I'll Let You Know

Invite someone to join you
As you formalize your plans.
Expect to get an answer –
Gee, I wonder how that pans!

“I’ll let you know,” he tells you,
But that doesn’t help at all,
Negating what you’d hoped to be
The purpose of your call.

What does that mean? Or better yet,
Explain exactly - when?
I’m sitting here and waiting
But don’t want to call again.

It’s really so annoying
When your plans are put on hold
‘Cause someone else has grabbed the reins
You thought that you controlled.

“I’ll let you know” is one response
I never should allow.
The next time someone says it,
I’ll say – “Let me know right now!”

Adios, Carlos!

A candidate for mayor
Has been sexting with a stranger.
In cyberspace, his nom de plume
Is, get this, Carlos Danger!

He once got caught and lost his job
And promised to reform,
But lying, to a politician,
Seems to be the norm.

So Weiner (yes, that is his name!)
Continues to campaign,
Although from sending penis-pictures,
He cannot abstain.

Though every single candidate
Must have his share of flaws,
I think New Yorkers need a mayor
Who won’t drop his drawers!

Blood

Blood inside our bodies flows
To keep our tickers ticking.
We never think about it ‘til
A problem’s up and kicking.

A tiny sample might reveal
Deficiencies or glitches,
For blood cells can’t keep secrets –
They’re like adolescent snitches.

The needle hits a vein and then
The truth comes pouring out
To let the doctor know
What all the fuss was all about.

Amazingly, one little vial
Can give a needed clue,
Which was within us all along,
But hidden from our view.

Holding On

The past is over. Let it go
And welcome in tomorrow.
Our days on earth are measured out
And more we cannot borrow.

Such sage advice, for sure, and yet
Instruction I can’t follow.
The letting go part is, to me,
A pill I cannot swallow.

And so I cling to memories
And objects from the past,
In disbelief that all those years
Have disappeared so fast.

I realize that by holding on,
I’m mired in the muck.
It once felt comfortable in there,
But now I’ve gotten stuck.

It’s time to shed my former self,
Embrace the older new;
I wouldn’t bet on my success –
It’s hard as hell to do.

Lost in the Cloud

Had some pictures on my iPhone,
But they’ve somehow disappeared.
Since I’m not so techno-savvy,
This was something that I’d feared.

‘Course I didn’t have a back-up.
Could have sent them to my mail;
But I let procrastination
And some laziness prevail.

I bemoaned their disappearance,
Thinking them forever lost
And, most likely, in my furor,
There were several curses tossed.

So a friend who overheard, said,
“All this moaning’s not allowed;
For your photos haven’t vanished –
You can find them in the Cloud!”

What this means is quite beyond me;
Sounds like Esalen or Zen.
I rejected those some years ago
And would do so again.

But though I don’t understand it,
I believe the Cloud is real;
And if it returns my pictures,
Oh, how happy I will feel!

So tomorrow I’ll hit Google
And I’ll find the code to crack
That I need to fly up to that Cloud
And get my pictures back!

What A Drag It Is...

Today’s Mick Jagger’s birthday
And it must be quite a drag,
For seven-zero are the years
That he’s got in the bag.

When “Mother’s Little Helper”
Was released and made the charts,
A younger Mick, at twenty-three,
Was breaking younger hearts.

That famous lyric from the song,
While catchy and harmonic,
When issued from his youthful lips
I’m sure seemed quite ironic.

But now that many years have passed
And Mick’s an older dude,
The irony’s no longer there,
Despite his attitude.

So rock on, Mick, and celebrate
Because, if truth be told,
At seventy, you must agree,
It’s no fun getting old!

Yogurt

I used to eat yogurt
When trying to diet.
Instead of a muffin,
I thought I would try it.

Some flavors were tasty
But none’d really thrill me.
Compared to my muffin,
It never did fill me.

Demand for it faded
And I, too, surrendered;
For, low-fat or no-fat,
My body’d not slendered.

But now, decades later,
Seems yogurt is cool
And anyone knocking it’s
Branded a fool.

It still wouldn’t fill me
If served as a meal
And as for a snack,
It holds little appeal.

So I’ll stand outside
As the yogurtites eat
And stick to my ice cream
If I need a treat.

Farding

In certain countries, they bombard
The populace with police and guard.
I wonder how they would regard
A woman who just loves to fard.

Perhaps her face is acne-scarred
Or freckled, blotched or wrinkle-marred;
Would she be feathered (after tarred)
Because she takes the time to fard?

We women know that life is hard.
From certain places, we are barred.
Yet female rights we can’t discard
And one remains the right to fard!

