In Amsterdam

Walking past a "coffee shop,"
The weed comes wafting out.
Though once I would have thus indulged,
Today I'll do without.

Somehow that's been tucked away,
A relic of my past,
Like youth and risks and craziness -
It wasn't meant to last.

But how that smell just brings it back!
With every single whiff,
I'm tempted just to take a toke,
But I'll stick to a sniff.

Bulbs

Bulbs are planted months before
They poke out from the soil.
You must have faith that they’ll appear,
Rewarding all that toil.

For they lie dormant underground,
Just waiting for the weather
And then they spring up, bright and bold
Like chorus lines, together.

Their hibernation mystifies,
Like those of sleeping bears;
I wonder what would happen if
We caught them unawares.

I think they’d tuck their petals in
And drop off back to sleep,
Their winter slumber peaceful and,
When undisturbed, quite deep.

But when the time is right, they will
Be set for their debut,
As year to year they greet the spring
When winter waves adieu.

Jangles

The best part of vacations
Is they alter your routine,
Like giving up the tuba
For the jangly tambourine.

You leave your comfort zone behind
And venture into where
Nobody knows who you might be
And no one seems to care.

You visit places you have only
Read about in books
And taste cuisine created
By some unfamiliar cooks.

The scenery is different
From what you are used to seeing
And being in such strange surroundings
Might be somehow freeing.

The oom-pah-pah of daily life
Has all the normal angles,
But sometimes, just to spice things up,
You need to hear those jangles.

Pity the Poet

Pity the poet who cannot produce,
When writer’s block’s mocked as a flimsy excuse.
Ache for the author whose well has run dry,
Each crumpled page taunting his need to deny.

Sigh for the sculptor who stares at the stone,
Once viewed as companion, now feeling alone.
Cry for the craftsman, the quilter, the painter
Whose passions, once purple, grow paler and fainter.

Worry for all who once flourished and soared,
Existence distilled, now bereft and/or bored.
Wonder if such is what waits for us all
Unless we still heed creativity’s call.

Your Plants

Your plants will die if you don’t give
Them sunshine, air and water.
They need some nurture, like a greener
Pet or son or daughter.

When going on vacation, you
Must delegate a fill-in
Or else your sprouts won’t make it,
Even with some penicillin.

Be sure your proxy won’t forget
Or take the mission lightly
Because in just a few days’ time,
Some leaves may look unsightly.

And it would be a doggone shame
To come home from a journey
To find a wilted mess, just crying
Out for an attorney.

A little water’s all it takes
To keep your greens alive,
A welcome sight when travel’s done
And back home you arrive.

The Ocean

It’s hard for us to understand
Or really ascertain
The vastness of the ocean,
For it’s taxing to the brain.

However, though our comprehension
May those gray cells strain,
There is a sad example
To help realization reign.

For an ocean, like a monster,
Who is guarding its domain,
Has just opened up its giant maw
And swallowed up a plane.

It’s barely left a crumb or two
For searchers to obtain;
And such enormity might make
Awareness more mundane.

To Wait

You’re given an appointment –
You check the time and date;
And then when you arrive, you find
You always have to wait.

But why? is what I wonder,
For experience should teach
Those who schedule appointments
When they start to overreach.

Excuses must abound, but hey –
There’s traffic everywhere;
And if there’s an emergency,
That still just isn’t fair.

I get to where I need to be
Before I’m even due,
For being late, to me,
Is something utterly taboo.

Yet all I get is extra time
Which then I have to fill.
I read or if I have the chance
To write, I surely will.

So it’s not really awful
If I’m made to sit and wait,
But why this always seems to be
Is up for some debate.

My Trusty Pencil

My trusty pencil helps me out
At crossword puzzle time.
It also comes in handy
When I'm working on a rhyme.

A ball point pen just wouldn't do - 
That really is the case - 
For I would be at quite a loss
If I could not erase!

