Deodorant

Deodorant’s a wondrous thing;
It squelches odors that would cling
And keeps us Soft & Dri and Sure,
So Suave we all have more allure.

We still might sweat to some Degree –

A Ban is not a guarantee,

But here’s a Secret I can share –

Non-users, man, we know you’re there!

Marking Time

Time is of the essence,
We’ve been told since prepubescence,
So we shouldn’t waste a minute or we’re fools.
Planning keeps things flowing
So no matter where we’re going,
We’ll accomplish so much more within these rules.

Seconds turn to hours
But if we don’t smell the flowers,
We’ll miss out on all the things life has to give.
Years fly by like sparrows
And before Death aims its arrows,
We should grab each opportunity and live.

If such advice is heeded,
When our earthly time’s completed
We’ll be satisfied that we have done our best;
For when time reclaims its lending
We can’t stop the coming ending ;
Then we’ll realize that it’s finally time to rest.

Middle Names

What’s the point of middle names?
We hardly ever use ‘em.
The ones to blame are parents, though,
‘Cause they’re the ones that choose ‘em.

I know they sometimes honor
A relation who has passed,
But surely there are other ways
To make that mem’ry last.

My mother used my middle name
When angry, without fail,
And so I grew to hate it
(By the way, that name is Gail).

Just one more person called me by it,
Just to be contrary,
And that’s my cousin Bruce
(Whose middle name I cut to Larry).

I wonder how this all began –
It’s like an unsolved riddle,
For first and last names should suffice –
Who needs that useless middle?

Automatic

We never think of how we breathe
Unless we’re stuck with asthma;
And who wastes thoughts on blood, unless
We’re weak and needing plasma?

We use our eyes to focus
‘Til we suddenly can’t see;
And run for tennis balls until
There’s pain inside the knee.

If things are fine, our bodies
Let us run on automatic,
But unexpected changes may make
Life a bit traumatic.

And so we switch to manual
And contemplate each move,
Until we get the hang of things
And settle in a groove.

For when our gears begin to go
We must accept the fact
That no one gets through life with all
Their body parts intact.

Memorial Day Treat

I had no cookout to attend
With loads of barbecue;
My spirits needed perking up,
So what’s a gal to do?

I hurried to a Shake Shack
With the energy I’d mustered,
To check the daily flavors
Of their oh-so-creamy custard.

I hit the jackpot and my heartstrings
Answered with a twang,
For Monday’s special was my fave:
Ta-da! Lemon meringue.

That velvety consistency
Was soft and smooth as cream.
I had to pinch myself to prove
This wasn’t just a dream.

I know a hot dog and a beer
Would be more apropos,
But custard in a cone was still
A perfect way to go!

Etymology

The origin of any word
May be, on close inspection,
Quite obvious, if one inferred
The cause of its connection.

What brings this up was my surprise
When noticing in "smother"
That hiding there, without disguise,
Is everybody's "mother."

Coincidence or little jab?
We cannot know for sure;
But I would like to take a stab
That someone immature,

When language first was being made,
Had issues with his mama
And found a way to masquerade
His little melodrama.

And every mother since that day
Is known as the relation
Whose every effort translates to
Attempts at suffocation.

Water Bottles Everywhere

Water bottles everywhere
‘Cause that’s what people drink:
Aquafina, Poland Spring
And more each time you blink.

Evian and Fuji,
Pellegrino and Propel,
Perrier, Dasani, Volvic –
More than stores can sell.

Water bottles everywhere
But this is what I think:
New York City water tastes
The best, straight from the sink!

Behind the Blinds

Curtains or Venetian blinds,
Drapings, shutters, shades
Serve to keep our privacy
From peeping Tom parades.

Everybody loves a glimpse
Into another’s space,
Surreptitiously, of course,
And never face to face.

Which is why our views are blocked
With drapery or blind;
Thus it’s more enticing, wond’ring
Just what hides behind.

Often, though, we’ll get a peek
At furniture and shelves
And people who, ironically,
Live like we do ourselves.

On Noah's Ark

A pair of skunks on Noah’s ark
Got separated in the dark.
The female used her wily wits
And let loose with a little spritz.

The other creatures gagged and moaned.
Festivities were all postponed;
But Noah – patient, calm and wise
Knew just how to deodorize.

