkin, whole, instead.

I wouldn’t have been happy
Scooping out that pumpkin gunk.
Just dealing with that mess
Would sure have put me in a funk.

Machines have done the job for me
And so I’ve caught a break,
A little shortcut but I still
Can brag that I did bake.

I’m grateful for this modern age –
It helps, without a doubt;
But I could take it one step further
And just order out!

Under the Ginkgo Tree

My husband parked our car beside
A ginkgo in the city.
The street was littered with its leaves,
So yellow and so pretty.

The female ginkgo also sheds
Some nuts with such a smell,
Just step on one and suddenly,
You won’t feel very well.

That night there was both wind and rain
And pods came pelting down.
Our silver Subaru now wore
A coat of yellow-brown.

It looked like Nature chose our car
And gleefully did bomb it;
To top it off, it reeked and smelled
Remarkably like vomit.

The lesson to be learned is this:
When parking near a ginkgo,
Determine if it’s male or else
Your car will be fa-shtinko!*

*a fake Yiddish word – means what it sounds like!

Fifty Years

A pillbox hat, a suit of pink,
The blood and all the tears;
That small salute, so solemn –
Is it really fifty years?

A swearing-in, a widow’s face
Behind a netted veil;
The coffin in a hearse and then
The bugle’s lonely wail.

The anniversary today
Demands that we take note
Of innocence and what was lost
In times that seem remote.

Biblical

A California Costco
Labelled all its Bibles fake;
In other words, as fiction –
Then recanted their mistake.

A pastor who was shopping
Tweeted photos to his flock
And when they saw the “fiction” label,
Many were in shock.

The proper tag – religion?
Seems the answer to the question,
But if you have a thought, well,
Costco’d welcome the suggestion.

Elizabethan

Linen ruffs and lacy cuffs
And farthingales and tassels;
Petticoats and hose and cloaks
Like those once worn in castles.

Fastenings of hooks and eyes
And buttons, strings and laces
Used instead of zippers to
Keep closed important places.

Milliners and stocking knitters,
Shoemakers and such
Pushed for authenticity
In looks and wear and touch.

Seeing Shakespeare on the stage
The way that he intended
Must have had a top-notch team
Who cut and sewed and mended.

“Twelfe Night” was magnificent.
The all-male cast impressed;
But kudos, too, to all the folk
Who got those actors dressed!

World Toilet Day

Today’s been named World Toilet Day
So we should be aware
That lots of people have no place
To plop their derriere.

If you have ever traveled to
A site where you must squat
Above a deep hole in the ground –
You’d wish that you had not!

It’s sad for those in poverty
Who do not yearn for plush,
But would be thrilled if they, like us,
Had access to a flush.

Frozen

JFK will always be
The way that we remember,
Never getting older than
That long-ago November.

In our minds we see him with
That shock of ginger hair;
There never was the chance
For any gray to nestle there.

He had no time to stoop or sag
Or sport those old-age spots.
When women see his picture,
Quite a few still get the hots.

When someone’s life is cut so short,
His face, to us, is frozen,
Most probably in just the way
He might himself have chosen.

So when we think of JFK,
His smiling image sticks.
Though fifty years have come and gone,
He’s still just forty-six.