Round and Round

I hate that little circle
That goes round and round and round.
Impatiently I stare at it
'Til what it seeks is found.

And what exactly does it seek?
A signal from the air?
Permission from the carrier
To show me what is there?

There must be some sadistic dude
Who's pulling all the strings
And laughing at my plight
With the frustration that it brings.

The internet, when working,
Has the world at its command
But its slowness to connect
I simply cannot understand.

Italian Ices

A friend in the hospital
Made a request
When the topic of
What I could bring was addressed.

Just a few blocks away
There’s a stand that sells ices,
Both water and crème-style;
Each flavor entices.

The weather was hot
And it started to rain
But I made it to Ralph’s;
I’d not visit in vain.

With two scoops in the dish
That my friend likes to get,
I walked quickly so they
Wouldn’t melt or get wet.

Though the bag fell apart,
I accomplished my goal
As my friend ate the ices
I hoped would console.

Such a small thing for me,
The most easy of chores
But a mountain for someone
Who’s stranded indoors.

Hamilton, the Play

All the buzz is justified;
If I’d said different, I’d’a lied.
A slice of history unfurled
Like nothing else that’s in the world.

Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote
The lyrics, book and every note
Of music, all in hip-hop time
With such creative, perfect rhyme.

For everyone who has the chance,
Go see it, for it will enhance
Your theater props, with bragging rights
(And more if you’ve seen “In the Heights”*).

*Lin-Manuel Miranda’s previous play

Comfortable

My mother wore a duster
(Or a housedress) ‘round the house,
Which was once the garb of women
(Even lacking kids or spouse).

It was likely made of cotton
In a shift-style meant for ease,
Much more comfortable for housework
Than a pair of dungarees.

I’m not sure if stores still sell them
But the reasoning was right,
For when I’m at home I’m wearing
Clothes the opposite of tight.

They may be quite old and baggy
But they’re just the togs for me
Since the most important rule of home
Is comfort is the key.

Laughter

Laughter is a balm to soothe
Whatever makes you ache
And those who would reject that thought
Are making a mistake.

Just spend an afternoon or eve
With friends from long ago
And reminisce until the giggles
Start to overflow.

For when you’re caught up having fun
The bad stuff slinks away,
Afraid to tamper with the joy
On obvious display.

If only we could bottle up
Those laughs for future use,
Then all the sadness lurking ‘round
Perhaps we could reduce.

The Spread of Queen Anne's Lace

A weed that’s known as Queen Anne’s Lace
Is here and there and everyplace –
Along the highway, in the fields,
Deaf to every sneeze it yields.

Tall and straggly, it’s beguiled
Flies and bugs where it grows wild,
Lured not by its scent outstanding
But its flat top, great for landing.

Humans, though, don’t like it much
For like dandelions and such,
Its profusion proves, indeed,
That it’s just a lowly weed.

Oft, I rush to weeds’ defense;
This time, though, I’m on the fence
For swaths of land might lose the race
Against the spread of Queen Anne’s lace.

My Jangly Anklet

My jangly anklet's lined with bells
So you'll know when I'm near.
Its tinkly sound is one that I
Am happy when I hear.

It drives my husband crazy
And when I am in a crowd,
I slow my pace to keep the bells
From jingling too loud.

I do not wear it much 'cause feet-wise
Quiet is the norm
And I don't have the chutzpah*
To take neighborhoods by storm.

Yet when I'm in my comfort zone
Then one of life's true joys
Is jangling at every step
And grinning at the noise.

*nerve

A Dose of Happy

I'm tired of hearing news that's bad.
It really drags me down.
My smile is morphing into
What's much closer to a frown.

I know the likelihood of this
Increases as we age.
To understand that life will end
One needn't be a sage.

Yet right now I could use a dose
Of happy in my cup,
Which I'm certain Henry* will provide
As soon as he wakes up...


*my 22 month old grandson, currently napping

Hospital Visit

The outside world does not exist
When you’re ensconced inside.
The rules of weather, time and season
Cannot be applied.

The news is of no consequence;
For movies, it’s the same,
The focus resting on the walls
And what they seem to frame.

The steady beeps of monitors,
The padded nurses’ feet
Provide a soundtrack for the scene
To make it more complete.

To patients stretched out on the beds,
The visitors on chairs
Are welcome interruptions
To which nothing else compares.

The hours drag on with friends’ farewells;
The captives wait or sleep
While lulled into submission
With each rhythmic beep…beep…beep.

Christmas in July

A really weird tradition’s
Known as Christmas in July.
There was Santa ho-ho-hoing,
Leaving me to wonder – why?

It was boiling hot and sunny
On the boardwalk by the beach
So the Yuletide decorations
Seemed a trifle out of reach.

Folks with bathing suits paraded
Past some carolers and “snow.”
Many seemed to catch the spirit –
For what reason, I don’t know.

Though it’s Scrooge-like to admit it,
There’s no reason I should lie;
I can tolerate December
But not Christmas in July.

A Second Beer

I had a second beer, oh dear,
But now I’ve made it home.
Yet what is very clear, I fear,
Is I can’t write a poem.