He lit a few sweet-smelling punks
To camouflage the smell of skunks.
The animals all sighed relief
And thanked their most ingenious chief.

The skunks, at last, were reunited,
Though they felt both miffed and slighted.
They knew not to what extent
That scent they sent caused such dissent.

The Weatherman Predicted...

The weatherman predicted
That today would reach a high
Of eighty-five degrees; I never
Thought that he would lie.

I didn’t take a jacket and
My sockless feet are bare.
I’m shivering and I would bet
He doesn’t even care.

He’s sitting in a studio
But if he stepped outside,
He’d realize that his error
Simply cannot be denied.

It serves me right, I guess, because
I acted like a fool.
Preparedness, I learned in scouting,
Is the golden rule.

Tomorrow I’ll be sure to have
A jacket, just in case
The forecast once again turns out
Amazingly off base!

Tornado

To me, a tornado is something I’ve seen
In “The Wizard of Oz” as a child.
It hardly seemed real – so much damage and fear
With the forces of Nature gone wild.

Yet the newspapers carry a horrible tale
Of a mile-wide tornado that struck;
And for residents caught in the path of the storm,
There were dozens who ran out of luck.

More than fifty are dead, many others are hurt;
Homes are flattened, with cars strewn in piles.
Oklahoma, though often the sunniest place,
Will for now be quite lacking in smiles.

When Nature rears up and delivers her wrath,
We are frequently caught unawares;
And it’s random which people succumb or survive,
For tornadoes won’t heed someone’s prayers.

Observing the scene from a distance away
I feel sorrow for all those affected;
For tragedy somehow reminds us that yes,
We are all of us somehow connected.

Spring Cleaning

There’s a reason why the windows
Don’t get cleaned but once a year
And the answer, like my windows now,
Is obvious and clear.

It’s an awful, dirty job and it
Takes effort, time and sweat,
With an unobstructed view the only
Bonus that you’ll get.

If you live in an apartment,
On a floor up several flights,
Then the misery’s compounded
By the dizziness of heights.

For each time I grab a window,
I can picture my descent
And my husband in the doorway
Wondering where the hell I went.

Still, with rolls of paper towels
And a Windex, all a’spritz,
All the grime that I’ve been granted
Has just up and called it quits.

Now the vistas of the city
Are there beckoning to me;
Though they might have done so prior,
There was no way I could see!

The Question

We knew you’d write a poem, they said
And I’d, of course, complied.
My rhyming seems to be the way
I’m oft identified.

We all carve a persona
Other people recognize.
It’s comforting to know the way
We’re seen through others’ eyes.

Yet expectations raise the bar
And leave us little choice.
Our friends and family want to hear
That old familiar voice.

For me, I’m just as happy
Doing that which is expected.
If I did otherwise, I think
Surprise would be reflected.

And yet I wonder what they’d feel
If I would write in prose -
Relief or disappointment?
That’s the question, I suppose.

Housedress

Amid the sexy lingerie
The bride-to-be received,
There was a garment out of place,
Or so some folks believed.

It was a housedress from the past,
A little drab and faded,
In which the grandma of the bride
Once through her house paraded.

That grandma is no longer here,
But spoke up through that dress.
Her daughter and her grandchild
Felt her kvelling,** I would guess.

And though that shapeless schmatte*
Wasn’t bridal-like to wear,
It let us know that Grandma Ida
Had a presence there.

I love when past and present
Are connected with a link;
That housedress did its job and Ida
Would be tickled pink.

*an old piece of clothing or material
**bursting with joy and bragging about it

Some Days

Some days need more hours.
Some meals need more wine.
Gardens need more flowers
If their bulbs are in decline.

Some walls need more hangings.
Some food needs more spice.
Banjos need more twangings
So their music will entice.

Some homes need less clutter.
Some rooms need more light.
Bread may need more butter
So the taste will be just right.

Some jokes need more laughter.
Some ‘hoods need less crime.
Since it’s time I’m after,
Hereby ends this rhyme.

Please Take Only One

At a U.F.T.* event,
The sign was printed large,
Obviously placed there by
The person left in charge.

What it said was no surprise
For schnorrers** often show,
But “Please take only one!” I thought
Was not the way to go.

It referred to bagels, which
Were piled upon a plate,
Looking like the most pathetic
Ones you ever ate.

