Vacationing in Maine

I'm vacationing in Maine
And surrounded by the sea.
As the season's winding down,
It's a lovely place to be.

There is sea food, there is beer,
Lots of ice cream, small-batch made;
Restaurants with outdoor decks,
Some where music's being played.

There are trails and boats and bikes,
Lots of stores with souvenirs,
Plus museums and historic homes
With old-time atmospheres.

It's a change of pace for me,
Some relaxing by the shore,
But of course that is exactly
What vacationing is for.

An Irish Pub

An Irish pub, a Guinness pint
And music playing - live!
There aren't many better ways
For spirits to revive.

The barkeep may be half your age
But conversation flows
And perfect strangers share their thoughts - 
That's just the way it goes.

An Irish pub's the same no matter
Where you wander in.
There's Guinness and a friendly vibe
And laughs above the din.

Sailboats

Does anything look more serene
Than sailboats in a harbor scene?
Their stark white jibs and hulls that glide
A sense of peace and calm provide.

I've only seen them from the shore,
Not having been in one before,
But I am grateful they're a'sea
When near the water I can be.

Though other boats with foamy wakes
Look lovely, I would wager stakes 
That none of them with sudsy trails 
Could soothe like any boat with sails.

Henry Dancing

Dancing with abandon
Is what children tend to do.
They bust their moves with untamed joy,
Their pride just beaming through.

Yet when self-consciousness begins,
They hold their true selves back
And spontaneity may never
Clamber back on track.

I love when Henry dances,
(He insists I join right in)
For no one watching can control
An ear to earlobe grin.

I dread the day embarrassment
Will rein in his delight,
‘Cause Henry’s dancing makes me feel
Like everything’s all right.

On Screen

Two newscasters were shot on screen
By some crazed gunman, first unseen;
And all who saw it were in shock,
An image they can never block.

Of course, all horror is a draw
But I am glad I never saw
The bullets hit, the bodies fall;
They pulled the footage, after all.

My heart goes out to kin and friends,
Who’ll see a scene that never ends –
Their loved ones taking one last breath,
All future plans cut short by death.

Double Satisfaction

It’s gratifying when you get
A positive reaction
To something you’ve accomplished;
Thus, there’s double satisfaction.

For when you’re feeling self-fulfilled,
No matter what’s at stake,
Some glowing feedback only serves
As icing on the cake.

Yet still, it’s nice to get acclaim.
Though pride should be sufficing,
The very best part of the cake
Is usually the icing.

Doug the Bug - a tale inspired by Dr. Seuss

Another long road trip, with nothing to do.
I stared out the window; the sky was bright blue.

My sister was napping and I was so bored.
I’m such a good kid, I deserve a reward.

My friends have TV’s in their cars in the back
But my parents say, “No, that’s not happening, Jack.

Use this car time to think; there’s so much in your head.

With a screen there, your brain will get lazy instead.”

So I stared at the billboards and let my mind go
‘Til my eye saw some movement and whaddyaknow?

Clinging on to the window, with all of its might
Was a neon-green bug that looked panicked with fright.

Its big eyes were wide open and I understood
That it needed my help so I did what I could.

I cracked open the window and inside it flew,
Landing on my right knee, as I knew it would do.

It gazed up at me, saying, “What took you so long?
I was starting to wonder if I might be wrong.”

Then I glanced at my parents to see if they’d heard.
One was driving, one texting; they said not a word.

“Oh, I’m speaking bug language,” my new friend replied.
“You can hear all my thoughts that I choose to confide.

You can answer me back without speaking out loud.
It’s a talent we share, so we both should be proud.”

“How’d you ever find out I could do what you say?”
I peeked over at Jane – she was sleeping away.

“Oh, we bugs have some powers. I thought you could use
A companion to help entertain and amuse.”

“Well, you’re right,” answered Jack. “What’s your name, little bug?”
“Both my parents say Douglas, but please call me Doug.”

As the miles clicked away, under darkening skies,
Doug the bug treated Jack to the world through his eyes.

All the hours disappeared while an insect and boy
Found so much they could share, which they both did enjoy.

When the car finally stopped, Jane woke up with a start
And their parents turned ‘round, thinking they were so smart.

“See, we knew you’d be fine with your mind as your friend.
Not a peep of complaint from beginning to end.”

