Falling Leaves

The breezes blow, the leaves drift down
And settle on the grass.
Before we blink an eye, we know
This, too, shall come to pass.

For soon the trees will all be bare
As winter makes its mark.
We'll wake and have our evening meal
Both when it's nearly dark.

The icicles will form and drip;
We'll watch them while indoors
And jackets made of down or wool
Will fill the racks in stores.

But wait! I've jumped the gun a bit,
For leaves still mostly cling
As I await the changes
That the autumn winds will bring.

The Garbage Truck

On Mondays when I babysit,
There's one thing that's a certain hit - 
A visit from the garbage truck
(Unless the need for naptime's struck).

We hear the truck as it draws near
And Henry makes it very clear
We'd better get ourselves outside.
(Such passion cannot be denied.)

We race out to the driveway's end
To greet our Monday morning friend.
The worker waves a friendly hi
But Henry's serious and shy.

He watches, though, with great intent
And gazes at me, quite content.
I understand, though he can't speak,
That we're all set until next week.

Bad News Travels Fast

Bad news likes to travel fast,
Much quicker than the good
And you can’t stop it even if
You pause to knock on wood.

It’s like a snowball, growing as
It barrels down a hill,
Unstoppable and uncontrolled
As oil from a spill.

Through phone or text or face to face
The knowledge makes its rounds,
For once the news is negative
It spreads by leaps and bounds.

Technology can’t take the rap
For even in the past,
When something bad took place, that news
Would always travel fast.

Two Walks

On my walk in the country,
I might see a deer;
Or a fox or a bear
Might from hiding appear.

And aside from the birdsong,
I won’t hear a sound
But my footsteps or leaves
As they crunch on the ground.

When I stroll in the city,
It’s noisy and loud.
I’m never alone
But just one of a crowd.

The vista keeps changing
Each minute, each day.
There’s so much to see
As I go on my way.

I like both my walks;
They’re the yang and the yin
And together they balance
What’s roiling within.

At the Bottom of my Closet

At the bottom of my closet,
I found in a bag
A brand-new gray skirt
With its price on the tag.

I spotted the slippers
I swore I’d thrown out
And a dozen Clinique* cases
(Freebies, no doubt).

I also unearthed
Shoes from way in the past
And a shitload of shopping bags
I had amassed.

As these “treasures” got tossed
In a burgeoning pile,
I couldn’t resist
Just the hint of a smile…

For in all of that mountain
Of stuff on the floor,
What was missing was what
I’d begun searching for!

*make-up company

A Promise Kept

When a promise is made
And that promise is kept,
The result is a feeling
That’s hard to accept.

It’s surprise and delight
Mixed with pleasure and glee,
For a casual promise
Is no guarantee.

I am touched and I’m honored
That someone would send
Something promised to me
(By a not-yet-met friend!).

There are times in our lives
When a promise fulfilled
Is so plain unexpected,
It just leaves you thrilled.

Roasting a Chicken

I’m roasting a chicken
(I’m far from a cook).
I opened the oven
To take a quick look.

It’s sitting there, browning,
With veggies around it;
The recipe’s Ina’s*
(I Googled and found it).

It’s a holiday meal
So I hope it tastes good.
I followed directions
As well as I could.

We’ll eat it tonight
And with plenty of wine,
I’m sure that my efforts
Will prove to be fine.

*Ina Garten

First Day of Fall

I have earrings shaped like acorns
And I poked them through my ears
As a welcome to this season
And my joy when it appears.

Though the leaves have yet to burnish
I await those golden hues,
For to live without those ochres
Is an option I’d refuse.

There’s a nip there in the morning;
Time to drag the sweaters out
For the crispness and the colors
Are what autumn’s all about.

Forward

If I receive a forward
That’s political or, worse,
Pertaining to religion
My response is rather terse:

By sending me such messages
(In case you couldn’t tell),
You’re reaffirming that you do not
Know me very well.

One Lane

When all the lanes merge into one
And brake lights flicker on,
You have no choice but sticking to
The road that you're upon.

The same applies to life; we age
And walk the paths we've chosen,
The other options out of reach
While we waste time supposin'...

How strange our journey might have been
If other roads had beckoned,
While opportunities still there
Evaporate each second.

So most of us continue on
And hope the traffic lightens
For turning onto routes unknown
Once thrilled, but now it frightens.

A Tower of Books

There’s a tower of books
Building up on my shelf
And most of them titles
I’ve picked out myself.

A couple, non-fiction,
My husband has read.
Perhaps, between novels,
I’ll try one instead.