My brain is not in gear, so here
Is all that I’ve composed.
Whatever does appear, I fear’s
Ineptitude exposed.

One Foot Forward

In certain neighborhoods, this is
What all the shoe stores do:
When customers want sneakers,
They may only try one shoe.

At first they’re given just the left
And if it’s not too tight,
They give the salesman back the shoe
Then they try on the right.

There is no chance to walk around
With both shoes on their feet,
Unless they make a purchase
And are holding the receipt.

It seems that thieves have ruined things
When sneaker buyers shop
Unless, as an alternative,
Each shoe store hired a cop!

Other People's Vacations

When friends recount their travels
They sound wonderful, although
Most often they describe a place
I might not want to go…

Or even if the destination’s
Someplace to entice,
Their version of the trip is not
My type of paradise.

For everyone’s vacation
Is unique, like DNA.
We all have certain things we like
To do when we’re away.

We’re lucky if, vacation-wise,
Our plans can be in sync
With spouse or friends or relatives
Who share the way we think.

While I enjoy renditions
Of the trips my friends describe,
My own will be quite different
From the ones they would prescribe.

When planning trips, I let my yens
And fancies be my guide
Since my on-my-wavelength husband
Will be right there by my side.

Replacements

To me, when objects are replaced,
The time they represent's erased,
So memories, which they've imbued,
May fade and I'll be left to brood.

My dishes with their many chips,
My favorite jeans with shreds and rips
Were bought in times of different styles
Yet through the years, brought many smiles.

My old front door, all streaked with rust
Should be exchanged and so, too, must
The bathroom floors and heating grills;
Anxiety within me fills.

These upgrades are within my reach;
I don't need a convincing speech.
I'll go along and chuck the old,
Not only 'cause I've been cajoled...

And once the new things are in place,
Their freshness I will then embrace,
But part of me will still be sad
And miss the well-worn things I had. 

In Confidence

When something's told in confidence
There is no "if" or "but."
The teller's expectation is
Your mouth will stay quite shut.

It's tempting, though, to spill the beans
For secrets have a way
Of demanding that you let them out
At once, without delay.

If friendship is at stake it's best
To nod and acquiesce,
Though keeping something under wraps
Is bound to up one's stress.

Posting Woes

When away from my computer,
I will post my poems instead
Finger-pecking on my cell phone,
In the hope that they’ll be read.

Though it takes a little longer
And to errors I am prone,
I am helpless to correct them;
All the blame goes to the phone.

So at times these poems are posted
More than once or even twice,
Leaving me a bit embarrassed
Since just one time would suffice.

When I’m home again, my desktop
Helps correct my every glitch
And the new posts that I enter
Will go off without a hitch.

My apologies to readers
If you see a poem repeat.
Maybe someday on my cell, I’ll learn
Just how I can delete.

Mud and Stings

Three wasps or hornets (I'm not clear)
Once stung my brother in his ear.
In memory, I hear his cries
Of shock and pain and pure surprise.

A horde of moms wiped off the blood
And slathered on a coat of mud,
An act my brother did endure,
Intuiting a soothing cure.

My bro was fine; the stings all healed
Yet what this incident revealed
Was how those women somehow knew,
Together, just what they should do.

Those moms are either old or dead
But what they did stuck in my head.
Communal help for one in need
Is recollection-worth, indeed.

My Towel

When stepping from the shower,
Dripping wet and set to dry,
I like to know a bath sheet’s
On alert and standing by.

It needn’t be expensive
Nor the fluffiest of brands,
Just large enough to wrap me up,
The simplest of demands.

For the towels they call “bath size,”
Though I guess they’d do the trick,
Aren’t quite the ones in bath departments
I would ever pick.

There are other stipulations;
As for colors – dark is best
And one tiny other factor
Really needs to be addressed.

Growing up, we shared our towels,
Which my parents thought was fine,
But the towel hanging on the right
Today is only mine!

Pencil Mechanics

I have some mechanical pencils
And poof! With just one little click,
The lead is supposed to emerge and
Of course, in that pose it should stick.

But lo and behold, it’s not working!
The lead starts to slip and to slide
And just when I’m jotting a thought down,
It playfully slips back inside.

It’s better to keep to the old kind,
The yellowish ones made of wood.
They’re trusty and steadfast and stable;
It’s hard to improve on what’s good.

Yet there’s just the tiniest drawback –
When writing a lot, as I do,
If I carry a regular pencil,
I must carry a sharpener, too!

Bleeps

When bleeps come on the radio
To mask the true intent
Of certain words in talk or song,
We all know what was meant.

“I really do not give a bleep!”
“Go bleep yourself!” as well,
Don’t need imagination
For as far as I can tell…

Whenever bleeps will substitute
For “dirty” words instead,
Whoever listens surely hears
The right words in his head.

So why not let the proper phrase
Be uttered on the station?
I’m sure that hearing “bleep” and “bleep”
Won’t cause our ruination!

Wearing a Hat

A hat can hide a head that's bald
Or one with unwashed hair.
It often makes the wearer feel
That he or she has flair.

Protection from the sun or rain
A hat can, too, provide.
The wind won't get to tresses
When a cap's tucked them inside.