So next time, on the boulevard,
Or even in your own backyard,
Just flaunt what once was tubed or jarred
And show the world how well you fard!

*to fard: to paint the face with cosmetics
 (a word I’d never heard before)

The Name

My heritage gives babies names
Of relatives deceased.
It’s like the name was never owned
But, for a lifetime, leased.

Some people “cheat” a little bit
And use the starting letter,
Especially if there are names
That they like so much better.

It’s still an honor to confer
The name of one who died,
For memories that moniker
Will naturally provide.

The Royals do not share with me
My customs or routines.
My children didn’t get their names
From lines of kings or queens.

So I, like many others, wait
To hear the royal choices.
Reporters need a name to note
As everyone rejoices.

Whatever, though, this child is called,
Most likely will appeal.
Approval, in this case, I’m sure,
Comes with the royal seal.

Royal Baby

The Royals had a baby boy
And Britain’s brimming o’er with joy.
They’ve waited for this festive date
To celebrate with Will and Kate.

This newborn babe is said to be,
Succession-wise, at number three;
And if this lad had been a lass,
Poor Harry she would still surpass.

For there are rules about the throne
Which English folk have always known;
But laws have changed and ever since,
A princess rates just like a prince.

Today’s announcement simplifies -
This little prince can claim his prize;
And if a sister joins the chain,
She’ll have to wait her turn to reign!

The Ambush

Thunder doesn't lead to rain
In every single case.
At times, it just announces
A disturbance taking place.

I guess it's like the way a growl
Implies a close attack.
It might be just a warning
With the consequence held back.

The same applies to life, for we
Might heed a false alarm
And then discover what we feared
Caused not one drop of harm.

The ambush or the sneak attack,
Without its warning boast,
Is what we never do expect
And what should scare us most.

Girls in Pakistan

In Pakistan, the Taliban,
Which flaunts an iron rule,
Thinks girls of every age belong
At home and not in school.

And females who defy their laws
Get targeted and shot,
To prove that force and power
Are the things they haven’t got.

But what they do possess, in spades,
Which keeps their spirits yearning,
Is a passion for equality
And appetite for learning.

It’s hard for me to comprehend
Why this is such a threat;
How education menaces
Is something I don’t get.

Yet bullies with their weapons
Love to ambush and attack,
Believing (falsely) that these tactics
Will hold females back.

So bravo to you fearless girls
Who’ve banded in alliance
And manage still to get to school –
So daunting in defiance.

The world is hoping, fingers crossed,
That from the seeds you’ve planted
You’ll be allowed the education
That we take for granted.

Hotter

It’s hotter than a frying pan
And hotter than the sun.
It’s hotter than it’s been
Since record-keeping was begun.

It’s hotter than a lava flow
And hotter than a fire.
It’s hotter than a couple
Who are burning with desire.

It’s hotter than the desert,
Even hotter than a chili.
I know that these comparisons
Are overwrought and silly…

But that is how I’m sure it feels,
At least it would to me,
If I would venture out and leave
My icy-cold A/C!

Self-Preservation

Sometimes you have to think first of yourself
Before you consider another.
This lesson is learned just by living your life
And not taught by school or your mother.

It’s natural to sacrifice comfort or time
To help out a friend who is needy;
But saying “I can’t” when you really cannot
Doesn’t mean that you’re selfish or greedy.

For instinct kicks in and it trumps even guilt,
So you do not need justification
To satisfy those who may challenge the choices
You’ve made for your self-preservation.

It’s hard to accept that you can’t always be
Quite as giving as your own perception.
If you’re lucky, those times won’t define who you are
And your friends will forgive the exception.

In The Country

It's quiet in the country
But for chirrup, chirp and tweet;
Compared to what I'm used to,
All this peacefulness is sweet.

The buzz of insects passing through,
The whirring of the fans -
It's lovely just to sit and think
And not make any plans.

With friends to while the time with,
Lots of food, a jug of wine,
It's easy just to disconnect
And everything feels fine.

Reality will beckon soon;
I wish I could ignore it.
Just hop into this dreamy ride,
Press down and really floor it.

Summer in the country
Only lasts a little while,
But while it's here, I'll lap it up
And vegetate in style.

In the Murk

Concentration’s difficult
When one is feeling spent.
You start to wonder where the hell
Your mojo up and went.

The brain can only function
When it’s soothed by lots of rest.
Each of us knows just how many
Hours might be best.

Guess I must be running short
‘Cause thoughts are all a’fuzz.
Sentences begin and then
I don’t know where I was.

