Daddy Long Legs

When I was a kid
My summers were spent
In the Catskills where
My parents went.

It was country bliss
And a life of ease
But with lots of spiders,
Wasps and bees.

There was one mean boy
And he got his kicks
Playing pranks he pulled
From his bag of tricks.

But the cruelest one,
Which caused gasps and screams,
Really shook me up
And invaded dreams.

He would catch a spider,
The Daddy-kind,
Yanking off its legs,
Leaving one behind.

The discarded legs
He would toss at me;
As the spider flailed,
He would howl with glee.

Though that boy’s long gone
And his fate unknown,
When a spider’s near,
It gets left alone.

Hidden

Inside a "rock" that's very fake,
We hid our extra key
And there it sat with real rocks 'round
Beneath a nearby tree.

We've never used it; all the same,
It's comforting to know
It's always there, though sometimes topped
With leaves or rain or snow.

A landscape crew came by last week
To neaten up our land.
Today we saw the work they did
And they deserve a hand.

Except those stones all disappeared,
With mulch piled there instead.
The missing rock with key
Made paranoia rear its head.

They'll break into our house, I thought,
Since often we're away.
Of course they'd recognized
That plastic rock where real ones lay.

But then I got my trusty rake
And moved that mulch around
Until my bogus rock ( with key!),
Surprisingly, I found.

A jump to a conclusion
Often's quite a foolish thing
And isn't worth the stress and worry
That it tends to bring.

Tagged

Admired some artwork on somebody’s walls
And noticed that tags were attached.
I thought that the gallery’d left on the price,
But an answer was quickly dispatched.

No, those paintings have claimants, so after we’re gone,
Our grandchildren know what they’re getting.
They’ve made their selections so no one will fight –
On that outcome, at least, we are betting.

Though I like the idea and have heard it before,
I had never seen tags on display
And I’d worry that each day I didn’t drop dead,
All my grandkids would mourn the delay.

So perhaps if their choices were part of a will
Or were logged in a ledger or binder,
Then mortality’d keep himself hidden from view
And that art wouldn’t be a reminder.

At the Track

So here I am in Saratoga,
Quite a lovely place,
But visitors must do their part
And watch the horses race.

The weather was cooperative;
The seats were in the shade.
The thoroughbreds looked just the way
That racers are portrayed.

Such fun it was to place a bet
And root with all my might.
Though winning was the icing,
I enjoyed each single bite.

I love the town of Saratoga - 
Hope that I'll come back;
But if I do, then once again
You'll find me at the track.

At An Inn

Staying at a Marriott,
You know just what you'll get.
In terms of cleanliness and style,
You have no need to fret.

The same applies to other chains - 
It's comforting to find
The room decor and toiletries
Are what you had in mind.

But when you book a local inn,
It's always a surprise.
Descriptions of your room might clash
With what's before your eyes.

It may be better, may be worse
But one thing is for sure,
It won't resemble any room
You've ever had before.

So play it safe or take a chance
But either way, relax;
When you're away, enjoyment should
Be amped up to the max.

Acrostic Poems

Acrostic poems, when writ in verse,
Cause some who dabble thus to curse.
Relentless rules that cramp one’s style,
Over time, may prove a trial.
Surrendering to failure might
Tempt those where patience’s taken flight.
Ironically, such poems inspire
Challenge-freaks to climb much higher.

A Tooth

Henry has a tooth, forsooth,
And he’s as proud as punch,
Although he’s not exactly
Eating pizza for his lunch.

The most amazing thing to me
Is that he knows it’s great
And though I am his Nana,
I do not exaggerate.

It’s just his first, so there’ll be more
With which to bite and chew,
But everyone’s excited
By this baby tooth debut.

Anniversary Thoughts

Today's the anniversary
Of when my parents wed,
But they're not here to celebrate
Since both of them are dead.

Their wedding picture's in a frame;
They're young and all a'glow,
With hairdos in the styles once worn
So many years ago.

I wasn't yet a glimmer in
Their thoughts that happy day.
The future was a question mark
But they were on their way.

And now our years together
Live in memory's secret file.
On days like this I take a peek,
For just a little while.

Mobile

Among the crafty things I own
A mobile's one I love,
Suspended from the ceiling,
Gently twirling from above.

A moon and stag are up on top,
Three pine trees hang below,
With stars, a heart, plus creatures
Of a type I do not know.

Their movement's imperceptible
At times, but with a breeze, 
They rotate in a manner which
Has never failed to please.

For mobiles shouldn't be confined
To galleries or cribs.
When this one caught my eye, I knew
That I would have first dibs.

