Puddles

Always in a heavy rain
On roads or paths that cannot drain
What forms, of course, should not befuddle –
Yes, I’m talkin’ ‘bout a puddle.

Some are fun for kids to splash in
(Or adults, with boots in fashion);
Others look like little lakes
(Missing pipes cause those mistakes).

Great for pigeons, frogs or toads,
Puddles cropping up on roads
Make the traffic start to crawl
And those in cars just want to bawl.

Rain is needed, quite a lot;
Puddles, though, are really not.
Though kids may love that wet terrain,
To drivers, puddles are a pain!

Complaints

There’s nobody except a saint
Who never utters a complaint
Though there are those who seem to thrive
On kvetching to keep them alive.

“The chair’s too low, the waiter’s rude
And do not ask about the food!
The light’s too dim, the doctor’s mean;
The bathroom’s never really clean…”

The list is endless for, of course,
Complaints can come from any source;
But sometimes I’d just like to hide
From people never satisfied.

They’d hang their heads in true defeat,
Their day not really quite complete,
If fault could not be quickly found
That they could broadcast all around.

The rest of us must bear the brunt
Of every moan or tsk or grunt;
But look at me – I’m not abstaining –
Carping ‘bout the ones complaining!

Windowsill

It’s nice to have a windowsill,
A place to perch your plants
Or your solar flower so the sun
Can start it on its dance.

Tomatoes in a bowl will ripen,
Warming to the rays
And a pretty vase will brighten
Even all the gloomy days.

You can prop a picture if your sill
Is wide enough for staging
Or place knickknacks you’ve collected
Which are fun for rearranging.

If your window is deficient
Or a sill is not a must,
Just take comfort in the fact that you
Have one less place to dust!

Drab

I notice on a day that's gray
I also seem to dress that way.
Without the sunshine to inspire,
I tend to stick to drab attire.

It doesn't make a lot of sense
When clothing clearly complements
An atmosphere of cloud and gloom,
Allowing somberness to loom.

On light and sunny weather days,
I wear apparel that's ablaze
With colors neon, bright or bold,
A joy to wear and to behold.

But if I stuck to the reverse
Perhaps then I could intersperse
Some happiness when skies are dull,
By bringing color to the lull.

The Bottom of my Bag

At the bottom of my bag
Are many things I should discard –
Such a mound of crumpled tissues
They’d be hard to disregard;

Some expired Metrocards and stubs
From movies I have seen
And a little bag of pretzels
Given out at Halloween.

There’s a boarding pass from my last trip,
A pen that has no ink
And a business card from someone
With a website name and link.

There are sticky, half-wrapped cough drops
And receipt upon receipt;
Add my make-up case and wallet
And the contents are complete.

When my bag goes on my shoulder
It will also hold my phone,
Which provides an explanation
Why to muscle aches I’m prone.

Still, I’ll clean it out tomorrow
But I know what happens then –
Just one crumpled tissue later
And the pile begins again.

Movies in the Morning

At the movies in the morning,
There’s a discount price in place.
For the early birds, this trend is one
They’re happy to embrace.

There are empty seats so no one tall
Will sit and block your view
And the bathroom has some vacant stalls
If you must use the loo.

When the film is finished, lunch awaits
Then lots of time remains.
You can do your chores or write your poem
Before your vigor drains.

Let the nightingales and owls
Fill the audience at night
For to me, a morning movie
Is a modern-day delight.

In the Background

Here’s to all the room arrangers,
Cleaner-uppers, waste bag changers;
Those who make things fresh and neat
So all is perfect when we meet.

From the background, they emerge,
Break time an unheard-of splurge,
Doing all that must be done
So rooms get ready, one by one.

Under radar, unobserved,
They work without what they’ve deserved –
Our heartfelt thanks and gratitude,
Presented with much latitude.

So much in life that we expect
Is done by those whom we neglect
But sometimes we must leave the page
To thank the ones who set the stage.

Helicopter in the Sky

Helicopter in the sky,
Looking like a dragonfly,
Skims along through cloud and air
In search of landing who knows where.

Whirring blades are all a’blur;
From below, we’d all concur
How it resembles, in its flight,
An insect waiting to alight.

Yet instead of seeking nectar,
It’s an accident detector
Or a taxi for commuters
On their iPhones or computers.

Helicopter in the sky,
Seeing you, I wonder why
With all that space that you must cover,
Sometimes you just sit and hover.