“Guess you’re right,” answered Jack. Let them think what they’d think.
But Jane smiled in surprise when Doug gave her a wink.

For the world of a child has some secrets to hide
Which most grown-ups forget, but some bugs may provide.

So the next time you’re bored, try to open your mind
And a bug they call Doug may be what you will find.

(this was written for a contest at PoetrySoup - my goal was to sound Dr. Seuss-ish)

Dress Your Age

When kids get told to “Act your age,”
They understand what’s meant,
For acting younger than their years
Is what was evident.

The same applies to “Dress your age”
In many people’s eyes,
As if by wearing youthful clothes
One’s years are in disguise.

But what if someone still prefers
Those younger styles of dress?
Would other folks’ opinions
Of that person then be less?

Concessions must be made, of course,
‘Cause ridicule’s no fun,
But how one feels in what is worn
Is how the battle’s won.

And so I’ll wear my checkered skirt
Which hits above the knee.
Perhaps it doesn’t match my age
But it still feels like me.

A Toddler's World

An empty cubby in a desk,
A basket full of toys;
Combine them and sit back and watch
The skills a tyke employs.

Each item’s picked up, one by one
And transferred to the niche.
The door gets opened then gets shut
At every single switch.

When all the toys are in the desk,
The game goes in reverse,
The concentration so complete
There’s no need to converse.

It’s fascinating to observe
Such focus and control
And all the joy engendered
By accomplishing the goal.

A toddler’s world is waiting
As each day he conquers more
And the times I see it happen
Are occasions I adore.

Half a Moon

Half a moon hangs high above,
So perfect it seems fake,
But thinking it’s tied up with love
Would be a real mistake.

Romantic moons are never half;
They’re crescent or they’re full.
Romantically,‘twould be a gaffe
Succumbing to its pull.

No, half a moon, like half a mind,
Will not let us forget
What’s coming or what’s left behind
Will better this one yet.

Misinformed

My quilting teacher had a stroke;
Her daughter keeps in touch.
She sends out updates, which we all
Appreciate so much.

The word last night was pretty grim,
A move to I.C.U.
A blood infection'd taken hold;
Not much that they could do.

Today another message came - 
The hospital was wrong.
Her roommate had the sepsis
But my teacher's going strong.

Apologies were offered
Yet that doesn't make it right,
Upsetting all her friends and 
For her daughter - what a fright!

I know that humans mess things up
But this one takes the cake.
You'd think a hospital would not
Make such a huge mistake.

Decisions

Some can make decisions
In an instant, with a snap,
But for me, a slew of choices
Feels like falling in a trap.

I will agonize and falter;
I will vacillate and wait,
Weighing pros and cons as if I
Were prepared for a debate.

For the big things and the small ones,
I do equally get stuck.
If you’re waiting for my answer,
Well, you might be out of luck.

When I’m asked for my opinion,
I’m sure you can ascertain
That if I just had my druthers,
I most surely would abstain!

Jared from Subway

Jared from Subway
Let everyone down -
Notorious now,
Though he once had renown.

No longer a hero
To whom we’d relate,
Turns out he’s a loser
Of more than just weight.

Now Jared is facing
Divorce, fines and jail
And public rejection
Is sure to prevail.

For people’s opinions
Quite quickly can swerve
And those who lose favor
Get what they deserve.

All That We Accumulate

All that we accumulate
Defines us in a way,
As much as what we wear or what
We do or do not say.

Our books and tchotchkes, furnishings
And walls adorned with art
Are representative of how
We set ourselves apart.

But when we’re gone, what’s left behind
Is never quite enough
To understand the one who did
Accumulate that stuff.

Like Moths

Moths do not appear too bright
When barreling into the light.
No matter if it’s bulb or flame,
Their gut reaction is the same.

We humans, though, don’t differ much.
We’re drawn to things we shouldn’t touch –
Like drugs or gambling, food or booze –
So many vices we can choose.

And then, like moths, ourselves we fling
In search of what we think will bring
Contentment or a sense of joy,
Forgetting that such things destroy.

An easy fix is rarely found
So soon we end up on the ground
Dejected, downcast and abashed
With wizened wings and hopes quite dashed.

Wi-Fi

The world is filled with Wi-Fi
But you sometimes can't connect
So instead of reaching out,
You might just have to introspect.

We've been spoiled by easy access;
Deprivation makes us mad,
But think back to when the phone
Was the main hook-up that we had.

