A Special Deal

The pitchman on the radio
Said, “Mothers’ Day’s next week.
So here’s a special deal for you,
To order as I speak.

One hundred flowers in a vase
For $19.99!”
He then gave the location
Where to find this deal online.

The offer came without a price
For shipping or for tax.
We figured it would be 10 bucks
Or 20 at the max.

But sending it on Mothers’ Day
Was 50 bucks to ship!
This “bargain” suddenly became
An offer we could skip.

Beware of ads that promise
Something sounding like a steal,
For the hidden costs not mentioned
Might just dampen the appeal.

Fanless

At Camden Yards in Baltimore,
The Orioles will play,
The White Sox from Chicago
Their opponents for today.

But players will not hear the cheers
Of all their rooting fans.
For ticket holders, refunds wait,
A crimp put in their plans.

‘Cause Baltimore’s in riot mode
And so the call was made
To ban the fans but for the teams,
Their game won’t be delayed.

They’ll bat and run and steal and slide
To silent empty seats,
With no one there to cheer or boo
Or care which team defeats.

This situation’s a surprise
And many just don’t buy it,
But emptiness is better than
A predetermined riot.

When Nature Gives You Porcupines

A porcupine, when threatened, will
Let loose upon his foe a quill
Or actually, I have a hunch
That he’d release a giant bunch.

I always knew about that use
But never knew that a papoose
Could find what every baby needs
Where quills are used instead of beads.

Yes, cradleboards and moccasins
And shirts or cloaks made out of skins
Were gussied up with filed-down quills
By Indians with awesome skills.

A new exhibit at the Met*
Has beadwork that I won’t forget
By Natives living on the Plains
Where porcupines shared their domains.

Or that is what I must assume
For every ornament and plume
They used to sew with (all by hand)
Was found nearby on native land.

That’s how it was in times gone by;
The local life could satisfy.
Those Indians, now mostly gone,
Today’d rely on Amazon!

*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC

Squirrels

Tourists gathered ‘round a tree,
With cell phone cameras out,
Are not impressed by daffodils
Or tulips soon to sprout.

They’re focused on a squirrel
Which, to jaded local eyes,
Wouldn’t rate a second glance
But somehow seems to tantalize.

For in many other places,
Squirrels simply don’t exist;
With their bushy tails and antics,
How could visitors resist?

Back when I was just a child,
An acquaintance pulled one’s tail
And was bitten rather badly;
Now a scar he could unveil.

Squirrels also raid the feeders
And deprive the birds of seed.
They’ll outsmart all the deterrents
With their cleverness and greed.

So let tourists take their photos
Of these rodents oh, so cute.
To New Yorkers, their attraction
Is a subject of dispute.

Compromised

“Your credit card’s been compromised
Perhaps, so just in case,
We’re sending out a new one
For the old one you’ll replace.

Please contact all the merchants
Where your number is on file.
You can substitute the new one.
(This may take a little while.”)

But I like my current number!
It’s a pain to make the change
And it’s not my fault that these accounts
I have to rearrange.

It’s a shame that we are living
In an age with so much fraud.
Still, when honest folk are punished,
It’s the system that seems flawed.

An Early Start

I love to get an early start
When all the world’s in bed,
So roads where traffic plagues me
Will have empty lanes instead.

I’ll get to stores just opening
And saunter through the aisles.
The checkout folk, not grumpy yet,
Will ring me up with smiles.

My chores complete, I’ll have the day
Where hours still await.
I’d better wrap this poem before
My early start is late!

Into the Sun

Driving the car when the sun starts to sink
Is blindingly glaringly tough.
You pull down the visor with Ray-Bans in place
But it really is never enough.

The traffic starts crawling and everyone brakes
‘Cause they can’t see the road up ahead,
So you stop and you start as you stare at a stream
Of the brake lights of cars gleaming red.