Time to pack it in for now;
I’m drowning in the murk.
Tomorrow I’ll be fresh and clear
And ready for some work.

The Purpose

Every single creature,
From the moment of its birth,
Has a reason for existence
On our humble planet earth.

Worms are bait for fishing;
Squirrels satiate the hawks.
Fishes feed flamingos;
Ducks make music with their squawks.

Crickets chirp a chorus;
Cows and chickens give us meat.
Bees make honey for the bears
And birds are here to tweet.

Lions balance zebras;
Sheep get shorn to give us wool.
Alligators gulp down prey
To keep their bellies full.

Butterflies spread beauty;
Beavers gnaw down extra trees.
Goats spend hours grazing
To produce that creamy cheese.

Every creature’s purpose,
And I guess this is a stretch,
Seems to outdo man’s intention,
Which appears to be – to kvetch*!

*to complain or whine

Grillin'

Pile that charcoal – make a hill;
Douse with lighter fluid.
Just imagine, if you will,
You’re an ancient Druid.

You don’t have to sacrifice
Humans on your fire.
Ribs and burgers will suffice
On your charcoal pyre.

Hot dogs, chicken, veggies, too
Might complete your grillin.’
We all love a barbecue
While the beer is chillin.’

Cooking on an open flame
Helps define the season.
Like the ancients, grillers claim
The outcome will be pleasin.’

Commercials

I saw a great commercial
But forgot what it was for.
I suppose it was a failure
On the advertising score.

For a catchy little lyric
Or a scene to make you cry
Should remind you of the product
That it’s hoping you will buy.

Certain ads are quite obnoxious,
With a jingle that you dread,
But in many cases they’re the ones
That stick inside your head.

To the advertising genius
Who outdid all other bids,
I commend you for the awful
1-800-Kars for Kids!*

*really 1-877-Kars for Kids
(altered for poetic purity!)

It Takes Two

Went to see a Tango show.
It was entertaining, though
Really not my type of dance,
Filled with passion and romance.

Sexy costumes, shiny heels;
Slits in dresses, with reveals.
Every movement so controlled,
It was something to behold.

Looking stern and so severe,
Men in poses cavalier
Domineered with such restraint
We realized just what freedom ain’t.

In the audience, we clapped;
I was bored, my husband, rapt.
As the dancers did their stuff,
I was thinking – that’s enough!

With a magic wand, I’d zap
All that tango for some tap.
Then you’d find me focused in,
With the biggest-ever grin.

Please forgive me, tango fans.
Next time, I’ll make other plans.
If dance is what is on the map,
My GPS will lead to tap!

A Lesson Learned

In my very first apartment,
Found in long-ago December,
Was an A/C in the window,
Which I clearly can remember.

Since the occupant was moving,
She encouraged me to buy it;
But the fifty dollars that she asked –
I couldn’t justify it.

I figured she’d just leave it there,
For she was southern-bound
And surely in her brand-new digs,
An A/C would be found.

But no, she ripped it from the sill
To show me who was boss;
And smack inside of winter’s chill,
I didn’t feel the loss.

I shrugged it off ‘til summer came,
Then I was bathed in sweat;
So thinking back on what I did
Infused me with regret.

For twenty bucks, I bought a fan,
Bemoaning all the while
The fact that for a little more,
I could have cooled in style.

Mistakes allow us to mature
And wisdom may emerge.
The lesson that I learned is that
At times you’ve gotta splurge!

Teapot

I bought a brand-new teapot
And it has a whistling spout.
It informs me that it’s ready
As the steam comes pouring out.

When the whistle comes in handy
Is if I am out of sight
And forget the water’s boiling
Which, of course, you know I might.

It’s a nifty little feature
When a kettle can alert;
Thus, some danger in the kitchen
It can help me to avert.

Though the whistle is annoying
And it grates on all my nerves,
Still, I hope that its inventor
Gets the credit he deserves.

Disturbed

There is no peace or quiet
Now that cell phones do abound.
It’s rare to find a place to sit
Where voices don’t resound.

Entire conversations,
Which were private long ago,
Make me privy to more info
Than I’d really like to know.

From discussions with a rabbi
To a chat with an M.D.,
Every detail’s in the open,
With no heed for you or me.

So I sit here by the river
And remember back to when
I could read a page and have no need
To read it all again.

But when cell phone calls are blaring,
Concentration bites the dust
And what I’d hoped to accomplish
Is, annoyingly, a bust.

Yet I bite my lip in silence
As I try to stay above it,
‘Cause what I would like to say is,
“Kindly take that phone and shove it!”