Patience is a dying virtue
Though I cannot tell a lie - 
I get cranky and impatient
When there is no Wi-Fi nigh.

Torn

Life can pull in two directions;
Often both ways have appeal
And your mind may be so muddled
You don't know just how you feel.

So you weigh your waiting options
And you dig in and decide,
Hoping what you have selected
Will sit comfortably inside.

For when choices are enticing
And your thoughts are torn and split,
You may make a good decision
But it still may hurt a bit.

Firework Sounds

Hearing fireworks without
The images to match
'Slike having a mosquito bite
Without the means to scratch.

You picture just how it would be - 
Those Ah's to see or touch,
But pictures stuck inside your mind
Don't help you very much.

If I can't watch the colors burst,
Providing such sweet joys,
Then I can really do without
That boom-boom-booming noise.

The Gravediggers

Patiently they waited,
Watching each of us exert
Just a modicum of effort
As we shoveled up some dirt.

Every toss drew all attention
As the soil came raining down,
‘Til the coffin top was covered
With a blanketing of brown.

Then the diggers picked the pace up
But they paused while words were said,
The familiar farewell speeches
To a person newly dead.

Next machinery took over
As we slowly walked away
And the workers did the job
For which they earned their weekly pay.

How bizarre to be a witness
Every day to people’s grief.
When the grave is filled and patted down,
It must be a relief.

Over in a Flash

Remove a person from the world
Yet time keeps ticking by,
For those remaining live their lives
As if they’ll never die.

Our presence on the earth is fleeting,
Over in a flash.
We flounder, fret or frolic
But we ultimately crash.

Though each of us accumulates
A varied stack of days,
We may squander, use or hoard them
But we’re never granted stays.

So we really can’t control the age
When we will cease to be.
When our time is up, the wheels still turn
In perpetuity.

My Friend Marilyn

How do you condense a friendship
Spanning fifty years?
Reminiscences crop up
Like dusty souvenirs.

High school first – she twirled, I cheered.
Our lives were parallel;
In different crowds, we really didn’t
Know each other well.

In college, though, we formed a bond
Sorority-invoked
And strengthened through that 60’s life –
We protested and smoked.

We did the Europe backpack scene
And hitchhiked for a spell.
A German guy exposed himself,
So “Ausgang!*” we did yell.

We laughed about it afterwards,
A time we’d not forget,
Experiencing all there was
Outside our safety net.

On coming home we signed a lease
And roommates we became.
I proudly served as maid of honor
When she changed her name.

The intervening years flew by;
We worked, I wed, she split,
Our friendship always something to which
We did both commit.

My confidante and movie pal,
She always played a part
Within my life by being there,
Resounding in my heart.

We go way back – my megaphone
And her with her baton
Have segued to this moment
And I can’t believe she’s gone.

My days will feel much emptier.
I’ll miss her sound advice;
But memories of times we’ve shared
Will have to now suffice.

*literally, “Exit,” meaning - let us out of your car!

Overly Attentive

There’s a difference in a restaurant,
Which I’ve lately been discovering,
Between attentive service
And what I think’s more like hovering.

If your beer or wine glass empties,
Yes, it’s nice if they inquire
If you’d like to have another
Or there’s more that you desire.

Yet if posed by different servers
Once or twice or even more,
It’s like folding up your napkin
As you seek the restroom door.

I like waiters who will notice
What you eat and when you’re done
But you’re left to your devices
Once the main course has begun.

It’s a fine line to distinguish
Who will let you eat in peace
Or which waitstaff is in need of
Certain culinary police!

Unfiltered

Children’s likes and dislikes
Are as obvious as rain.
The way they feel is usually
A cinch to ascertain.

They haven’t learned to filter
What they naturally express
So the truth is on their faces
Or the words they won’t suppress.

If they love you, you’re rewarded
With a snuggle and a smile
And they’ll shower you with favor
Like it’s going out of style.

But these times are very precious
For one day they will perceive
That it isn’t really cool to wear
Your heart upon your sleeve.

So I’ll soak up all the sunshine
That is beaming out my way
As a buttress for the future
When the filters will hold sway.

Trumped

At first I laughed at Donald Trump
For president. A joke!
My feelings just solidified
With every word he spoke.

But here he’s in the lead among
A slew of real contenders
And he appears to be the most
Outrageous of offenders.