Of late, I've started sporting hats
Of many styles and brims.
I choose the one that matches
What I'm wearing or my whims.

The only drawback that I find
Is when I'm dining out
Or in the theater where no racks
Or closets are about...

I have no clue where it should go
Or what to do with it,
So through the show or meal
Upon my lap it gets to sit.

A tiny price to pay, I think;
We go the extra mile
And suffer just a little bit
To strut around in style.

Watching Tennis

Watching tennis is a treat
When those who are elite compete
With lunges, leaps and smashing serves
That rise above mere mortals' nerves.

Such slicing shots, such smashing drops,
Near-misses when the heart just stops;
They race around the court so fast
As if each point might be the last.

We sit at home, on couch or chair
And catch the action on the air.
To me, no sport is quite as sweet
As watching tennis pros compete.

Family Ties

A mother sent her son a box,
Her husband's ties inside.
They ranged from subtle narrow stripes
To paisleys, very wide.

He stuck them in a closet where
They sat for many years,
But finding them again seemed to
Engage his thinking gears.

"I'll wear a tie each day," he thought
And told his artist friend,
Who captured them in paint
Right from the start until the end.

He wondered as he wore each one
Just how his father felt
At work, at home and how he liked
The hand that he was dealt.

Each different pattern placed him in
His dad's shoes for a day.
Some ties were stained and one was burned - 
How did they get that way?

He wore them all and at the end
He boxed them up again
Including, too, a tie of his,
For when his sons are men.

Perhaps they'll wear them once, as well
Or maybe they'll get tossed
But hopefully, some memories
Will last and not get lost.

Your Sleeping Side

If you share a bed, you know
You’ve each staked out a side
And once that’s done, it can’t be changed
(At least, that’s what’s implied).

Your sleep position may be switched
A hundred times a night,
But what won’t budge is if it’s on
The left side or the right.

In hotel rooms, the same applies –
We seek our comfort zone
(A problem that you will not have
If you’re in bed alone).

I know I’d be uncomfortable
(Annoyed, but not bereft)
If ever I were forced to shift
And slumber on the left.

Summer Buzz

Flies and moths and wasps and bees
Flit among the summer trees
Searching for, while they’re in flight,
A proper place to take a bite…

Or use a stinger, poised to stick,
(Or grabby claws, if one’s a tick).
Whatever creature’s in their way
May find them hard to keep at bay.

We humans, though we are aware,
Are still not able to prepare
And so, we often are annoyed
By insects that we can’t avoid.

This season’s great in many ways –
The flowers, warmth and longer days,
But I’m not one who’s summer-smitten
‘Cause I don’t like being bitten!

'Round the Bend

When your life is going smoothly,
It’s so simple to pretend
That no negatives are waiting
To assault you ‘round the bend.

Don’t succumb and get complacent,
Thinking joy will never end,
For its opposite is lurking
And it’s right around the bend.

It’s much better if you’re ready,
Which is why I recommend
Never flaunting jubilation;
Sorrow’s skulking ‘round the bend.

Refrain

Sittin' on the back porch;
Sun is sinkin' low.
Nowhere that I need to be
Or that I want to go.

Radio is playin' tunes
I'm happy to be hearin'.
No one's noises from next door
Are loud or interferin'.

Food leftover tasted good;
Beer was dark and heady.
There's a smile within my heart;
Whatever comes, I'm ready.

Weekend worked out wonderfully
Despite a day of rain.
Life should always feel like this - 
Repeat - that's the refrain.

A Rainy 4th

A rainy 4th, but I don't care -
My grandson's come to visit.
No matter what the weather is,
The day will be exquisite.

With endless possibilities
For fun as he's exploring, 
The time inside, to me and him,
Is anything but boring.

Of course, I'm thrilled as well to see
Both Henry's mom and dad.
They've given me a 4th which is
The best I've ever had.

So here's to you, America!
I celebrate your birth
By spending time with the most precious
Boy upon the earth!

Company on the Way

The house is spic and span;
The food is all prepared,
The table set and primed
For good times to be shared.

The only thing to do
Is wait 'til they arrive.
They're somewhere on the road
In the middle of their drive.

The weather gods have smiled;
So far it's looking great.
You might as well relax -
Your guests will like be late.

Al Fresco

As a New York City dweller,
I don't often have the chance
To enjoy a meal al fresco;
You might look at me askance...

Thinking, outdoors in Manhattan,
Where's the dining out appeal?
On the sidewalk, with the traffic
Zipping by throughout your meal?

Being gawked by passing strangers,
Hearing belches from a bus,
Shooing sparrows seeking tidbits,
Is it worthy of the fuss?

But that answer's very easy
As I'm sure that you can guess.
Do I love to eat al fresco?
All that I can say is YES!

It's Now July

Oh me, oh my! It’s now July!
The months are flying fast.
The summer days, with sun and haze,
Will soon be in the past.

The calendar cannot defer
To what we may desire,
That time would pause a bit because
The days too quick expire.

So we must take each day and make
The effort to embrace it,
Before July is kissed goodbye
And August does replace it.