Windshield Wipers

Most of them go side to side
In rhythm and together,
To keep our visibility
In wet or wintry weather.

But some go from the corners in
And meet right in the middle,
Like bows quick-drawn across the strings
Of cello, bass or fiddle.

In “Wheels on the Bus,” the sound they make
Is “swish swish swish,” although
Reality must disagree -
But that’s the way things go.

No matter, they are useful tools
When driving in the rain.
Without their help, a rainy road trip
Sure would be insane!

Ah, Youth!

Younger people slake their thirst - 
No reason to endure it - 
With water or another drink
As quick as they procure it.

But older folk will agonize
Although they may secure it,
'Cause if they drink enough to quench,
Their bladders just can't store it.

Though young and old alike may share
A quenching-thirst ability,
It's only older ones who care
'Bout where's the next facility.

Neck and Neck

In competition, neck and neck
They held each other's pace.
The crowd was rooting silently
The whole entire race.

The both of them so well-prepared,
They'd practiced and they'd trained,
So every possibility
Their brains had entertained.

The final minutes soon approached
And I was thrilled to see
Both Vanya* and Gokul* were winners
Of the Spelling Bee!


*Vanya Shivashankar and Gokul Venkatachalam
were declared co-winners of the 2015
Scripps National Spelling Bee last night.

Writing a Poem

This is what I need to write –
A pencil and a pad
And someplace where the background noise
Won’t drive me friggin’ mad.

Of course I need a topic
Which will get my brain in gear
Or else from my surroundings,
Inspiration may appear.

The first line leaps like lightning
From the pencil to the page.
The rest proceeds more slowly
As the thoughts and rhymes engage.

But the ending, ah the ending
Is the toughest nut to crack,
The point where many chuck it all
And let the words go slack.

So oftentimes I’ll read my poem
Again and yet again
Until I find a way to end
And then I’ll say – amen!

Garlic Knots

A garlic knot, when nice and hot,
Is something that I like a lot.
One little bite brings pure delight
And ramps my taste buds outta sight.

The oil does ooze and helps infuse
Each bite with flavor as one chews.
It makes a mess but nonetheless,
It’s worth a stain on shirt or dress.

A health food nut will spew his gut
On why such knots are evil, but
He might just find he’d change his mind
If on one garlic knot he dined!

New Sneaks

My new striped sneakers might be cool
Or creepy, I can’t tell.
The price was right and socks or not,
They fit me very well.

With rounded toe and laces black
And soles both thick and white,
They make my feet resemble boats
Yet still, they look all right.

I hemmed and hawed inside the store
And then made my decision,
Expecting that my spouse would look
At them with some derision.

But he was undecided, too,
So this was his reply:
“Pharrell* could wear those and on him,
You know they’d look real fly**.”

They’re on my feet right now and there
They will reside a spell;
But still, they might be creepy -
After all, I’m no Pharrell!

*Pharrell Williams
**cool (not my husband’s exact words, I must admit!)

Happy Days

Good friends, good food, good weather - hey,
What more could one desire?
(I guess I'd add close family ties
Or else I'd be a liar!)

But hanging out with those you like
Or even those you love 
Is what the stuff of happy days 
Appears to be made of.

An anecdote, a sip of wine
And some camaraderie
In comfortable surroundings
Is the perfect day for me.

How lucky if you have the chance
To laugh, relax and schmooze*
And for the icing on the cake -
It's nice to have some booze!

*converse

Pollen

The porch is piled with pollen,
Transported by the breeze
And though I'm not allergic,
It's enough to make me sneeze.

It's powdered on the table
And it's dusted on the floor.
As the vacuum bag gets fatter,
Soon there is no room for more.

It's a constant losing battle
'Cause we clean up every trace
But when we wake up tomorrow,
There'll be more to take its place.

Irises

Van Gogh painted irises
That everyone admires.
In gardens, very often,
They’re the flower that inspires.

I, however, am not swayed
By any iris charms.
To me, they look quite evil,
Setting off my brain’s alarms.

Though irises have many fans,
I’m sure I’m not alone,
Which proves that famous saying’s truth –
That is, to each his own.

Three Day Weekend

For those who work, a three day weekend
Feels like a reward,
The culmination of a goal
That they’ve been working toward.

It’s just one extra day and yet,
It feels like so much more,
A chance to catch up on the things
On workdays, they’d ignore.

But even for the unemployed
And, too, retirees,
A holiday on Monday
Somehow really seems to please.

So happy weekend, one and all;
Enjoy this little break.
Forgetting why the day is free, though,
Would be a mistake.

To Be In Sync

In married life, I really think
It helps a lot to be in sync
For if your wavelengths seem to match,
There won't be holes you'll have to patch.

Your lifestyle choices should agree
Though even that won't guarantee
Smooth sailing in the years ahead
(Which most expect when they are wed).

When differences at times appear
And one of you've slipped out of gear,
You've got to find a middle place
Which both of you will then embrace.

For big decisions must be shared;
Together, then, you'll be prepared
To face the future as a team.
(It's not as hard as it may seem.)