If you’re lucky a building will block out the rays
Or the sun will eventually set,
But it’s going to take you a much longer time
To arrive where you’re trying to get.

Waxing Moon

There's a waxing crescent moon tonight;
My grandson spied it first.
He pointed skyward with such glee
You'd think he'd been rehearsed.

Of course he didn't have the words
(He's nineteen months of age),
But show him once and sure enough,
His interest you'll engage.

He didn't know the waxing part
But many grown-ups, too,
If asked about the wax and wane
Won't have the slightest clue.

The moon suspended in the sky
Is really quite amazing
But unlike Henry, most folks never
Take the time for gazing.

Earth Day

Let’s make a cake of soil and mud
And top it with a flower bud.
We’ll decorate with rocks and twigs
And flavor it with fruits, like figs.

We’ll use no fuel to get it done,
But harness power from the sun.
It may get stale but look fantastic
(‘Cause it won’t be wrapped in plastic).

Then we’ll sing an Earth Day tune
Inspired by the stars and moon.
So Happy Earth Day – have a blast
Before this planet sees its last.

A Pot of Daffs

I bought some potted daffodils
To grace my windowsill.
Their yellow brightness warms the room
As flowers always will.

They’ll only last a week or two
But how my soul does dance
Each time that golden color
Draws me in for one quick glance.

I’ve made myself a promise
That I hope that I can keep –
That flowers will be waiting
When I rise and go to sleep.

I’ve reached the point in life
Where what I really understand
Is how vital it can be to have
Such beauty close at hand.

On My Watch

While on my watch today,
My grandson fell and split his lip.
It wasn’t quite my fault, but still,
I thought my heart would rip.

One minute he was racing
Back and forth in utter glee,
When suddenly he tripped and flopped
Three steps away from me.

I scooped him up and hugged him close;
His blood dripped on my shirt.
I knew he’d be okay
But couldn’t stand that he was hurt.

An ice pop offered by his mom
Both soothed and made him smile.
In minutes, he was up to snuff
And ready to beguile.

His lip will still be puffy
For a day, but it will heal;
Yet it will take much longer
To get over how I feel.

Spring Chicken

“You’re not a spring chicken,”
My husband blurts out.
The truth in that statement’s
Beyond any doubt.

My running around’s
Surely taken its toll,
As Nature reminds me
I’m not in control.

For age has its limits
And mine’s reached a peak.
What I do in a day
Should spread over a week.

I try for it all
But my body’s refused.
As I conk on the couch,
There’s my husband – amused!

Somewhere in Between

The day begins and then it ends
But somewhere in between
Is where the memories are made
From breaks in the routine.

It needn’t be a far-off trip
To some exotic place;
Perhaps a quiet respite from
Life’s often frenzied pace…

Or just a sunny afternoon
Of backyard fun and frolic.
(A city playground works as well –
It needn’t be bucolic.)

A once-a-lifetime happening’s
A rare and special treat,
But simple days we’ll recollect
Make life feel more complete.

I am the Hurdle

I am the hurdle that needs to be cleared,
The stumbling block in the way.
All would be perfect if I disappeared;
A rainbow would rise every day.

I am the glitch and the knot in the chain,
The obstacle smack in the path.
Shutting me up would be everyone’s gain;
My words seem to whet people’s wrath.

I’m the impediment here to prevent
What progress there is to be made.
My purpose appears to provoke discontent,
Like a welcome that’s been overstayed.

Waking me up like a slap in the face
Is the knowledge of how I’m perceived –
As a hurdle to leap with no thought to embrace
Any truth in the thoughts I’ve believed.

Remembrance

The siren sounds, the traffic stops,
Pedestrians all pause;
The country screeches to a halt,
Not ‘cause of any laws.

It’s Holocaust Remembrance Day.*
In Israel, they expect
A silent stoppage as a show
Of ultimate respect.

Six million people labeled Jews
All suffered ‘til they died.
Survivors tell their stories
Yet the hatred won’t subside.