Country Walk

Living in the city,
It's so easy to forget
That Nature is alive and well
And we are in her debt.

Away in wooded country,
On an early morning walk,
I came across a group of deer
And one resplendent hawk.

But what streaked by in front of me
That shook me to my socks,
Was something that I rarely see - 
A gorgeous russet fox.

Its bushy tail bounced out behind
As it went darting past
With just a glance to where I stood,
Stock-sill, heart beating fast.

My walk resumed, my senses poised
To what might next appear,
So different from my city life
But always waiting here.

Some Poems

Some poems are long and complex,
With imagery galore;
And some throw out ideas you think
You really should explore.

Some poems have gorgeous language,
Every adjective a gem;
But, if you haven’t guessed by now,
This isn’t one of them!

A Traffic Cop

A traffic cop will make you stop
Because, of course, he can;
And so you sit and seethe inside
Your car or mini-van.

He’ll wave some traffic through
And some pedestrians let pass,
Your foot upon the brake instead
Of stepping on the gas.

He’s hooked on all his power –
After all, he’s in control –
And ruining your day appears
To be his only goal.

It’s strange to see what happens
When authority’s assigned.
Put someone in command and soon
A bully’s what you’ll find.

First Day of Spring

Today is spring and here’s the thing –
It seems to play the part.
The weather’s slightly warmer
And it’s sunny – that’s a start.

Some buds have poked up from the soil
And birds have started singing.
I ditched my scarf and hat
But to my turtlenecks, I’m clinging.

For I am not the trusting sort
And spring’s a fickle season.
Tomorrow may be cold again –
There is no rhyme or reason.

So though we all should welcome spring
And hope it’s here for good,
Before I pack my wools away,
I think I’ll knock on wood.

A Movie That's Good

A movie that’s good pulls us out of ourselves;
For two or three hours, we’re set.
Away from our worries, our problems, our woes,
We’re able to block and forget.

The story and scenery serve to transport
As we sink into life on the screen.
Reality fades and our cell phones are off,
So nobody can intervene.

The characters’ lives, like a magnet, can pull
And we’re helplessly drawn to their world,
Where a range of emotions, so often kept tight,
May, in close-up, be boldly unfurled.

At the end of the film, when the credits scroll by
And the lights in the theater come on,
We must gather our things and return to our lives,
Kind of sad that our respite is gone.

A Knot

If a knot is what you’ve got,
Then it isn’t there for naught;
Such a snag occurs a lot
And solutions must be sought.

Though a glitch may give you pause,
It will get your brain in gear
To find fixes for the flaws
That you wish you disappear.

So the trick is to untangle,
Work around or start again,
But frustration makes you mangle
What you’ve finished up ‘til then.

Thus, whenever you’re confronted
By a knot or glitch or snag,
Keep your temper nicely blunted
And don’t let your spirits sag.

Resolution may be waiting
If you’ve patience, grit and pluck,
Though, of course, there’s no debating
It can’t hurt to have some luck.

Be It Ever So Humble

Visit someone’s sprawling house
And envy all that space
Or travel to some posh hotel
With comfort you embrace;

But still, when you return and step
Into your own abode,
It’s nice to settle back into
That old familiar mode

Where everything you touch is yours.
It’s cozy, warm and snug.
Your pillow and your blanket
Cuddle like a long-lost hug.

Whoever wrote that saying
Got the humble part just right,
For home, despite its size or scope,
Fills every appetite.

The Common Thread

Are you terrified of spiders?
Does a rodent make you cringe?
Do you feel like fainting at the sight
Of needle or syringe?

Do you hide when there is lightning?
Does a clown give you the shakes?
Does your heart jump through your chest
If you see scorpions or snakes?

Are you anxious in a subway?
Are you nervous when you fly?
Does a crowded place convince you
Any minute you might die?

Whether real or just imagined
We all face our private fears
And the things we are afraid of
Might get worse throughout the years.