Endowments

How, oh how, can some endow
A building wing? Well, holy cow!
So many millions must impress
All comers, thanks to their largess.

Such lavish generosity
Is well beyond the scope of me,
For sums like that I won’t pretend
Are numbers I can comprehend.

Yet so much more than any bank
These benefactors we should thank,
For their donations help us out
And that’s what giving’s all about.

Of course, they get some tax deducted
When their building wing’s constructed.
Plus, they get their just acclaim
When on the walls, we view their name.

Endowments, though, will hardly drain
The cash their bank accounts contain.
It must be nice to scratch that itch
And give, but still be filthy rich!

Under the Bed

Under the bed there are lots of things stored:
(In the city, such space simply can’t be ignored.)
An alternate quilt meant for wintertime use,
A cart for the laundry with one wheel that’s loose;

My black boots and brown boots and costumes and props
From short plays I’ve written (and none of them flops!).
A newspaper stack with some articles saved,
A Chinese umbrella my daughter once craved;

A pocketbook gift with the tags on (too big!),
Some art supplies, books and a Halloween wig,
A suitcase with clothes that I no longer wear –
That just about covers what’s hiding down there.

I’m certain my storage spot isn’t unique;
It’s private and perfect – if no one will peek!

Henry at the Wheel

The carnival had rides galore –
A Ferris wheel, a carousel
And some that spun around real fast
While flying in the air, as well.

For little kids, there were the cars
That circled ‘round upon a track.
When I saw Henry at the wheel,
I sure was taken quite aback.

He’s 20 months and wants to be
In charge of all if he’s allowed.
Why, eating yogurt by himself
(With his own spoon!) sure made him proud.

His parents took him to the fair
And sat him with a little friend
Inside a race car where they both
Indulged and steered and played pretend.

A second ride was by himself
And that’s when I came strolling by,
Surprised and thrilled and nervous
And emotions which I might deny.

They grow up oh, so fast! I never
Realized all the ways I’d feel
When gazing at my grandson,
Not a baby now, behind the wheel.

West Side Story

Since “West Side Story” hit the stage,
No show could quite compare.
Such music, lyrics, dances, plot
Are magical and rare.

The gorgeous tunes you can’t forget
Are Bernstein at his best
And Sondheim’s words would leave the world’s
Top poets most impressed.

The choreography delights
With every Robbins move
And Arthur Laurents told the tale;
Will Shakespeare would approve.

I saw the play again today;
It never lets me down,
Deserving every accolade
That’s earned it its renown.

Giving Gifts

It’s very tricky giving gifts
‘Cause it can be a waste
If what you’ve chosen doesn’t jibe
With the receiver’s taste.

The hours you spend searching
For what they will love, you hope,
Often ends with shallow smiles
And the verdict clearly – nope!

‘Cause the vibe was off, the size was wrong,
The color or the style
Missed the mark that you were aiming for,
By possibly a mile.

For those folks who hate to risk it,
Well, a gift card might suffice,
But a gift that hits the sweet spot
For the giver’s twice as nice.

A Poem

A poem is written to be read
If only by the poet.
Of course, it's gratifying if
To others she can show it.

But oftentimes, the words remain
Just floating there, in limbo,
The writer standing to the side
With head cocked, arms akimbo.

Yet even if no feedback comes,
The poet's had her say
And when she reads what she has penned,
She smiles and feels okay.

Basket, Bag or Hamper

The hamper of my youth was built
Into the bathroom wall.
You got undressed and tossed your clothes
Next to the shower stall.

When I left home, a laundry bag
Held items for the wash,
As much as in a canvas sack
Your arms could cram or squash.

Today a wicker basket
Is where clothing sits and waits
‘Til the day it’s overflowing
‘Cause of what accumulates.

Be it basket, bag or hamper,
Take a glance and you’ll know when
You must empty out the contents
Just to fill it once again.

Winky Dink

If you are of a certain age
Then you are on the brink
Of possibly forgetting
Watching “You and Winky Dink.”*

A children’s show on CBS
On Saturday each week,
It drew us in because it had
A gimmick quite unique.

For fifty cents you sent away
And got a plastic screen
With “magic” crayons that you used
As part of the routine.

The screen stuck to the TV set
And Winky Dink (a toon)
Instructed us to help him out
At moments opportune:

Connect the dots or else decode
A message being sent;
(The purchase of the screens, of course,
The studio’s intent.)

How many children must have marred
Their parents’ one TV?
For crayons used without the screen
Seems like a guarantee.

Of simpler times was “Winky Dink”
Yet see how life connects –
Those former tots still write on screens
But now they’re sending texts!

*really called “Winky Dink and You”
 (a little poetic license here!)

On the Loose

Fifteen bison hit the road
With freedom on their mind,
Without a backward glance to see
The ranch they left behind.

When word got out, the cops were called
Though they were unprepared
To deal with creatures of that size.
(I’d guess that they were scared.)

