Down on New Year's Eve

I do believe that New Year’s Eve
Is highly overrated
Despite the hype of every type
With which we’re inundated.

For those who ache, it’s hard to make
A proper celebration
And so they sink, perhaps with drink,
To thoughts of desperation.

The year is gone but life goes on
With hopes and dreams arising.
That some carouse when chance allows
Should not be so surprising.

Venus Paradise

On rainy days when I was young
And things could not get duller,
I’d take my Venus Paradise
And I’d begin to color.

The pictures all had numbered spots
You’d fill in one by one
And when the scenes were colored in,
Your masterpiece was done.

The pencils came in varied hues
To match the sketched-out action.
A finished drawing gave to me
Tremendous satisfaction.

If you are of a certain age,
You’ll know of what I speak,
For Venus Paradise today
Is likely an antique!

Pulp (Non-fiction)

I like my orange juice with pulp
So every time I take a gulp
I swallow strands of fruity flesh,
Pretending that it’s just-squeezed fresh.

When all that pulp is strained away,
It loses some of its cachet.
What Nature’s chosen to produce,
In fruit, should show up in its juice!

Hitting the Target

Here’s my poem for your perusal,
Though I’ll not grand first refusal.
It’s your privilege to reject it,
But I’ll not let you correct it.

Words transmitted to the page
I have no way to judge or gauge
If others deem a worthwhile read;
Despite that fact, I must proceed.

My target audience, you see,
Consists of no one else but me.
I love when friends or strangers read it;
It feels great, but I don’t need it.

Some would claim such self-expression’s
Nothing more than pure obsession.
Though there’s truth within that statement,
Don’t expect a poem abatement! 

Uggs

I don’t own Uggs and never will.
I’ve heard they’re super comfy; Still,

To pay so much for something ugly,
Even if it’s warm and snuggly,

Seems to me a tad absurd,
Though fashion has the final word.

When fads appear, so do the hordes.
Abstaining has its own rewards.

My New Colander

I bought a brand-new colander
‘Cause mine was at its end.
I’ll bet you think that there’s an error
In the word I’ve penned.

But though I also purchased
(A coincidence, but true)
A calendar today, a fresh new
Colander was due.

The old one fell apart; I hope
The new one does the trick.
To those of you who thought I goofed,
I guess you’re not so slick!

Comfy

My hanging-‘round-the-house attire
Is comfy, loose and old.
When wearing it, I’m not the most
Attractive to behold.

Yet when I’m settled for the day
To laze or do some chores,
My clothes are those that I would never
Wear when I’m outdoors.

These outfits once were new and of
A certain year’s design,
But they’ve been put to pasture and
Their new life suits me fine!

A Rainy Christmas Eve

It’s way too warm and way too wet
To feel like Christmas eve.
I have to wonder just what Nature’s
Hiding up her sleeve.

In years gone by, the snowflakes fell
To dust the world with white
And cheeks were rosy from a taste
Of winter’s stinging bite.

Tonight as rain keeps pouring down
It seems a little sad,
When I think back to all those snowy
Christmas eves we’ve had.

One Man's Ceiling...

Upstairs neighbor sprang a leak
So my place was affected.
When you live apartment-style,
That stuff must be expected.

Still, it is a drag to deal
With other people’s messes,
Like my life is lacking in
My own ongoing stresses.

Luckily, it wasn’t bad,
The damage barely staining,
Just enough, though, that I have
A reason for complaining.

Betting on Last

I've always loved predicting
Which will be the last to die.
I'm rarely right but still each night
I study them and try.

They start out on an equal plane
But who knows why they change.
Like human life spans, variance
Will always seem so strange.

So as the end draws near, I watch
To see which burns down last.
Just one more night and then another
Chanukah has passed.

For the Birds

I almost thought I blew it
‘Cause the birds had disappeared.
However I’d construe it,
They were gone – or so I feared.

But I went and bought some suet
Thinking that might bring them back
And before I even knew it,
They showed up to have a snack.

So before you’re thinking, “Screw it,”
Since your birds are off their seed,
Just some suet oughta do it –
Fatty feed is what you need!

The Last Page

My notebook’s out of pages;
I’m writing on the last.
The time it takes to fill one
Seems to zip by rather fast.

My finished books are in a pile
Replete with all my rhymes,
Reflecting how I felt about
The topics of the times.

I carry ‘round a smaller version
When I’m not at home
So I can always have a place
To jot my daily poem.