Though my panics may be different
From the ones that cause you dread,
We’re united in a tapestry
With fear the common thread.

Literary Lunch

I have to say that Shakespeare
Wasn’t really on my mind.
I scanned the menu, wondering
What lunch deals I might find.

The diner had a special
So I ordered it. Besides,
Who could resist a Caesar salad
Offered on the Ides?

Pi Day

Today we should all be prepared
For some pizza, much better when shared;
            But it cannot be round
            For this date is renowned
As the one when all Pi must be squared.

An Adage a Day

Oil and water do not mix.
Bones may break with stones or sticks.
Old dogs never learn new tricks,
At least that’s what they say.

Feed a fever – starve a cold.
Lunch is never free, we’re told.
Practice makes things good as gold
Claim those who hold some sway.

Two wrong things don’t make a right.
Gift horse mouths may up and bite.
Early birds and worms unite;
It happens every day.

A bird in hand beats one not caught.
By looking, you’ll find what you’ve sought.
There’s truth in adages, we’re taught;
So gather while ye may…

Pre-Test

A new procedure’s in the works
To test your blood for fats.
It’s 90% accurate,
According to the stats.

This test is being readied now
And based on the results,
The likelihood of Alzheimer’s
Will show up in adults.

So if the answer’s positive,
In two or three more years
It’s probable that you’ll encounter
One of your worst fears.

But when this is available
I know without a doubt
They’ll get no blood from me because
I’d rather not find out.

More

For females over 40,
There’s a magazine called More.
At least that is the age group
It was first intended for.

So many periodicals
Are aimed at people younger.
This magazine was perfect
For that over-40 hunger.

In articles the focus was
On older women saying
That life can be fulfilling
Even when you’ve started graying.

There wasn’t much for 60’s plus
But still, they got some mention.
If younger women felt left out,
Well, that was the intention.

Then suddenly, I noticed
There had been a subtle shift
And older women seemed to get
An even shorter shrift.

For More now advertises
It’s for women 30 plus.
I looked for protests, but nobody
Seemed to make a fuss.

I’m sure the younger women
Have a lot of cash to spend
And so the “over-40” aim
Has sadly seen its end.

So let me raise my voice
For older folk and I’ll confess
That though I’ll still read More
I feel as if I’m getting Less!

Barbie

On March the 9^th in ‘59
Some frowned and many cheered
‘Cause that’s the date a brand-new doll
Named Barbie first appeared.

Though girls were mostly smitten
Critics very soon attacked
Because her body image
Was what all her owners lacked.

Her measurements were 36,
18 and 33;
In human terms, much thinner than
A person ought to be.

But girls all wanted Barbie
And her sales went crazy when
In 1961, Mattel
Produced her boyfriend Ken.

Most toys and dolls don’t last too long
Before they run aground;
It’s really quite amazing, then,
That Barbie’s still around.

The Voice of Reason

People’s lives were ruined
When McCarthy hollered “Red!”
Fanning flames as paranoia
Reared its ugly head.

Blacklists made the circuit
Keeping many out of work.
Neighbors spied on neighbors
Seeking where’d the commies lurk.

Finally, a prudent voice
Spoke out against this fool,
When Edward Murrow told the public
Reason had to rule.

I’m too young to remember
But I’m honoring that speech
When Murrow rallied all the world
To fight McCarthy’s breach.

Daylight Saving Time

Tonight we’ll lose an hour
But what I would like to know
Is where, exactly, do those minutes
Actually go?

They vanish like a finger snap
Magicians like to use
And just which minutes disappear
We do not get to choose.

At 2 a.m. we move the clocks
And suddenly, it’s 3.
Most people will not feel the loss
For Dreamland’s where they’ll be.

When morning comes, though, you can bet
A million folks will yawn
And all because they’ve lost an hour
Leading up ‘til dawn.

We’re told to change the clocks;
Nobody asked for our consent.
We acquiesce but wish we knew
Just where those minutes went.