And every time I catch it shift
I smile at its design,
Delighted that I made my move
To make that mobile mine.

Comments

Here’s my comment on comments –
Acknowledgement’s nice.
Support with a shout-out
Will more than suffice.

I don’t want corrections,
Though typos are fine.
The words with my moniker
Need to be mine.

A comment on content
Of course is okay,
As long as no nastiness
Comes into play.

In short, with a comment
I know someone’s reading.
As long as I’m posting,
That’s knowledge I’m needing.

Pole-Caught

The sidewalk menu listed
All the specials of the day,
Inviting every passerby
With time and means to pay.

But one such item on the list
Elicited a grin
And made me wonder ‘bout the tool
That reeled that sucker in…

For “pole-caught tuna” was the dish
On which one might have dined;
Yet Huck or Jim upon their raft
Was what it brought to mind.

The restaurant wasn’t fancy
And I’m sure nobody thought
About the method used
To get that tuna snagged and caught.

If I were writing adjectives
To make that menu shine,
I guarantee that “pole-caught”
Wouldn’t be a choice of mine!

The Summer Sun

The summer sun was once my friend;
I basked beneath its glow,
But friendships often fade and this
Was one that had to go.

The younger me enjoyed a tan
On smooth and unlined skin,
But lately that is not the shape
My sagging self is in.

And danger lurks when sunshine
Causes cancer cells to bloom
So by soaking up some rays
I might be guaranteeing doom.

There was a time Apollo
Earned my every accolade,
Yet today I turn my back on him
And settle for the shade.

Inside the Bus

Inside the bus, I just got beat
By someone for an empty seat;
But as she sat, a voice rang out,
A beat too late, this warning shout –

That seat is wet so don’t sit down!
The sitter jumped up with a frown
And sure enough, the seat was soaked.
What is it? Miss Wet-Bottom croaked.

The one who knew said something spilled.
Miss Wet was not exactly thrilled
But seemed relieved it wasn’t pee;
I’m glad she got that seat, not me!

Acorns

If you’ve an oak tree in your yard,
You might get clonked a bit too hard
By acorns which come raining down
As cooler weather comes to town.

The acorn, with its jaunty cap,
Won’t nail you with a gentle tap
But one that’s apt to leave you bruised
So Mother Nature stays amused.

Beware then of the sneak attack.
A gust of wind may cause a whack;
And only then you might dispute
That harm can’t come from something cute.

Hawk

A high-pitched screech announces
That the hawk is close at hand.
Whatever he is saying,
Other hawks must understand.

For me, I'm satisfied to hear
That plaintive, jarring screech,
Despite the fact its meaning,
For a human's, out of reach.

No matter if he's circling
Or swooping to a tree,
His neighborly communication's
Good enough for me.

Backfire

I bought a bracelet as a gift
But first I slipped it on my wrist
Where my intentions took a shift –
For really, how could I resist?

It looked quite perfect sitting there;
I couldn’t help but crack a smile
And though it was without compare,
A fool could tell it was my style.

My friend will think it’s rather great.
She’ll love its sleek and cool design
But for her gift, she’ll have to wait
For this one simply must be mine!

To Loiter

The sign said not to loiter
But I’ve never understood
The assumption that a loiterer
Is up to some no good.

So I say to all the fritterers
Or lollygagging crowd –
You should stand your ground and dally
Just as if you are allowed.

Show the world that you mean business;
You’re not plotting something crazy.
It’s American as apple pie
To slack off and be lazy.

Refuge

Whitecaps on the river;
White clouds in the sky.
I’m sitting on a bench with winds
That billow from on high.

While joggers pass behind me
And bikers pump their knees,
Some dogs on leashes strut their stuff
As I enjoy the breeze.

There’s sparkle on the water
And sunshine in the air;
I’ve things I should be doing
But for now, I just don’t care.

This promenade’s my refuge,
To settle and unwind,
A place to find a little peace
And leave my cares behind.

Backyard Surprise

A branch fell down from wind and rain;
That's Mother Nature - can't complain.

I checked it out - it weighed a lot
But crashed down on an empty spot.

It came from an impressive tree - 
I'm glad it didn't fall on me!

A Little Less Laughter

A little less laughter in the world,
A little more reminiscing;
For that will be the way it goes
With Robin Williams missing.

A lot more tributes yet to come,
A lot of clips to show;
For folks just can't believe
That it was Robin's time to go.

A little less laughter in the world,
A lot more snide asides;
Alas, beneath the comic's mask,
Depression often hides.