Holiday Parking

In cities, you can often tell
A holiday’s at hand,
Although it might be one
That you don’t really understand.

You don’t find out by hearing
Someone pass a stray remark;
The information’s gleaned by noting
Where you get to park.

On holidays (no matter which)
The rules are all suspended,
So those who do observe will not
Be angry or offended.

Your car, which usually must move
So streets can then be swept,
Can stay exactly where it is,
Which all must then accept.

No tickets issued by a cop,
No tow truck come to move it;
The owner needn’t worry –
There’s no one to disapprove it.

A city welcomes everyone
Of every faith and creed,
For holidays from parking rules
Are what we surely need!

Hacked

One by one, my friends' accounts
Have all been getting hacked.
Likely there will come a time
I, too, will be attacked.

Where are all the rocks from which
These evil hackers crawled
To seek some suckers unaware
That they were being trawled?

With all this new technology
There's room for lots more scams
And unsuspecting souls get caught
In complicated jams.

I miss the good old days when crime
Was much more in your face
Than nowadays when scammers strike
But they don't leave a trace.

At the Dog House

Visiting friends with some visiting dogs
As well as the two of their own,
Was to be the receiver of licks gone amok,
The slobbiest ones I have known.

For canines get cozy the minute they sense
That you'll be both receptive and kind
And then they unleash their affection as if
You're the best friend that they'll ever find.

So it was an evening of nuzzles and drool
And tail thumps and smooches galore,
More doggie love given in one single night
Than I've ever been given before.

When we said our goodnights, with the dogs at the door,
We were not the attraction we'd been;
For to them, we had passed like a ship in the night,
Though their slobber was still on my skin.

Demons Dance

Insomnia, methinks, doth stink;
It carts one quickly to the brink
Then yanks those taunting forty winks
And turns them into toss and blinks.

The hell with all those leaping sheep!

My thoughts on them would earn a bleep.
Instead I stare, in darkness deep,
As minutes into hours creep.

The mind, it fills as demons dance
So slumber doesn’t stand a chance,
But as the daylight does advance
They’re gone, without a backward glance.

And then at last, I get to drowse.
The lines smooth out between my brows;
But obligations don’t allow
The time to catch up anyhow.

Another tired day will dawn,
My pillow something I could pawn.
I’ll greet the morning, pale and drawn
And stifle yet another yawn.

Honorable Mention

It is never one’s intention
Earning “honorable mention”
When you’re entered in a contest or a race.
Yes, you’ve gotten some attention
So that listing, by extension,
Means approval that you really should embrace.

Still, it’s not exactly winning
And it will not leave you grinning
For it feels more like a pat upon the head,
‘Cause you know at the beginning
All your hopes were proudly pinning
On that very first or second place instead.

Since most judgment is subjective
You must know that one’s perspective
May not match or be divergent from your own,
So it’s best to be reflective
Which is rather more effective
Than reacting like you’ve just been tossed a bone.

Manischewitz

Once a year, for one week straight,
A beer I will decline.
Instead, I will indulge in
Manischewitz kosher wine.

If you have never tried it,
Well, your life is not complete,
But you’d sure surprise your taste buds
‘Cause it’s sickeningly sweet.

Since it’s part of my tradition,
It’s a habit I can’t break
And from childhood sips to current times,
I’ve stuck with Concord Grape.

Though I’m not at all religious,
I’m nostalgic for the past
And at Seders* long ago,
The Manischewitz die was cast.

Certain connoisseurs of culture
Call me out and say, “Enough!
Now it’s time to climb the ladder
And reject that sweetened stuff.”

But a creature (me!) of habit
Thinks that Manischewitz wine,
Like the macaroons and matzoh,
Fits the holiday just fine.

*Passover meal

Playing the New Card

Mah Jongg is a game that’s strange
‘Cause every year the cards will change,
So you may try to play a hand
That once was there at your command
But now that pattern isn’t there,
Which feels a little bit unfair.

Until you learn the latest card,
The challenges are really hard,
For you might try to reconcile
The hand you’re dealt with what’s on file
Within your brain from last year’s sets
And that’s as tricky as it gets.

Each formula appears askew.
Repeating old ones is taboo;
And though it is a tad confusing,
There’s no upside to refusing.
Everyone must be on board;
Acceptance is its own reward.

The more you play, the more you’ll learn
And soon enough, when it’s your turn,
You’ll realize you’ve absorbed the new,
Like all the Mah Jongg players do;
But once you’re comfy, only then –
They’ll go and change the card again!