The bison crossed a highway;
Trucks were skidding to a halt,
With accidents avoided
(Though no one would be at fault).

There is a sad conclusion,
The decision being made
To shoot them all, a sorry end
To their brief escapade.

The days when bison roamed the plains
Are lost and gone for good,
A fact that these poor shaggy beasts
Might have misunderstood.

Humidity

Humidity’s validity
Is limited to plants
‘Cause people would avoid it
If they only had the chance.

For mugginess, like bugginess,
Does nothing but annoy.
It’s not the type of weather
That I ever could enjoy.

The ickiness of stickiness
Just brings me to my knees.
I’m sure I’m not the only one
Who’d much prefer to freeze!

For the Moms

Mothers always take the blame
When kids do something wrong
And they're the culprits if their offspring
Just don't get along.

Yet they deserve the credit
For their nine-month rent-free womb,
Which isn't quite as easy
As some menfolk would assume.

They kiss the boo-boos, warm the milk,
Make playdates, buy the clothes
And do a million little things
Nobody really knows.

Of course they have some help and yes,
They make mistakes as well,
But Mothers' Day is not the time
On deficits to dwell.

Instead, let's hear it for the moms
Who do what they do best- 
Devote their lives to those they love
With very little rest!

Self-Service Car Wash

Slide your quarters, grab the hose.
(Point away from eyes and nose.)
Power spray to loosen dirt;
One more time now wouldn't hurt.

Grasp the soap brush - scrub that foam;
Top to bottom - almost home.
Coat the roof if you have wet it;
If you're short - well, just forget it.

Timer's ticking - spritz some water.
Uh-oh - better add a quarter.
Watch those suds as they come pooling;
Almost done, but who you fooling?

Though the car looks slightly better,
Mostly it's just much much wetter!

A Patio Umbrella

A patio umbrella
That provides a patch of shade
Makes a backyard much more pleasant,
Worth each penny that you paid.

For the glaring sun can scorch you
Or make sweat run down your face
But beneath your canvas rooflet,
There's a cool and comfy place.

Someone sure deserves a medal,
Plus some royalties in pay,
For outwitting what Apollo
Thinks it's fun to send our way.

Cousins

Most have several, others dozens
But it's nice to have some cousins.
Unlike siblings, who may fight,
Cousins get along all right.

With connections formed when young,
Cousins count as those among
The people who go way way back
And know your strengths or what you lack. 

Of course, some cousins grow apart
Or never let a friendship start 
But if you're lucky, you may find
Support from years you've left behind.

For cousins can remind us how
We used to be, compared to now.

Milkshake

A malted made without the malt
You may think a mistake,
But take a sip - it still tastes great
Though now it's called a shake.

A real one, though, comes with a tin
Directly from the shaker,
A second glass-worth sitting there,
A present from the maker.

You slurp it down, so cool and sweet
And when your straw hits air,
You pour a refill from the tin,
So calmly waiting there.

There's nothing like a milkshake
When you're really in the mood -
A splurge, a treat, a pure delight 
And better than most food!

Que Sera, Sera

My aunt was laid to rest today
With eulogies and rain.
Her children wept and shoveled dirt
In disbelief and pain.

Her life was long and full and rich;
She clearly was adored,
With all of those attending,
Admiration-wise, on board.

My aunt loved "Que sera, sera"
And someone sang it out.
We all joined in, accepting what
That song is all about.

A funeral's an ending
But reminds us we should see
That the future proves the chorus -
What will be will surely be.

Absorbing

You don’t consume a second meal
Before the first’s digested.
Your senses need some time to sort
The tastes you’ve just invested.

The same holds true for things you see
Or places where you travel.
Experience requires time
To stick, or might unravel.

When news is gotten, good or bad,
It takes a little while
To seep inside and be absorbed
In your specific style.

You cannot rush the process;
It may sometimes be quite slow,
But bombarding of the body
Or the mind’s not how to go.

Aunt Helen

My parents never took me
To a concert or a show.
The city wasn’t where they ever
Felt the need to go.

But luckily, I was exposed
To things that did enchant.
For that I owe a debt
To the umbrella of my aunt.

As metaphor, she took me in
And underneath her wing,
She opened up the world to me,
The joy that it could bring.

The Philharmonic, Broadway shows,
Hot chocolate made from scratch;
The special times I spent with her
Nobody else could match.

The other meaning’s literal –
For just like Cinderella,
I felt transformed as I would twirl
My very first umbrella.

It was my favorite gift from her –
Emblazoned with my name;
There haven’t been too many since
That made me feel the same.

Aunt Helen will be laid to rest
But she will always be
A person who knew just the way
To reach the soul of me.

I Gaze Inside

I gaze inside myself and see
One who once was twenty-three,
With all of life stretched out ahead
And no idea where she’d be led.

That person still exists inside.
Her presence cannot be denied;
But much of life is now behind
And strange to say, I do not mind.

Little Bird

Little bird with pretty song,
Sorry, but I think it’s wrong
For you to sing your tune so sweet,
‘Cause 2 a.m.’s no time to tweet!