Though quite unappealing,
Even with a cream cheese schmear,
There are those who might take two –
The sign made that quite clear.

An admonition will not stop
A schnorrer in his tracks,
But add some sorry bagels and
The food staff can relax!

*United Federation of Teachers
**greedy people who take more than their share

My Daughter's Birthday

Today’s my daughter’s birthday
And it sends me reeling back;
Her life was just a question mark,
A code I’d have to crack.

There were no clues to who she’d be –
How cute or smart or charming,
Or whether there might lurk a problem,
Possibly alarming.

I didn’t know what aptitudes
Were tucked away, unbidden,
Just waiting for the chance to sprout
From where they nestled, hidden.

I can’t remember if I’d thought
Of how she might excel –
And if I didn’t, I suppose
It’s really just as well.

For progeny surprise us –
They unfurl like shiny leaves;
And as they grow, we marvel at
The tricks kept up their sleeves.

And what’s revealed may differ from
Our notions, pre-conceived;
But often, we’re in awe of what
They’ve cleverly achieved.

My daughter’s sharp and funny
And her singing steals the show,
Several pieces of the puzzle
That I pondered long ago.

Exercising Your Brain

People do aerobics
So their bodies stay in shape.
Slacking off means all that flab
Reverses its escape.

Just like muscles turn to mush
If workout time’s ignored,
Lethargy may leach the brain
Of knowledge it has stored.

Therefore one must exercise
The mappings of the mind,
Making sure the avenues
Are smooth and well-defined.

Crosswords and Sudoku,
Scrabble, dominoes or chess
Help to keep those brain cells sharp
And also combat stress.

As we age we must work out
The body and the brain,
For if we don’t, the things we’ve learned
Will all have been in vain.

Senior-Friendly

The supermarket calls itself
A “Senior-Friendly” store.
I read the sign and now I wonder
What it’s really for.

Do other shops mistreat the old?
Get nasty if they’re slow?
And how, in this establishment,
Does senior-friendship show?

Perhaps employees push the carts
Of those who look “of age,”
Though senior status often’s not
An easy thing to gauge.

Or maybe certain items sit
On all the lower shelves,
So prunes and other “senior” foods
The old can reach themselves.

I might just stop inside to check
This “Senior-Friendly” place,
But if they’re extra-nice, I’ll wipe
Their smiles right off their face!

A Complex Thing

Today’s the day for big bouquets
And hugs or other warm displays
To reassure each mother hen
She’d choose to do it all again.

For motherhood’s a complex thing –
Though joy and pleasure it can bring,
When all her fledglings leave the nest,
An ache may surface in her chest.

She’ll reminisce and be amazed
How quickly all her kids were raised.
With luck, there’ll be a sturdy bond
To keep them linked for years beyond.

And so this day, they come or call –
A simple message says it all:
On Mothers’ Day, we won’t forget
You gave us love; we’re in your debt.

Strikeout

In baseball, when you get a strike
Three times, it means you’re out.
Unless you’re pitching, getting strikes
Is not what it’s about.

In bowling, though, a strike is great;
It’s what you’re hoping for.
The more times that you get a strike,
The higher is your score.

The same holds true in life, for words
Can have quite different slants
And one’s interpretation
May be ruled by circumstance.

So when you are confronted
With a word you may not like,
Choose bowling over baseball
And pretend that it’s a strike!

Vanilla Malted

A treat that should be most exalted
Is a real vanilla malted.
Made with ice cream, milk and malt,
It’s oft forgotten, by default.

It must be mixed by a machine
Endemic to the diner scene
And served inside its silver mixer
Meant for holding this elixir.

Pour it in a Coke-shaped glass.
Use a straw (now, don’t be crass!)
Take a sip and be transported
To your childhood days, distorted…

For when seen through such a taste,
Negatives all get erased;
And once you start to reminisce,
You’ll just remember days of bliss.

Today I passed a luncheonette;
It’s been there eighty years, I’ll bet.
I thought of malteds, got the urge –
For $7.50 (!), I could splurge.

Happily, I did indulge
And that is why I here divulge
It’s worth those calories amassed
For that connection to the past!

Bloated

New Jersey has a governor
Who wants to rule the land,
But people have a problem
Seeing Christie in command.