Catered

On holidays I want a meal
That’s home-made through and through,
Composed from all the recipes
My mom and grandmas knew;

The preparations lovingly
Created in the kitchen
(Although, to be quite honest,
There might be a little bitchin’).

The shopping, chopping, mixing, blending
All become a part
Of memories of days gone by
That live within the heart.

It sure would be a lot less work,
Luxurious, indeed,
To have a caterer drop by
With all the food you need.

Yet what I’d miss the most would be,
Though not in terms of taste,
Ingredients intangible,
Not easily replaced.

Passover Again

The recipes have dawdled
In their box for nigh a year,
But now they'll get some brand-new stains;
The holiday is here.

It's time to clean and shop and bake - 
From scratch, if you are able - 
And then to find that special cloth
To decorate the table.

The wine is waiting to be poured,
The napkins folded neatly;
The soup is bubbling on the stove,
The baby napping sweetly.

When evening falls, we'll gather 'round
With family and friends
And read the oft-told story,
Though we know just how it ends.

And then we'll eat the festive meal,
Familiar and delish;
To do it all again next year
Would be my fervent wish.

Who Can Tell?

You wake up in the morning
And everything seems swell.
The day is first unfolding, though,
So who can really tell?

Perhaps your daily exercise
Goes slightly out of whack
And suddenly there's stabbing pain
All through your lower back.

Or maybe, in an anxious state
You think, for calming's sake,
You'll take an aspirin but you pop
The wrong pill by mistake.

Or possibly, you leave to meet
Friends in another state,
But there's construction on the road
And you're an hour late.

No matter how the day begins,
There's no way in the world
To know what lies in wait for you
As hours are unfurled.

One Colossal Goof

You have never tasted chocolate
‘Til you’ve had yourself a bite
Of a truffle bought in Belgium,
Like the one I had tonight.

Purchased on my last vacation –
Seemed it was the thing to do –
I had not yet had a nibble
‘Cause I didn’t have a clue.

But a visit from my daughter
Was the motivating force
And it only took a tiny taste
To fill me with remorse.

For my mouth became electric
From a chocolate so intense
That the small amount I purchased
Didn’t make a lot of sense.

Oh, at times I must acknowledge
Making one colossal goof
And if you could taste this truffle,
You’d have all you need as proof.

Solar Smiles

I bought a solar tulip
And I placed it on the sill
And every time it dances
Well, I get a little thrill.

Its head bops back and then bops forth;
The leaves flap up and down.
Just giving it a glance can make
A smile from any frown.

A little joy is all it takes
To brighten up my mood.
My tulip thus deserves from me
A nod of gratitude.

Sunrise

All you fools who lie in bed –
Get out and greet the day instead!
To watch the sun in gentle rise
As it lights up the morning skies
Imbues you with a sense of hope
That with your problems you can cope.

Of course, there are no guarantees
And life will bring you to your knees,
But gazing as the sun’s ascending,
There’s no harm in just pretending
Everything will be okay
At least for now, on this new day.

Yet I am often such a fool,
So can’t afford to ridicule
But spirits need to be revived
So even if you’re sleep-deprived,
It’s sometimes worth an early wake
To catch the sun at daylight’s break.

My Fridge

My fridge has many magnets
Holding photos, notes and lists.
There doesn’t seem to be a square of space
That I have missed.

The magnets all are souvenirs
Of places I have been,
Reminding me of happy travels,
Worthy of a grin.

The pictures are of loved ones,
Some of whom live far away;
But when I’m in my kitchen
I can see them every day.

A stainless steel refrigerator
Won’t let magnets stick,
So rest assured, it’s not the type
That I would ever pick.

I’m just back from vacation
And a lovely time I had,
So now, to my collection,
A new magnet I will add!

A'flit

I must admit
That bit by bit,
My thoughts alight
And then they split.

They won’t commit
Or stop and sit;
They touch down then
Proceed to flit.

And so, to wit,
I will submit
To sometimes throwing
Quite a fit.

For it takes grit
To not permit
One’s fortitude
To up and quit

When we are hit
In stomach’s pit
By what’s implied
From that first flit.

Reality

We move through life as if we’re strapped
Onto a wagon wheel,
In constant motion, with no time
To pause or rest or heal.

But if we’re lucky, we can take
Vacation for a while
And get to live a different life
And do it up in style.

Yet all good things must end, they say,
And that includes vacation.
We’re tied back on our wheel
To deal with all life’s aggravation.