My grandson loves knocking
Down towers completely;
I’ll do the same here,
But a bit more discreetly.

City Sonnet

Out-of-towners in the city,
Seeing folks go rushing by,
Seem to think it’s such a pity
Their hellos get no reply.

Small-town friendliness ‘round here
Sticks out like the sorest thumb.
In this urban atmosphere,
Self-absorbed we’ve all become.

There’s no room for conversation
With a person we don’t know.
Why allow a complication
To disrupt life’s ebb and flow?

Still, we might return a nod;
More than that, we’d find it odd.

Distracted

While getting off the bus, a woman
Saw her cell phone fall.
She leaned to pick it up,
Perhaps to get or make a call.

The driver pulled out from the curb
But crushed her with his tire.
He didn’t have a clue about
What he’d caused to transpire.

The woman’s dead, the driver free,
A story sad but true,
Distraction interfering with
The rules we thought we knew.

Satisfaction Guaranteed

“The customer is always right”
Is what they used to say
Way back when problems got resolved
Much better than today.

Yet there are certain companies
That still believe it’s true
And they will work until
You’re satisfied with what they do.

To prove the point, I had today
An online service “chat”
And to that representative,
I’d like to tip my hat.

She tried a lot of different things
So I would be content.
Our little “chat” was worth the time
And money that was spent.

Though satisfaction lately’s
Oft in very short supply,
I’d recommend the service reps
Who work for Shutterfly.

Drained

I walked three miles this afternoon;
My energy was sapped.
As soon as I got home, I crashed
And hit the bed and napped.

Though not a napper normally
(Its virtues leave me cold),
Today I couldn’t help succumb,
A sign of getting old.

Where once I’d walk for endless blocks
With energy to spare,
I tap into that reservoir,
But nothing’s waiting there.

Last Stop*

A nine year-old girl and an Uzi,
When combined in a singular breath,
Is a set-up for certain disaster,
Which in this case, resulted in death.

At a shooting range in Arizona,
While her parents recorded the scene,
The instructor stood next to their daughter,
A scenario they called routine.

But the weapon was too much to handle
And the bullets flew out of control.
What began as the thrill of a lifetime
Took a somber and sorrowful toll.

For the girl killed her shooting instructor
And must live with that thought evermore,
But the guilt should reside with her parents,
Whose stupidity’s hard to ignore.

Yet the blame must be shared with the venue,
Putting guns in the hands of a child
And there simply is no explanation
That could help things to be reconciled.

*the name of the shooting range

Leftover Pizza

Want some pizza? Get a pie
And freeze it when you finish.
Wrapped in foil and baggied,
All that taste will not diminish.

Then when hunger strikes, you're set;
Just snatch a slice and heat it.
In ten minutes, grab a beer
And sit right down to eat it.

In New York, the pizza's great
So do yourself a favor - 
Freeze it when it's fresh. You'll always
Have a meal to savor.

First Birthday Party

I thank you, Mother Nature,
For you kept the rain at bay
So all the kids were in the yard
For Henry’s party day.

Though clouds looked ready to unload
And skies were steely gray,
The swing set, balls and horseshoe set
Kept everyone at play.

Balloons gave things a festive air
And pizza came our way,
So everyone was happy,
Grins and laughter on display.

The cake was smushed, the candle blown,
Some tears appeared, but hey –
The rain held off and all had fun
On Henry’s party day.

Clean

There are those who clean their homes
Like crazy, once a week
(But I am not included
In that group of whom I speak).

They dust and mop and scrub and wax
‘Til every surface gleams.
My house will never look like that,
Not even in my dreams…

Except when I have company.
Then I’ll pull all the stops,
Employing all the sponges, scrubbers,
Vacuum, rags and mops.

I marvel at the way things look –
So shiny, neat and clean
And swear that I will keep it up,
A part of the routine.

But then the company departs.
What happens? Can you guess?
Within a day, it’s back to normal –
Soon to be a mess!

Inheritance

My mother didn’t cook too well
Although she fed us fine.
Her house was not immaculate,
Much messier than mine.

She didn’t knit, crochet or quilt
But she was great at sports;
She swam and bowled and tennised
Really well, by all reports.

And oh, could she dance up a storm!
She crossword-puzzled, too.
When things were good or bad for me,
Somehow, she always knew.

She passed down many of her traits
But no, I cannot dance
And barely swim but I can bowl,
Though rarely have the chance.

I do the crossword every day
But like her, hate to cook.
While she escaped in naps,
I disappear inside a book.

We all have inclinations
That our parents have bestowed,
Though babies make us wonder
What is waiting down the road.