It’s not his personality
(Though he thinks he’s all that!)
Or brains or drive or vigor –
It’s the fact that he is fat!

He isn’t slightly overweight
But closer to obese.
His stomach, in his pants, looks like
It’s praying for release.

So recently it was revealed
Some surgery was done,
To hasten weight loss so his image
Voters will not shun.

For presidents today are fit
So when they’re photographed,
They look more like Obama
Than like William Howard Taft.

I’m really not a Christie fan,
(He’d never get my vote)
But he’d look more presidential
If he’d banish all that bloat!

Appalachian Man

South Carolinians, give me a break!
If you were my students, you’d fail.
You’ve given your nod to the lout who once hiked
On the fake “Appalachian Trail.”

A governor gone to a place no one knew
With his staffers in fear for his life,
Had to later admit that his hike was a lie
To help hide his “true love” from his wife.

Though that dastardly deed left some angry and hurt,
His constituents seemed to excuse him;
And for Congress, enough of those voters came back –
Fifty-five percent opted to choose him.

Yes, other politicos lied and had sex
(With a president leaving a stain!),
Yet those voters for Sanford had better beware
For this guy’s surely pulling your chain!

Unzipped

A perky woman stepped inside
The elevator car.
I’d never seen her, so her words
To me were quite bizarre.

She turned her back to me and asked
(Formalities she’d skipped)
If I would help her out because
Her dress was not quite zipped.

Of course, I hastened to comply –
I guess she couldn’t reach –
But in the rules of etiquette,
I think this was a breach.

For asking someone’s help to dress
Seems much more apropos
If assistance comes from somebody
You actually know!

What You Never Meant

One word misinterpreted
Conveys the wrong intent
And what you said gets twisted
Into what you never meant.

For sometimes we may jump the gun,
Prepared to be rejected,
And can’t absorb a message
Different from the one expected.

It’s possible for someone
To feel angry, bruised or hurt
By a word or two that somehow
You allowed yourself to blurt.

In situations such as this,
It’s better to explain;
There isn’t very much to lose
And much that you can gain.

Communication’s often marred
When it’s not face to face,
But simple explanations help
Both parties to embrace.

Impatient

Patience is a virtue
Though it’s one that isn’t mine.
I get antsy when I wait
In any kind of line.

I can’t hold my horses
For that leads to agitation,
No matter what the reason
Or surrounding situation.

Type A personality
I think’s the diagnosis.
Ulcers or a heart attack
Is likely the prognosis.

Living in the city, though,
Is where I have to be.
For everywhere I go, I notice
Lunatics like me!

Expressed

I’m pressed for time,
Impressed by mime,
Distressed, oppressed
And stressed by crime.

I’m best when I’m
On quest to climb;
Caressed by rhyme,
I’m in my prime.

Spontaneous

It’s great to be spontaneous,
To simply up and go;
To get last-minute tickets
To a movie or a show.

To meet some friends for dinner
Or for breakfast or for lunch,
Inquiring it they’re free, based on
A lucky what-if hunch.

How lovely just to get an urge
And act without preparing;
If things work out – terrific!
But if not, there’s no despairing.

It’s great to be spontaneous
But often hard to do,
For obligations cling to us
Like non-removing glue.

Yet sometimes we can grab that ring
That dangles there like gold;
Yes, spontaneity is great -
At least that’s what I’m told!

Sockless

The weatherman predicted warmth
And so I ditched my socks.
I felt a little chill which vanished
After several blocks.

My ankle wore a bracelet which
Had languished, calmly waiting,
Until my foot was sockless
To break free of hibernating.

And as I strolled the sunny streets,
Sans socks but thus adorned,
I thought of my beloved boots,
Now seasonally scorned.

I’ll wear them once again this fall
With socks, I guarantee,
But now I’m just delighted
To be bare beneath the knee!

Mayday

Although today’s the first of May,
It’s not the Mayday! people say
When they are under great duress
With stress they really can’t suppress.

This is a day to smile and prance
And frolic in a Maypole dance.
The sun is up, the flowers out
And spring is what it’s all about.

The Mayday! message, from the French,
Makes furrowed brows and teeth that clench.
Do not confuse these Mayday twins –
One causes tears, the other grins.

And so today, on May the first,
In jubilation, be immersed.
The one-word Mayday! set aside
For when its use is justified…