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.

Misty

I carried my umbrella but
Despite what I’d supposed,
It wasn’t raining hard enough
And so I kept it closed.

Some people had theirs open
But the lion’s share did not;
My coat remained unblemished
From a raindrop’s polka dot.

My glasses, though, were speckled with
Those droplets made of mist,
A trivial annoyance you
Might think should be dismissed.

Yet still, if on a misty day,
Until the weather passes,
You might unfurl that bumbershoot*
If you are wearing glasses.

*umbrella 

Performing

It’s fun to perform,
Being up on a stage,
To see if the audience
You might engage.

To banter your dialogue,
Belt out your song
And hope that you’ve carried
The watchers along.

To soak up their smiles
And hear their applause
Affirms you’ve succeeded,
Despite a few flaws.

For just a short time,
All that limelight is yours.
Your spirits are dancing;
Your confidence soars.

You wrap up those feelings
Like some gorgeous gift,
To open and savor
When you need a lift.

Something New

People buying something new
Can’t wait to use or try it,
Starting with the minute their
Decision was to buy it.

If it’s clothes or jewelry,
They’ll wear it right away,
Just to reaffirm it’s worth
The price they had to pay.

I’m a little different, though,
My wackiness unmatched;
My purchases remain unworn,
Their price tags still attached.

They languish in their shopping bags,
Most likely quite confused –
Selected from the store, brought home,
But waiting to be used.

I can’t explain the reason why
I have the need to wait;
At times, I almost reach the point
When things are out of date.

But soon enough I’m ready –
It’s a feeling in my gut;
I’ll slip the item from its bag
And price tags will be cut.

You like my pocketbook? Me, too.
It’s nice you let me know.
It’s brand-new, even though I bought it
Fourteen months ago! 

Tantrum

A grown-up in a hissy fit
Is something to behold.
I’ve always thought that as we age,
Such outbursts are controlled.

But sometimes people pop the cork
And let their rage explode,
So others get to witness them
In full-blown tantrum mode.

I guess it’s true that we regress
And lots of marbles lose,
But what a sight when someone old
Acts terrible as twos!

An Ordinary Object

On my kitchen counter sits
A catch-all made of tin,
A place for scissors, pencils and
Whatever else fits in.

It’s yellow, green and orange
And supports a jaunty daisy;
A caterpillar on a leaf
Looks fat, content and lazy.

An ordinary object, yes?
To decorate and serve;
I’ve had it, though, for fifty years,
A long time to conserve.

My room was being painted in
The color of my choice;
And finally, for furnishings,
My mom gave me a voice.

I chose the bedspreads and the lamp
And knickknacks picturesque;
That flower with its pencil cup
Sat proudly on my desk.

I still remember how it felt
To mark my own domain.
Such pride in all those purchases;
To me, so far from plain.

That flower cup has followed me
Wherever I’ve called home
And now I’m giving it its due,
Within this simple poem.

Flat Tire

In my urban habitat,
On a bridge’s ramp,
Heard a noise like rat-a-tat,
Giving me a cramp.

Taxi driver passed my way,
Pointing to my wheel;
Couldn’t hear, with traffic’s fray,
What miles would soon reveal.

Soon I felt familiar thumps –
Oh no! My tire is flat!
Riding over highway bumps
Tempts rubber to go splat.

Slowly rolled to a garage
Where they made a switch.
Gratitude in me loomed large,
But isn’t life a bitch?

Just in case we think it’s not,
There’s plenty to remind us
That even days that hit the spot
Hide havoc, which will find us.

Could have been a whole lot worse
If fate did so conspire;
Still, my day became adverse
When I blew out my tire.

Veterans Day

Vets ate free at Applebee’s
To honor them this day,
A heartfelt offer bringing
Good publicity their way.

Lots of stores gave discounts, too,
To soldiers with I.D.
And many took advantage
Of this generosity.

Every town and city had
A veterans’ parade,
With marching bands and waving flags
Quite jauntily displayed.

It shouldn’t be one day a year
To venerate our vets,
Whose sacrifices often bring
Such heartache and regrets.

We really cannot comprehend
How much their service cost;
Survivors often pay the price
For those whose lives were lost.

Our veterans deserve respect;
The military’s tough.
A gratis meal or dollars off
Is great, but not enough.

On a String

Communication is the key
To open up the door
Behind which all emotions wait,
To summon or ignore.

For when that lock is opened
And the feelings freely flow,
You might have all the information
That you need to know.

But when the key is out of reach
And you don’t have the facts,
It certainly affects the way
Your mind or heart reacts.

I wish that I could wear this key,
Like kids do, on a string,
‘Cause then I’d hold the power
Only dialogue can bring.