Shortcake

Strawberries and shortcake,
With some whipped cream on its crown,
Is the greatest ever birthday cake
Deserving of renown.

Though it's fallen out of favor,
I remain a loyal fan,
So to celebrate a birthday,
I will buy one if I can.

Seems the past can still provide us
With a blueprint for a treat
And a slice of whipped cream shortcake
Is still heavenly to eat.

Baguette

My husband said, “Pick up some bread
When you are at the store.
Of course you must be sure the crust
Is what I’m looking for.”

The loaf I found was nicely browned
And fresh out of the oven.
You never met a French baguette
About to get such lovin’.

For soon we’ll feast on what some yeast
Created with some flour;
When butter-spread, that loaf of bread
We’ll hungrily devour.

Where Once...

I used to run on overdrive,
My energy unflagging;
But now, no matter how I strive,
Before the night, I’m dragging.

Where once I partied with the best
And did my share of drinking,
More often now I need a rest,
My “low on fuel” light blinking.

My younger days were filled with zeal
And Sousa-like parading;
Yet now, a nap holds more appeal…
My former self is fading.

Taking the Bus

You shouldn’t take the bus unless
You aren’t in a rush
‘Cause if you are, frustration
May burst forth and start to gush.

The line of people inches up,
Embarking one by one;
At every stop the minutes pass
Until the boarding’s done.

One person cannot swipe his card;
Another looks for change,
While exiters go out the front,
Which seems both rude and strange.

The drive doesn’t seem to mind
This snail-like slowpoke pace.
He gets his pay no matter what
And this is not a race.

But when you’re in a hurry
You can rage and rail and curse,
Though it’s better to calm down
Or your next ride will be a hearse!

Calling Card

A splotch of white on my front deck,
Its brightness quite exquisite,
Has let me know that recently,
A bird's dropped by to visit.

I don't know if he planned to stay
Or was just passing through,
But what he left behind announced,
"Here's something just for you!"

A calling card from feathered friend,
Though lacking couth and class,
Deserves a nod of admiration
For it's sure got sass!

Mah Jongg in the Afternoon

Mah Jongg in the afternoon
Always ends a bit too soon.
We laugh, we chat, then play begins
And 'fore you know it, someone wins.

There's so much left we must discuss
So four more walls are built by us
And tile by tile, they disappear
Until that "Mah Jongg!" shout we hear.

And then the game's set up once more
But we know what we're playing for - 
A chance to catch up, share and schmooze;
It doesn't matter if we lose.

The hours fly by - must be a trick
The way the ending comes so quick.
At least we plan another date - 
I wish we didn't have to wait.

Bread

If someone said, “You can’t eat bread,”
I don’t think I’d survive;
For what I dread’s not being dead
But sad when I’m alive.

My morning meal would not appeal
Without a seeded bagel
Or I could deal, to keep it real,
With toast I could finagle.

Yet I’d be blue if some taboo
Encouraged the assumption
That food I view as yum to chew
Would fade from my consumption.

Shorter

The days are getting shorter;
By half-past eight it’s dark,
With fewer hours to frolic
At the beach or in the park.

The summer’s slipping swiftly,
Getting ready for the fall,
Though the temps and the humidity
Have hardly changed at all.

I won’t mind the colder weather.
It will fill me with delight;
But I’m really not in favor
Of the lessening of light.

A Mess

I confess that I'm a mess
When I am under lots of stress.
You might not guess the truth, unless
You see the signs of true duress.

Then more or less, I will regress
For coping skills I don't possess.
If I'd express what I suppress,
I'd be much better off, unless...

I could address why I repress.
That isn't easy - nonetheless,
By decompressing, my distress
Might disappear or be much less.

Quill

I’ve been told that I possess
A “most creative quill.”
So, thank you, Bob; I must admit
Your words gave me a thrill.

Alas, a pencil is the tool
Which helps me to create.
I know, at least poetically,
It doesn’t quite equate.

I’d love to write with ink-dipped quill,
A style I could embrace,
But reason trumps such fantasy –
For how could I erase?

My trusty pencil does the trick,
Though lacking feather frill,
But I’d have fancied, like the Bard,
Composing with a quill.

Fireflies

Tiny bursts of neon
Seem to polka-dot the skies,
Courtesy of lightning bugs
(A.K.A. fireflies).

Their blinking lights go on and off
As they go flitting past,
But never in the place where you
Could swear you saw them last.

As charming as they are, I think
Each time I get to see one,
That all things being equal,
I would rather see than be one.