Two minutes’ time is all it takes
For life to stop and yet,
We shouldn’t need reminding
Of what no one should forget.

*Yom Hashoah in Hebrew

Crumbs

We work for them and drop them
So pigeons have a feast.
Indoors, they hide in dread of
The vacuum cleaner beast.

On coffee cakes and muffins,
They're something that we prize
And often they are sprinkled
On huckleberry pies.

The detritus of dinners
Or what's left when one succumbs,
Our lives are filled with highs and lows,
With both containing crumbs.

My Wallet

My wallet has credit cards
And my I.D.
(My license to drive
With a picture of me.)

My library card and
My store discount stash
Share limited space with
My limited cash.

Insurance I.D.'s,
Safety pins and receipts
Nestle next to my photos,
Such room-hogging treats.

Appointment reminders,
My pass for the Zoo
Stretch the leather along with
My Garden pass, too.

Add a band-aid and stamps 
And a bunch of loose change;
When I take out my wallet,
Folks look at me strange.

I bought a small pocketbook - 
Thought I would try it -
But first off, my wallet
Must go on a diet!

Las Vegas

Designed for spending money,
It's devoid of any soul.
Gamble, smoke and guzzle,
For depravity's the goal.

Flash and glitz and dazzle,
Fancy stores with no one buying;
Mothers dragging babies late at night
In strollers, crying.

Eiffel Tower, Pyramid,
Volcano timed to quake;
Flower carousel and Brooklyn Bridge - 
And all are fake.

Even the reality's
Designed to blow your mind -
Fountains and flamingos,
Tanks with fish of every kind.

Once a lifetime's quite enough
To take in all the hype.
A million cities beckon -
All, I'm certain, more my type.

Seeing Elton

The last time I saw Elton,
He was not the leading act.
At the Fillmore, Leon Russell starred -
A most surprising fact.

It's 40 odd years later
And I just saw him perform.
For most musicians, drawing crowds
For years is not the norm.

But Elton John sure packed them in -
Deservedly, for sure.
Now settled in Las Vegas,
He no longer needs to tour.

The people flock to hear him sing
And he puts on a show.
His piano chops and presence,
Like his costumes, seem to glow.

Yet mostly, I was taken
By the comments that he'd make.
Such humble homage to the crowd
Is very hard to fake.

So here's to many years to come
In Elton John's career.
As long as he's on stage, I'm sure
The audience will cheer.

Tumbleweed

Driving in the city,
I'm used to many things -
Crazy cabbies, honking horns,
Pigeons spreading wings.

Inattentive texters, 
Speeding messengers on bikes,
Nannies pushing strollers filled
With bored or wailing tykes.

Buses not in service,
Doormen whistles blowing,
Drivers who have no idea
Which way they should be going.

But one thing I have never seen
Until my current trip
Is tumbleweed go tumbling by -
It really made me flip.

Like a bunch of dancing hay clumps,
All this tumbleweed bounced by.
As it somersaulted on,
You couldn't miss it if you'd try.

It looked comical yet scary,
Almost alien to me,
Not at all like on the westerns
That I once watched on TV.

For a city gal, I'll tell you,
This was special, that is true,
But I hope I never see it
Roll down Second Avenue!

Bryce

Though photographs, of course, entice
And guide books give their ratings,
Too many people pay the price
With yes or no debatings.

So let me offer my advice - 
If you need a vacation,
Though Vegas has the slots and dice,
A better destination

Is Utah, where amazing Bryce
Will leave your senses reeling;
Superlatives will not suffice
To nail what you'll be feeling.

Allow me to be quite concise -
It really is your duty
To visit; Bryce is twice as nice
As any other beauty.

Zion

Adjectives can't cut it
When you're gazing up in awe.
Even photos don't do justice
To describe what you just saw.

The colors and formations -
Different every way you turn -
Are reminders that, with travel,
There is so much you can learn.