We hope that they’ll inherit
Just those qualities we’d pick
But we have no way of knowing
What will fade and what will stick.

Assembly Required

The unit came in boxes.
Assembly was required;
And after hours and hours of work,
I’m more than slightly tired.

The day was filled with tension,
Our voices raised, of course;
And couples not as solid
Might be headed for divorce.

The TV stand is finished.
I’m so proud that I could burst;
But next time screws and tools are needed,
Someone shoot me first! 

Your Gut

You can check consumer guides
Until your face turns blue;
When buying something major,
That’s what many people do.

When planning a vacation,
Those same folks do that as well,
Believing that it will prevent
That holiday from hell.

But that’s not how we operate
(My spouse and I agree),
For all the research in the world
Won’t grant a guarantee.

So every purchase that we make
Or trip that we arrange
Is one we’ve chosen on a hunch,
Which others might find strange.

It works for us, yet there are those
Who’d argue with a “But…”
To them, I’d simply have to say
It pays to trust your gut!

Phone Call

Tomorrow’s an election;
All the platforms are the same
And with many in contention,
Who knows who will gain acclaim?

All these leaflets, mailings, handshakes
Have been driving me insane.
‘Til the voting season’s over,
This campaigning is a pain.

But I know for whom I’m voting,
‘Cause she called me on the phone
And it wasn’t a recording,
Something I would not condone.

But she also left her number,
Saying I should call her back,
Rare for any politician,
Even one who’s right on track.

With so many in the race,
It must be hard to stay afloat,
But it only took a phone call
To secure my needed vote.

Funeral for a Comic

A funeral was held today,
Joan Rivers laid to rest,
Attracting many A-list names
With those who knew her best.

The eulogies were filled with jokes,
Evoking grins and smiles.
It's rare at funerals to find
Folks laughing in the aisles.

It's just the type of send-off
She most likely would have planned - 
The audience attentive,
Not a chance of getting panned.

At a service for a comic
Somber sobbing disappears,
For there's bound to be some laughter
Intermingled with the tears.

Croissant

Since with butter its batter is laced,
Adding calories quickly embraced,
            Why would anyone want
            To scarf down a croissant?
(Which, to me, doesn’t have any taste!)

Turntable Blues

I haven’t played a record
In more years than I can say,
Yet still I mourn the record player
That we ditched today.

It sat there in the living room
Accumulating dust,
But since we’re spiffing up the place
I really must adjust.

I’ll box my records in a crate
And hide them out of sight.
I have no way to play them,
But to toss them’s just not right.

Though music’s always in my life,
I’ve said goodbye to vinyl
And now that my turntable’s gone,
That farewell feels more final.

Cell Phone Photos

The streets were not the same today,
For nervousness did rule
As moms and dads escorted kids
Their first day back to school.

As cell phone cameras helped record
This memorable event,
I wondered if those parents knew
What’s not quite evident…

That years will slip right from their grasp
And melt into the past.
These monumental moments,
Though they’re precious, do not last.

At least I have those first day photos
In a dusty book,
But what will happen to the pics
On phones those people took?

The most important memories
Will vanish into air
Unless we print those images
To prove that we were there.

No Batteries Required

It’s hard to find a toy
That doesn’t run on double A’s,
A toy that lets imagination
Rule how someone plays.

I’m sick of toys that talk or sing
Or oink or quack or moo
And that’s the iceberg tip
Of what these modern toys can do.

A simple truck or doll or train
Lets children take control
As they navigate a made-up world -
And isn’t that the goal?

For those bells and all those whistles
They would likely leave behind
If presented with a good old-fashioned toy,
So hard to find.

Shelter

Massachusetts isn’t close
To Em and Henry’s farm
But still, a twister landed there
And did some major harm.

My bro-in-law got an alert
That shelter he should seek.
They hurried to the basement
But their dog began to freak.

Now Waldo is a greyhound
And has never mastered stairs.
The warning was unusual
And caught them unawares.

So bro and sis-in-law and pup
(Another family pet)
Just waited without Waldo
‘Til the ending of the threat.

The twister didn’t hit them;
They were fortunate this time,
But I think they have a reason
To teach Waldo how to climb!

Patch of Wild

In the middle of the city,
In the middle of the street,
There are buds in bloom
Where the crossroads meet.

Someone plopped some soil
And some wildflower seed
But with city soot,
Nothing’s guaranteed.

Yet those blossoms bloomed,
Never mind the threats
And those flowers look
Good as Nature gets.

Which just proves the point –
That you really can’t
Know who’ll flourish where –
Be it man or plant.