Tomorrow I’ll inaugurate
A brand new sheaf of leaves,
Which soon will hold the latest thoughts
My racing mind conceives.

A Cut Above

I normally don’t love Matisse.
His paintings leave me cold;
But I just saw his cut-outs show,
A pleasure to behold.

With giant scissors he would snip,
Creating shapes of whimsy
Which no one in New York should miss.
(Excuses will sound flimsy.)

In colors bold or more subdued,
Whichever he’d employ,
His cut-out pictures radiate
Exuberance and joy.

It’s great to find a side of someone
You’d not known existed,
Engendering an admiration
Previously resisted.

The Hygienist

The hygienist clucks her tongue
To get her point across.
My teeth will start to rot away
If I don't start to floss.

She pokes and prods; she sands and scrapes
And all the while she lectures.
"A sonic toothbrush you must buy"
And other such conjectures.

I listen 'cause I have no choice
But once I'm up to rinsing,
I've had enough of what she thinks
Is helpful and convincing.

In six months' time, I'll make her day,
For surely she'll be waiting
To see the likes of me again,
All set for her berating.

An Early Lesson

Pediatricians smartened up
From when my kids were small,
'Cause now they're not the reason
Why their patients start to bawl.

They still do the examining,
Connecting all the dots,
But leave it to the nurses
To administer the shots.

It works with babes and toddlers
But as kids wise up with age,
They'll figure out the doc should be
The target of their rage.

A lesson to be learned, perhaps,
For bosses have the perk
Of letting all the underlings
Perform their dirty work!

Holiday Music

When Christmas music blasts in stores,
It jangles all my nerves.
I really do not understand
The purpose that it serves.

Such gaiety seems forced and fake,
Especially to me,
‘Cause I’m not one to celebrate
With wreath or Christmas tree.

But recently inside a shop
The dreidel song did blare.
You’d think I’d be excited
By a happening so rare.

However, you’d be wrong
For the reaction that I had
Was that songs of Chanukah, in stores,
Sound equally as bad!

Wrapping Paper

My husband doesn’t get the point
Of wrapping up a gift.
His reasons aren’t mainly ones
That have to do with thrift.

He thinks it’s just a bother.
First, the paper must be bought;
Then measured, cut and folded if
A winning outcome’s sought.

It’s time consuming and, of course,
It doesn’t last too long,
For daintily removing wrapping paper
Just seems wrong.

Yet the wrapping on a present
Gives the heart a little lift
And the fun of ripping paper off
Is equal to the gift.

Exhaustion

It sneaks up when you're unprepared
And pulls the rug from under,
Full knowing you would not have dared
To fight to save your thunder.

For, unlike fog, with cat-like feet,
Exhaustion isn't fleeting.
When age and too much action meet,
It could be self-defeating.

A younger soul than I might last
Until that fog has lifted,
But time's been moving much too fast;
The balance might have shifted.

The Off-Season

If you ever need a reason
To go someplace out of season,
I’ll supply a few and you can have your pick.
Traffic’s almost non-existent
But if you are still resistant,
Here’s another reason that might do the trick.

Crowds are somewhere else a’swarming
So while others are conforming
You’ll have sidewalks to yourself to stroll and browse.
You can park without compunction
For the cops would rather function
When the masses challenge what the law allows.

Since off-season, stores are closing,
You’ll save money, I’m supposing,
Though perhaps you’d wish that there were more to buy;
But you’ll spend your day relaxing.
Stress will wane instead of waxing.
If you’ve never done it, now’s the time to try!

Time to Catch Up

Put your jet lag on hold.
Start perusing the mail,
Or chaos on counters
And shelves will prevail.

Trash those emails you’ve read;
Fill the fridge with some food.
Make some phone calls no matter
If you’re in the mood.

Then proceed to unpack.
Throw the clothes in the wash.
If you yearn for a nap,
All those thoughts you must quash.

For it’s time to catch up.
Your vacation is done
And it’s back to reality,
Minus the fun.

Keep on pushing yourself
Or you’ll run out of steam.
Were you really away?
Man, it seems like a dream.

Connecting

The first flight left on time
And landed at the proper gate,
But someone took its parking place
And so we had to wait.

We didn't have a lot of time
For our connecting flight
And heavy rain just added to
Our still unfolding plight.

The pilot taxied 'til he found
A place to park the jet. 
We had to dash to buses,
So we all got soaking wet.

We found the listing for our flight,
Most likely fully boarded
And ran to get our passports stamped;
Impatience still rewarded.