Out of Context

A thousand miles from where I live,
In front of my hotel,
I was amazed to see a face
From home, that I know well.

We aren’t super-close, and so
We didn’t have a clue
Our travel plans would overlap
In time and ocean view.

An out of context meeting
Is a joy and a surprise,
Especially when both of you
Give “Glad to see you!” cries.

I guess it wouldn’t be much fun
Encountering that jerk
Who gets on all your nerves
Around your neighborhood or work.

But I was thrilled to see my friend,
So far away from home;
And my delight inspired me
To write this little poem.

Parasailors

Harnessed and hanging, they glide through the sky,
Legs hanging down in the air.
Bright colored parachutes pull them along -
An escapade I wouldn´t dare.

Watching from beachside, I wonder why I
Am not made of daredevil stuff,
But getting me up into one of those things -
Well, you never could pay me enough.

Like Icarus yearning to fly like a bird,
People always have wanted to soar,
But the closest I´ll get is a seat in a plane,
When I know there´s a roof, walls and door!

Trashing the Dress

The bride intends to trash her dress;
The why is anybody´s guess.
Apparently, today it´s hip
But I say - sweetheart, get a grip!

That gown is gorgeous, made of magic;
Harming it would just be tragic.
Swirls of fabric, sparkly belt;
Down the aisles, hearts did melt.

Think of all that time you spent
´Til, to you, ´twas evident
That this would be the one you´d wear,
A bridal gown beyond compare.

All those fittings, all that cost,
In one minute, will be lost.
Though you´ll  never wear it hence,
Trashing it just makes no sense.

I beseech you, blushing bride,
Do not by this trend abide.
Wearing it brought so much joy -
Trashing it - I´ll just say Oy!

The Seagull

The seagull swoops and settles
On the shadow of a breeze,
Above the currents churning, 
Just as cocky as you please.

With beady eyes and golden beak,
He scopes the sea below
In search of something he can snatch
As he flies to and fro.

With wings a’flap, he rises up,
Just coasting through the air;
Of pets and people on the ground,
He seems quite unaware.

His home is on the water
And his sustenance, the sea.
He has no use for land and that
Includes the likes of me.

And yet, he loops and lunges
With an audience to note
And a mention by a poet
In a poem that she wrote.

July the 4th

People do not celebrate
July the 4^th abroad.
There aren’t fireworks with which
Observers may be awed.

It’s just another day
Without the red, the white, the blue;
And more than likely, there won’t be
A family barbecue.

For other countries do not know,
Nor would they really care,
That on this date the stars and stripes
All flutter in the air.

Americans rejoice,
But if to foreign shores we’re led,
The only Sousa cymbals
Will be those inside our head.

The Camp Bus

The camp bus was waiting;
The child was in tears.
The dad was crouched down in a squat.
I heard not a word
But I knew that the boy
Had his stomach tied up in a knot.

The counselor was patient;
The child rubbed his eyes.
The father spoke softly and calm.
I fell back in time
And remembered a day
When I, too, tried to quiet a qualm.

I walked on and wondered,
Quite certain I knew
That the bus and that boy went to camp;
And the dad left for work
With his nerves in a knot
And his eyes, like his son’s, slightly damp.

"She Loves You"

Fifty years ago today,
The Beatles sang a song
That started Beatlemania
And we all tagged along.

“She Loves You” was recorded
And the lads took to the stage;
In suits and shiny bowl-cut hair,
They soon became the rage.

I watch the film of screaming girls
And know just how they felt,
For when those Beatle “Whooos” were sung,
I thought my heart would melt.

Some music does that – takes us back
And, like a sleight-of-hand,
We’re instantly transported,
With the past at our command.

The years drop off and so does all
That’s happened in-between.
“She Loves You” hits the radio
And I’m again thirteen.

The Lottery

As darkness fell, the lights came up;
The stage was filled with dance.
The final night to see the show –
Who knew I’d have the chance?

For Shakespeare in the Park is free,
With tickets handed out
To those who’ve waited hours on line,
No matter what your clout.

But also, there’s a lottery –
You register and wait;
At noon, they let you know online
If somehow, you did rate.

My spouse and I each clicked “Submit”
Each day throughout the run.
My husband also hit the line
Without success – no fun!

But yesterday, on closing night,
His email said “Congrats!”
Like hitting a grand slam behind
A slew of sad at-bats.

The show was magical, with all
The goods to entertain.
The weather gods kept clouds at bay,
Despite the threat of rain.

I’ve never won a lottery
And no, I wouldn’t switch;
For seeing Shakespeare in the Park
Made me feel very rich!