Still, nothing’s ever only bleak
And though this may sound cheesy,
I’m back now in reality
‘Cause Henry* made it easy.

*my baby grandson

Tulip Time at Keukenhof

At first you see the flower fields
Of yellow, white or red,
Though soon machines will do their job
And clip each tulip’s head.

For that’s the way to save the bulbs
So they’ll be best for selling,
A fact that must make sense, I guess,
Since no one is rebelling.

But then you enter Keukenhof,*
A floral park so vast
It’s hard to comprehend how many
Tulips they’ve amassed.

The colors take your breath away –
You’re dazzled, awed, amazed;
And as you stroll, each vista’s better
Than where you’ve just gazed.

Varieties you’ve never seen
Are artfully arrayed,
With hyacinths and lilies
Intermittently displayed.

The tulips only bloom for weeks
So I was thrilled to visit
And get to view what Nature’s made
With palette so exquisite.

Such beauty’s there for all to see
But sadly, just a few
Will have the chance to make the trip
And get to tiptoe through.

*flower garden in Holland, known for their tulips

Birthday in Bruges

At birthday time, I was in Bruges
And what a treat for me,
For it's a place as charming
As a city gets to be.

The streets are paved with cobblestones,
Canal boats drift between;
The churches, castles, towers
Are among the best I've seen.

Each block has chocolate shops galore
And beer for every taste.
Indulging in a waffle's also
What should be embraced.

And if you like to shop, my gosh!
The stores are cool and hip,
Enough to keep you occupied
On any shopping trip.

So here's the way my birthday went -
Meandering the streets,
A lovely cruise on the canals
With beer and chips for treats.

A visit to a special store
And splurging on some shoes;
An ice cream cone, my husband there -
I really couldn't lose.

A birthday's only once a year -
To celebrate's a must;
And birthday time in Bruges
Left all the others in the dust.

Windmills

A windmill, charming as it seems,
Requires a lot of work.
The millers get to live inside -
That's not much of a perk.

The rooms are small and tight and spare,
The stairs extremely steep
And every night the windmill's blades
Might interrupt your sleep.

The windmill folk are volunteers;
They even pay their rent.
Their keeper duties, though,
Must in their day make quite a dent.

I've long admired windmills
And to tour one was a thrill,
The kind of wish it's nice in life
To actually fulfill.

But as our guide admitted,
Such a life he'd never lead
And seeing how the millers live,
I certainly agreed.

Yet still, that field of windmills
Looked as lovely as could be
And seeing them was wonderful,
A privilege for me!

Riverboat Cruise

In a tiny Dutch village
Where windmills await,
I relax on the deck
In a sweet zoned-out state.

Though the sun dapples through,
I sit under some shade
And reflect on the choice
Of vacation I've made.

We have sailed on the rivers
And traipsed through the towns,
Met some fellow explorers -
Much laughter, few frowns.

There's been sunshine and sightseeing,
Refills of wine
And lots of companions
With whom we can dine.

Though the time's passing quickly,
There's much left to see
And from worries and problems,
This week we are free.

So the verdict's not in
But it seems you can't lose
If you choose to sign up
For a riverboat cruise.

In Common

We all have things in common
And at times we'll intersect;
A simple conversation
May then cause us to connect.

It only takes one common thread
To get a friendship going
And soon enough, the laughter comes
While stories keep on flowing.

We share the details of our lives -
Our backgrounds, families, travels;
The wall we've woven to protect us
Rapidly unravels.

For though a new acquaintance
May not pose a threat of danger,
It wasn't long ago that person
Was a total stranger.

Yet if there is a chance at all,
Then people should converse;
Ignore the opportunity
And wouldn't that be worse?

The world is overwhelming
But it's wonderful to know
That sometimes we can all connect
And that's the way to go.

Dutch Hospitality

In the city of Hoorn,
On a cobblestone street,
We were taken as guests
So some locals we'd meet.

It was charming, the house,
And the ceilings did soar;
There were children and cats
But much more was in store.

For the hostess' dad
Brought us each out, with pride,
Quite a big slab of pie
With some whipped cream beside.

From the very first bite,
I was over the moon.
I'll not taste pie that wonderful
Anytime soon.

There were flowery mugs
Filled with coffee or tea,
So we sipped and we savored -
How lucky for me!

To be welcomed and fed
Homemade baking and cream
And converse like we knew them -
It felt like a dream.

When you step off the path
Where the tourist traps lie,
You'll find friendship and maybe
A great piece of pie!