With twenty minutes 'til our plane
Would take off to the skies,
We raced full speed, most grateful
That we're fit from exercise.

We made the flight with minutes left
Until they shut the door,
A closer call than any other
That we've had before.

We caught our breath, sat down and smiled,
Our peace of mind restored
Except for one small worry -
Did our luggage get on board?

(P.S. I wish it weren't so.
Alas, the answer turned out No!)

Ten Sunny Days

Ten sunny days in a row, row, row.
My umbrella all packed up to go, go, go.
But did I need it? No, no, no!
Got lots of bright pics to show, show, show.

This weather makes me glow, glow, glow.
No cons to it - all pro, pro, pro.
Good things must end - I know, know, know
And soon I'll be back in snow, snow, snow.

Dusk

The river ripples as it flows,
Reflecting clouds on high.
A duck dives down and I suppose
When he comes up, he'll fly.

The sky turns pink; the buoy light
Starts flashing neon green.
The day surrenders to the night,
A sight that's seldom seen.

How lovely just to sit and think
As Nature steals the show
And carries me right to the brink
Of where I need to go.

Sea Shell Shadows

There is no sea to speak of
Here in Salamanca, Spain,
But there's a house where scallop shells
(Though made of clay) do reign.

The outer walls are lined with them
In rows up to the roof.
(Just Google "House of Shells" in case
You need to have more proof.)

And when the sun is overhead
You'll see a sight so fine,
For all the shells make shadows,
Quite diagonal in line.

Our Spanish guide, however,
Had some trouble at that site.
She couldn't make the sound of "sh;"
It wouldn't come out right.

So sea shell shadows had to be
Her private bane, I'll bet;
But since she laughed about it,
It's a place I'll not forget.

Finding Your Peeps

When you're thrown in a group
For a day or a week,
Compatriots are
The companions you seek.

You scope out the crowd
Or engage in a chat
And you know who your homies are,
Right off the bat.

It might be their style
Or their background or views,
But meeting them sure helps
Enliven a cruise.

It's possible there
Will be friendships for keeps
For you make a connection
When you find your peeps.

Vacation Re-Port

The bus climbs twisty winding roads,
The scenery amazing.
For miles and miles the vineyards lie,
Attracting all our gazing.

The sky is baby blue; the air
Is crisp and bright and clean,
The cypress trees a living version
Of a Van Gogh scene.

We have a tour and when we're done,
We sample tastes of port.
As we relax, I wish our visit
Wasn't quite so short.

But then we head back to the ship;
The evening will unfold,
Embraced by what in Portugal's
The river made of gold.

Going Through a Lock

The masts come down, the walls close in;
We almost scrape the sides.
The crewmen yell in Portuguese,
The hull's hard-working guides.

At most, an inch of space remains
Between the walls and ship.
The captain's likely bored, but it's
A highlight of my trip.

And then we're slowly rising
As the horn lets out a blast.
With masts in place, the light turns green;
We're through the lock at last.

We sail on down the river
Heading for the place we'll dock,
But I am glad I got to see
Our journey through the lock.

A World Away

I'm a world away from everyone
I love or I hold dear.
Yet still, I am delighted
To be situated here.

My usual routines are all
On temporary hold.
Each day is like a big surprise
Just waiting to unfold.

I'm breaking bread with strangers,
Both enlightening and fun.
Perhaps a few will turn to friends
Before the tour is done.

A world away's a perfect place
For anyone to roam
As long as there's a ticket back
To those we left at home.

Local Fare

Some tourists stopped and asked me
How to get to a café.
Their hotel clerk suggested it
And they had lost their way.

This diner is across the street,
A block from where I live
And so directions were, for me,
The easiest to give.

A nothing-special eatery,
Yet that’s where they were sent.
I guess convenience had to be
The hotel clerk’s intent.

I’m traveling this week to where
I’ve never been before
And hope that strangers help me out
As I’m off to explore.

And if I am directed to
A restaurant close by,
Most likely I will thank them
And give local fare a try.

The Run-Around

Ever get the run-around?
It’s really most annoying
And ruins any stress-free time
You might have been enjoying.

You go online or make a call
And then they start you bouncing
From site to site or man or woman,
All of them announcing…

“I’ll be right back. Can you please hold?”
And then they’re disappearing,
While muzak of the most obnoxious type
You sit there hearing.

The minutes tick away and then
Your pressure gets to boiling,
While language leaves your mouth that has
All listeners recoiling.