Framed

Saw some funky glasses
But I couldn’t quite decide.
I liked two styles, but should I let
The salesclerk be my guide?

I hemmed and hawed and tried them on
Again and then once more.
I needed someone else’s eyes
To really know the score.

I’d planned to meet my husband
So at last when he did show,
I alternately tried each pair
To see which way he’d go.

Turns out the clerk was right as rain
And even I agreed;
At last from all my indecision
I was finally freed.

But here’s a little postscript
With a cool ironic twist.
Those specs were really special
And not easy to resist.

And so the other glasses
Never made it to the shelf.
My husband tried them on and yes,
He bought them for himself!

Retro

“I’m not old – I’m retro”
Says the sign that looks antique.
I bought it ‘cause I liked
Its sassy message, tongue-in-cheek.

But really, who embraces old
Or elderly or aged?
Why, even senior can be wrong
When someone’s years are gauged.

So I will stick with retro
‘Cause it sounds so cool and hip.
Come join my Retro club –
It’s an exclusive membership! 

Anonymous

When programs list the donors
Who’ve sent money for a cause,
There’s always someone mentioned
Whose identity gives pause.

The name, you see’s, Anonymous,
But why, I’ll never know.
This person’s generosity
Appears to overflow.

So what’s up with the secrecy?
The label under wraps?
A ploy to fool the I.R.S.
Or relatives, perhaps?

For when I see Anonymous,
A question is implied.
The answer to us peons, though,
Has never been supplied.

If I could donate megabucks,
I’d certainly be proud
And hope my name’d be written in
The largest print allowed!

Upside Down

We all have private little quirks
That make us cringe or frown
And one of mine is bottle caps,
Removed and upside down.

Don’t know why this disturbs me
But it’s always been this way.
My friends and family flip the caps
To set the game in play.

I simply turn them over
So the top part’s facing me.
Perhaps this could be seen
As just as trifle O.C.D.

You’d think that I could easily
Avoid these little traps,
But I drink beer from bottles;
Hence, the presence of the caps.

I could just throw that cap away
But though the why’s not clear,
I never toss those tops until
I’m finished with the beer.

I laugh when someone flips my cap,
Like dangling some bait;
I flip it back, delighting in
The game I’ve helped create.

An Aging Actress

To be an aging actress
Must be stressful and a drag.
The world is watching as you age
And neck and jowls sag.

You either disappear from view
Or wait for folks to cluck,
But there's another choice for those
Who just don't have the pluck.

It's visiting the surgeon
For some facial pulls and tugs,
But sometimes the result
Won't garner compliments, just ughs!

It's sad to see an actress
Who, in trying to erase
The wrinkles that occur, instead
Wreaks havoc on her face.

After You

The elevator door slides back;
The male then steps aside
And gestures, “After you, madame,”
The chivalry implied.

Equality is nice but still,
This throwback’s very sweet,
Acknowledging a courtesy
In manner quite discreet.

Surprisingly, I’ve noticed, though,
This custom’s losing steam
For younger men don’t hold the ladies
In the same esteem.

Of course, it’s not across the boards;
Some youth are still polite.
For every gentleman, there is
A mom who taught him right.

Addressed

With email and texting replacing the mail
And bills paid online or by phone,
There’s something I wonder about and I know
This dilemma is not mine alone.

I’m stuck with a surplus – perhaps you are, too,
Of labels which list my address;
They all come from charities, many of which
I give nothing to, if I confess.

Yet still they arrive, bearing flowers or flags
Or puppies or snowmen or hearts.
I should throw them away but hang onto them – why?
‘Cause I’m lacking in discarding smarts.

For maybe I’ll need them – you never can tell –
Although if you’d look at the pile,
You’d realize they’ll surely outlast me by years
So it’s time for that circular file.

The future’s a question mark, that much we know
But if we can just follow the trend,
We’ll arrive at a point when I’m certain we’ll see
Free address labels come to an end.