I hope, though, that Republicans
Select him as their choice,
So Democrats across the land
Can jump up and rejoice.

For certainly when push will come
To shove and people choose,
A candidate like Donald Trump
Will definitely lose!

Congratulations

Congratulations mostly
Are for something that you've done - 
Got married or got published,
Had a daughter or a son.

Bought a home or bought a business,
Got promoted, passed the bar,
Won a big award, got hired,
Traded in or bought a car.

Yet since I've become a nana
(Second grandchild, newly born),
As I get congratulations,
I feel just a little torn.

I did nothing to deserve this - 
Just gave birth some years ago,
But I proudly will acknowledge
I have that new-nana glow.

So I'll gladly take the kisses
And the wishes and the praise
'Cause I've finally reached this milestone
After living all these days!

A Granddaughter for Me!

Tiny newborn baby girl
With your cool striped hat,
Looking right into my eyes –
Can you imagine that?

Do you recognize that I’m
Your nana? If you do,
Your brother’d let you know that I
Will love you through and through.

Of course, he’ll always be my boy
But you will be my girl.
If he’s the gold around my heart,
Then you will be the pearl.

So welcome, grandchild number two;
I’m thrilled that you are here.
We’ve waited nine long months for you
To finally appear!

The Underbelly

Walking on the subway platform, waiting for a train,
A movement just ahead did catch my eye.
A nice-sized rat was wrestling with a cracker bag and oh,
I startled everybody with my cry.

My husband joined me in the yell – instinctively, it seems.
The rat reared up but held onto his prize
And scampered further down the track, his treasure in his teeth,
Where no one stood to holler or despise.

A small old woman watched the scene and slowly shook her head,
Acknowledging not horror, but defeat.
“If people weren’t slobs, you know, the rats would disappear,
For we provide the garbage that they eat.”

The train approached; the woman headed where the rat remained,
Unbothered by the route that it had taken.
My spouse and I, who’d backed away, got on the train, relieved,
Though both of us were rather skeeved and shaken.

Fifty Cents an Hour

When I was a teen, to earn some cash
I babysat at night.
I watched their kids, they drove me home;
It all turned out all right.

My asking price was 50 cents
(An hour) if before
The clock struck midnight; then I could
Request a quarter more.

They often gave a tip besides,
Perhaps an extra buck,
So I could bring 5 dollars home
If I had any luck.

The going rate today, I heard,
Is 12 an hour or more.
The earnings from a single night
Add up to quite a score.

They do not get a bonus, though,
If parents stay out late,
A point of pride when for that raise,
I did negotiate.

Front Door

Visit a place where you’ve not been before
And the first thing you face is the sturdy front door.
Of fiberglass, oak, tempered glass, even steel,
The entryway should have a certain appeal.

My country home door, though, was streaky with rust.
The paint was all puckered, the cracks filled with dust.
The glass in the windows no longer got clean;
My husband was tired of changing the screen.

So I finally gave in and we got a new door,
A portal to spiff up the entry décor.
It isn’t embellished, just simple and plain
But it’s neat, a condition I hope to maintain.

When visitors come, they may notice or not
For most likely, the old one was one they forgot
But I’ll welcome them all with the door opened wide
And embrace every one that I usher inside.

Scorecard

At a minor league ball game
I follow each play
And fill out my scorecard
The proper-like way.

I notate each player,
His number and place,
Recording the strikeouts
Or hits to which base.

I utilize shortcuts,
Like strikeout is K
And BB's a walk
(Base on balls, as they say).

I enjoy keeping track
Though not once will I look
At the jottings that I
Oh, so carefully took.  

But if someone discovered
My program one day,
They could picture each inning
And here's what they'd say:

Ah, if only our lives
Had a scorecard, we'd bet
Every K, hit or homer
We'd never forget!

Screened-In

From gnats and moths and things unseen,
I am protected by a screen.
Mosquitoes land and flit away,
Defeated for another day.

Where once a citronella torch
Repelled some pests, my screened-in porch
Works better for, as you'd surmise,
It's quite a lovely compromise...

I'm not indoors nor am I out.
The breeze dispels each shred of doubt;
Yet insects cannot reach my skin
Or that of others, safe within.

They fling themselves against the mesh
In search of juicy human flesh,
But I'm untouched inside my lair
Unless the screen sustains a tear!