At last the problem gets resolved
Or that’s what you are hoping,
‘Cause you’ve exhausted all the tricks
Which you employ for coping.

Toast

I worried about the weather;
I worried ‘bout what to pack.
I worried about the things I’d have
To do when I got back.

I worried about the flying,
My health and all the like;
What never crossed my mind was that
The airline’d go on strike!

So now we’ll make our phone calls
To see what someone knows.
Last minute aggravation
Seems to be the way it goes.

P.S. Our trip may now be toast.
I’ll update in a future post.

Music to My Ears

Henry’s only fourteen months
And so his words are few;
His other sounds have meanings
That we struggle to construe.

But one thing he says loud and clear
Is “Nana” and, you see,
It brings a smile from ear to ear
For what he means is me!

While others have to wait until
He nails their name or rank,
I’m thrilled when I hear “Nana”
And it’s Henry I must thank.

Calendars

Each year they send me calendars
To garner a donation,
No matter if in years gone by
I met that obligation.

I must have half a dozen now
With varied scenes depicted;
But though they’re nice, those knowing me
Could surely have predicted

Not one of those would grace my walls
‘Cause even though they’re free,
The only calendar I want
Is one picked out by me!

Precautions

It’s good to take precautions
When you’re going on a trip –
Umbrella, bug spray, meds will ease
Your mind when in your grip.

Yet even if you’re more prepared
Than someone would advise,
There always is the chance that you’ll
Encounter a surprise.

For who can really tell you what
The future has in store?
And health or weather may act up
In ways not seen before.

So pack your suitcase to the brim
In full anticipation
That all your efforts cannot
Guarantee a smooth vacation.

Thanksgiving Bride

I got married on Thanksgiving
And what I remember least
Is the food out on the table,
Though it likely was a feast.

We were young and we were foolish –
Getting hitched on such a day,
But it’s thirty-nine years later
So it all worked out okay.

Still, tonight when I was eating
All that turkey and the sides,
I thought back to being one of those
Unique Thanksgiving brides.

Though in hindsight it was crazy
And we both kind of regret it,
When it comes to anniversaries,
We never can forget it!

Me-Time

I need some me-time,
Let things be-time,
Burden-free-time
To unwind.

But such flee-time,
Absentee-time,
Filled with glee-time
I can’t find.

So my plea, time,
Please agree, time;
Or you’ll see, time,
I’ll lose my mind.

Impending

The highway signs flashed “High Alert!
Tomorrow, don’t be driving.”
The day before Thanksgiving,
There’s a winter storm arriving.

So traffic crawled and inched along
Much slower than just slow
‘Cause everyone was on the road
To beat the coming snow.

You’d think that Martians had attacked
Or that the world was ending
When all that fuss is for some weather –
Lousy, but impending…

Picking a Pasta

Eeny meeny capellini,
Ziti, elbows, bucatini.
Vermicelli, farfalloni,
Gnocchi, orzo, rigatoni.

Alfabeto and linguine,
Cavatelli, fettuccine.
Penne, pappardelle and gigli,
Stelle, risi, tripolini.

Picking pasta gives you choices;
Any way, your mouth rejoices.
Think I'll go and boil me some - 
If it's cooked al dente - yum!

The Sound of Steam

It’s cold outside, but from a dream
I wake up to the sound of steam.
The room is toasty, opportune
For staying in my snug cocoon.

The gentle hiss as background noise
My half-asleep self quite enjoys,
A remnant of when I was small,
My brothers sleeping down the hall.

To make the coming day seem rosy,
There is nothing near as cozy
As that warming welcome hiss,
Deceiving us that naught’s amiss.

Not Alone

Everyone worries – we’re programmed that way,
But some have more justification.
How other’s dilemmas stack up against yours
Can’t be fathomed by mere observation.

And even if someone’s travails might be worse
That does nothing to lighten your burden.
You deal or you struggle in silence or else
You complain so no one gets a word in.

When our problems pile up and we ask ourselves why,
We’re inclined to feel sorry and moan;
But it might help the tiniest bit to recall
That in suffering, we’re not alone.

The Buying Frenzy

The buying frenzy has begun
And every store’s competing.
You’d better hurry up; these discount
Prices will be fleeting.

For those of us who hate to shop
‘Cause holidays demand it,
It doesn’t pay to moan about
How much we cannot stand it.

If we were smart we could have bought
Our presents months ago,
But good intentions somehow buck
Against the status quo.