I am humbled and I'm grateful
That I've had the chance to visit
All the beauty that is Zion -
(Here's my adjective) - exquisite!

Baby on a Plane

A baby that screams on a plane,
Whether tired, unfed or in pain,
     Must be calmed at all costs
     For when patience exhausts
All the passengers will go insane!

For Tomorrow

This poem is for tomorrow
But I’m writing it today
Because I will be traveling
Both hours and miles away.

I may not have the wherewithal
To transfer thoughts to rhyme
So I’ll compose these verses now
To post another time.

Pretending it’s the future
Is both dangerous and brave;
If tomorrow never comes you waste
The effort that you gave.

To the few who even read this,
You might be a tad confused
Though for yesterday’s idea, I was
(And am!) still most enthused.

The Beginning

A quote from Plato says it best –
The most important part
Of any work that someone does
Takes place right at the start.

Of course, one needs to see it through
So some would say depending
Upon completion (or its lack)
The crux must be the ending.

But I’m with Plato all the way
For there can be no winning
Or satisfaction at the end
If there’d been no beginning.

Last of the Snow

The last of the snow, in dirty batches,
Dots the land in random patches.
Stubbornly, it will not melt,
Kind of like how Frosty felt.

As the temps, though, start to rise
We’ll witness all this snow’s demise
And as it seeps into the ground,
It disappears, ‘til next time ‘round.

The crocuses are breaking through,
Preparing for their spring debut.
Impatient to unfurl their wings,
They thumb their nose at snow that clings.

Matzoh

Some say it tastes like cardboard
While others think it’s great.
The way you feel about it
Isn’t worth a big debate.

For if your background’s Jewish
You’ll consume it for a week,
In honor of tradition
Or acknowledgement you seek.

I like mine spread with butter
And a slice of Muenster cheese
Or mixed with egg for matzoh* brei,
A breakfast sure to please.

But when the week is over,
Let me make this very clear,
I will not taste another bite
‘Til Passover next year!

*or matzo, matzah or any other spelling you like!

Birthday Thoughts

I’ve gotten cards, I’ve gotten calls.
Acknowledgement is nice,
But wipe away ten years or so?
I’d do it in a trice.

I wouldn’t want to start again –
Once ‘round is quite enough –
But as the years add up, I’ll soon
Be calling Nature’s bluff.

Yet as it is, I’ll celebrate,
With some I hold so dear,
This date which means I’ve made it through
Another fleeting year.

Perfect After All

A glorious day in the playground,
My grandson by my side,
Seemed perfect but, in life, you know,
Perfection’s oft denied.

So walking home I noticed that
An earring’d disappeared,
A loss most likely permanent,
Or that was what I feared.

I twice went back, retraced my steps,
Looked under slides and swings
And tried to find the calm
Which resignation often brings.

Though days have passed, I thought I’d search
Just one more time in case
My missing earring would show up,
An ending I’d embrace.

So take a guess and you’ll be right –
 I found it on the ground,
Beside the slide and where a million
Footprints can be found.

It isn’t shiny so it was
A miracle for sure.
To toddlers, birds and squirrels
It had negative allure.

But looking back upon that day,
It felt just like a dream.
Perfection, after all,
Is more at hand than it may seem.

Tim Gunn

If you’ve watched Project Runway
Then you know its starring role
Isn’t model or designer
But Tim Gunn, its heart and soul.

His is mentor and advisor
And the one who keeps the peace.
He’s the shoulder folks can cry on
When some tears need a release.

With his pocket squares and pin stripes,
In each jazzy suit and shirt,
He’s both classy and flamboyant,
Like some elegant dessert.

On the stage to answer questions
He was witty, wise and charming
And his penchant for the truth
Struck me as utterly disarming.

All the audience delighted
In this star of Project Runway.
I felt privileged to listen
To the stories told Tim Gunn way!