Side Effects

Before you take the medicine,
You give a little glance
And when you read the warnings,
You must look again, askance:

Palpitations, diarrhea,
Blurry vision, rash;
Drowsiness, so if you drive
It’s possible you’ll crash.

Tremors, seizures, itchy skin,
Breathing problems, hives;
Call your doctor just as soon
As one of these arrives!

Should you even take that pill?
In truth, I’m not so sure.
Whatever sickness plagues you
Can’t be much worse than the cure!

Paying the Bills

The bill arrives; I give a glance
And if it seems correct,
I grab my checkbook, write one out,
The same as you’d expect.

I pop it in the envelope
And choose a proper stamp;
You’ve noticed now that I belong
To that old-fashioned camp.

“Go paperless!” the invoice says.
“Pay what you owe online.”
I’ve always paid the bills my way
And things have worked out fine.

Despite my smartphone, basically
I’ll never be high-tech,
But companies are glad, I’m sure,
When they receive my check.

Viva la Zaftig!

Models on a runway
Look like skeletons in clothes.
Skinniness is what’s expected
At the fashion shows.

So mannequins reflect that trend
And thus are thinly shaped,
Conforming to how we expect
To see their outfits draped.

But not in Venezuela
Where the mannequins have grown,
Presenting bigger boobs and butts
Than those before had known.

The shoppers want voluptuous
So factories complied
And Dolly Parton look-alikes
Are what they now provide.

The stores report that sales are up
Since all the clothing racked
Is fetchingly displayed up front
On mannequins so stacked!

Decor

The homes displayed in magazines
Are opulent or spare.
In either case, it’s hard to picture
Ever living there.

The lavish and extravagant
To me are too ornate.
With all that chintz, brocade and toile,
I think I’d suffocate.

And as for “modern” rooms, they seem
Too empty, bare and bleak;
While some are soothed by all that space,
It’s not a style I’d seek.

So let the rich spend money
On their million dollar lairs.
My digs would not appeal to them
But nor, to me, do theirs!

Rx

When you feel off
With sneeze or cough,
It’s sometimes hard to think
That come the dawn,
At day’s first yawn,
You’ll be back in the pink.

For only fools,
When illness rules,
Expect to perk up quick;
‘Cause lots of rest
Is what works best –
No less will do the trick.

To rush, perhaps,
You could relapse
And then you’ll pay the price –
In bed once more,
Worse than before
And stuck with ailing twice.

Soup When You're Sick

Nothing really does the trick
Like soup when you are feeling sick.
Honeyed tea may soothe the throat
But soup will always get my vote.

Steaming hot within its bowl,
Warmth and comfort it can dole.
Noodles, alphabets or rice
Help to make it extra nice.

Cut-up carrots add some pop
Softly floating to the top,
Swimming with some tasty greens
And, perhaps, a bunch of beans.

If the sniffles get you down,
Form a smile from your frown.
Spirits never seem to droop
When they’ve been fed a bowl of soup!

The Women's Winner

I watched the New York Marathon.
A woman held the lead;
And everyone expected her
To win the race, indeed.

Another racer tagged behind
But halfway through, dropped back
And then the coast was clear –
To win, the leader was on track.

The race goes on for miles –
Twenty-six, to be exact;
When she hit twenty-three, we saw
A view the leader lacked.

Another runner’d closed the gap
And soon had passed her by,
With energy and confidence
In limitless supply.

The one who’d had the lead at first,
Ran fast as she would dare,
Yet in the end she lost,
A tortoise beaten by the hare.

I feel so bad for number two,
Whose spirits had to sag
When she saw slip away
What she was sure was in the bag.

But life is filled with elements
Of let-downs and surprise.
It’s foolish to trust certainty
Though it might tantalize.

Below the Soil

In front of a building
The gardeners toil,
Their spades digging deep
And unearthing the soil.

Beside them are bulbs
To be buried down deep,
Where they’ll dream of the spring
In their long winter’s sleep.

I ask what they are.
“These are tulips,” I’m told.
In May they will be
Such a joy to behold.

For Nature, at times,
Needs a gardener’s hand
To bring to fruition
The beauty she’s planned.

The building looks bare
With no colors about
But below are the tulips,
Just itching to sprout.

Where Credit is Due

The movie ends, the credits start;
The audience starts going.
Most don’t give a hoot about
The credits that start showing.

They might wait for the actors’ names
But then they’re out the door,
Assuming all that info’s
Something they can just ignore.

I once was told to seek a name –
A friend’s son in the biz,
And when the names scrolled by, I was
Excited to see his.

It made me think of all that work –
To set each scene or edit,
For such a quick acknowledgement
And none to see your credit.

And so I sit and watch the list
Of all the cast and crew,
For in the audience, we should
Give credit where it’s due.