And so we venture into stores
Among the crowds that crush
With pledges to ourselves next year
We’ll beat the Christmas rush.

Colleagues

Work with people years and years
And somehow there’s a bond,
Especially if they’re folks of whom
You’re very, very fond.

You may not see them often
Yet it’s certain when you do,
There’ll be mucho reminiscing
And a lot of fat to chew.

But the best part will be laughter
And a warmth from deep inside
For experiences shared can trump
What time tries to divide.

So the past becomes the present
And you’re unified and young
When you raise a toast with colleagues
Whom you’re thrilled to be among.

Making Plans

Plans today are often made
Without a spoken word,
A situation, though it works,
I still find quite absurd.

I often wonder, as I send
An email or a text,
Exactly what communication
Format will be next.

In future years, technology
Might yet be left behind
And making plans will happen
When we read somebody's mind!

The Fire Truck

With flashing lights, the fire truck
Moved speedily my way.
The hose was tucked in tightly,
Waiting for its chance to spray.

The driver, in his helmet,
Kept a fixed and steady gaze
While the siren blared so they would make it
Quickly to the blaze.

My toddler grandson watched in awe
As it went zipping by,
Excitement lighting up his face - 
No need to wonder why.

We'd watch that scene repeat itself,
Before the day was through,
At least a hundred times because
The batteries are new!

Real Estate Section

In the Sunday paper, I can't wait
To read the section "Real Estate."
From articles that do entail
Descriptions of the homes for sale
To stories of where folks have looked,
I'm riveted and really hooked.

I check the prices, note the taxes,
Find the parks where one relaxes;
Scan the photos for decor,
Observe each window, roof and door.
I try to picture living there
And how that lifestyle might compare.

You'd think I'm aiming for improving.
What's ironic? I'm not moving!

Peace and Quiet

In the suburbs and the country
When the night arrives,
You can feel the darkness
Where the silence thrives.

For a city gal,
Used to lights and noise,
You would think such peace
Would bring endless joys.

Though my sleep improves
When the quiet reigns,
There is something lost
Which negates the gains.

Though it might sound nuts
(And I'm sure it does),
In the burbs I miss
All that city buzz.

Itchy

When the temperatures drop
And I’m bundled with clothes,
Then my skin starts to itch
Where the wind never goes.

It’s a winter event
And it happens each year,
So my lotions diminish
And then disappear.

I’m a cold weather fan
Though I wish I could hatch
A solution for this –
But I end up with scratch!

Starbucks

My coffee at Starbucks
(I wanted a small)
Was what they call a“short”
(As opposed to a “tall”).

I don’t like their lingo
A heck of a lot
But their coffee is good
(When it’s strong and it’s hot).

The younger crowd gets
Fancy lattes to go.
My friend and I sit
With a plain cup o’ joe.

Sparking Joy

The clutter expert made remarks,
When giving her advice,
That if no joy an item sparks,
Then ditch it – don’t think twice.

That goes for clothes or books or art
Or tchotchkes on a shelf,
For once this method gets its start,
You’ll lighten up yourself.

Although I am intrigued, this brings
A plan I can’t employ,
‘Cause I own way too many things
That aren’t sparking joy.

Still, I am more attuned to what
The expert had to say
And so, my ancient jeans (which sparketh not)
I gave away.

By the Front Door

We introduce new words to Henry
Every time we’re there.
He soaks up everything we say;
He’s focused and aware.

He knows the numbers of his house
And all the words as well
That describe the door and entry way –
The mailbox, knocker, bell.

But I’d never pointed out a sight
I remedied today –
Those two columns near the entrance –
Column B and Column A!

Shotgun!

When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.

But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.

The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.

I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.

Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!

Wrinkly

When wrinkles settle in the skin
There's not much you can do,
For even Botox rarely makes
Your skin look smooth and new.

But when your clothes or tablecloths
Get wrinkled from the dryer,
An iron helps to make them look
Like textiles to admire.

If I've a choice or wrinkly
Or not, right off the bat,
I'll tell you I like irony - 
No irony in that!

The Second Hand

With every tick, the second hand
Proceeds around the face,
A little like a heartbeat
At a slow and steady pace.

So many clocks and watches, though,
Don’t come so well-equipped
So you might never realize
If some seconds had been skipped.

There’s comfort, then, to check the time
On wall or desk or wrist
And behold the second hand a’tick
With not one second missed.

The irony, of course, is that,
What really is absurd
Is acknowledging the second hand
Is actually the third!