Last Day of the Month

The cops are on the roads today
And this is why, I’d bet,
Their ticket quotas for the month
Have not been filled quite yet.

This is the last day of the month
And so the pressure’s on
To catch some speeders in the hours
Before the day is gone.

We saw them nabbing five or six;
All slowed without a fuss.
I’m glad they nailed those other cars
And had no time for us.

Pawprints

A trail of pawprints in the snow
Is just enough to let me know
That life contains another layer
Of which I am not a player.

What takes place when I'm away
Or fast asleep in dreamland's sway
Means not that I am gladly missed, 
But more like I do not exist.

The creatures of the night and I
Can co-survive and this is why -
It's easy to let something be
When what it is you do not see.

Tissue in Hand

When the sniffles invade
And your nose is a'drip,
You must catch what comes out
'Fore it gets to your lip.

In the case of a child
With some oozing-out issue,
It's up to the nana
To wipe with a tissue...

Or mommy or daddy
Or grandpa or sitter.
Whoever's around can't be
Known as a quitter.

Since stuffiness looks for
A way to break free,
I keep tissue in hand
Like was once done for me.

The Limelight

Many crave the limelight’s dazzle
While some others shun its glare,
Fearing that intensive scrutiny
Would be too hard to bear.

I am somewhere in the middle.
Though I post my poems to share,
In the hopes that they’ll be read by those
With time and will to spare,

As I soak up all the comments
That appear from here and there
I delight in the approval;
Though of course I am aware

That to really hog the limelight,
To jump in and take the dare,
I’d be targeted by critics
Which could lead to some despair.

So a little of the limelight
Is preferred when I compare,
For a smattering of flatter
Feels just perfect, fair and square.

Queen for a Day

There was once a TV show called Queen for a Day;
Its premise was really bizarre.
Contestants were chosen to prove to the world
How their pathos could lower the bar.

Their sob stories covered all manner of ills –
Like bankruptcy, jail or disease.
The audience listened and voted for one
More pathetic by several degrees.

A meter on stage measured all the applause
(For the claps equaled votes, one supposes).
Then the winner appeared and they gave her a crown
And a cape and a bouquet of roses.

There were tears, there were sighs and euphoria reigned;
Spirits certainly couldn’t get higher.
Then to top it all off, they presented the Queen
With a shiny new washer and dryer!

How that solved all her problems I never did get
But I learned that a washing machine,
If presented with roses, a cape and a crown
Could transform someone into a queen!

My Snow Boots

My snow boots weren’t meant for snow.
I bought them several years ago
In summer – I was Ireland-bound,
Expecting puddles on the ground.

They’re hiking boots, not very high,
But waterproof to keep one dry.
I’d have no reason to complain
When Irish skies would spit out rain.

My trip was glorious and, funny,
Every day was bright and sunny.
Nestled snugly in my case,
The unworn boots hogged too much space.

Still, I’ve used them lots since then
When stormy weather comes again.
I stomp through slush piles on the street,
No drops or dampness on my feet.

I’m grateful to my Ireland tour,
Preparing me so I’d be sure
To buy the perfect boots to wear
In snowstorms here or rainstorms there.

Memorization

In school, I had to memorize
A Kilmer poem called “Trees.”
I wasn’t crazy ‘bout it, but
I did the deed with ease.

My 6^th grade brain had lots of cells
Absorbing all the stuff
I entered as I learned things;
There was always room enough.

But as the years flew by, that brain
Was filling to the brim
And adding more, or trying to,
Took me out on a limb.

Abilities go AWOL, too,
And thus memorization
Appears at this time to have gone
On permanent vacation.

I have a speech to memorize –
Of course, it’s rhyming verse –
And I’m not sure if reading it
Or botching will be worse.

I’ll try it but will sneak a copy
Just in case I need it,
Though I’m expecting, honestly,
Most likely I will read it.

Needs

A runny nose needs tissues.
A hungry mouth needs food.
A bottom needs a diaper change
Whenever it has pooed.

In winter, hands need mittens.
In snow, feet need some boots.
These aren't up for maybes;
They are, rather, absolutes.

A sleepy face needs naptime.
A bored one needs a game
Or book or song or puzzle
For distraction is the aim.

A bath requires bubbles.
A bare floor needs a rug;
But nanas (also grandpas)
Don't need much besides a hug.

The Blizzard

They closed the roads and subways, too
And Broadway shows went dark.
The weathermen, predicting this,
Were not far off the mark.

But since it hit on Saturday,
The children, I am sure,
Though thrilled, must all be wishing
It had come one day before.

I wonder how long it will take
To get things up to speed
And hope that Nature knows that this
Is all the snow we need.

A'Brewing

A storm's a'brewing, we've been told
So all we'll need has now been sold.
The supermarket shelves are bare,
Depleted from what once was there.

Aside from staples - milk and bread
And other foods with which we're fed,
For shovels many made a trip
And icy-melt so we won't slip.

The shoe stores' boots at last did sell
And hats and mittens went as well.
No what we'll do is sit and wait
And dread it or anticipate.

The children pray for heaps of white
To sled or have a snowball fight
While those who have to drive and such
Have fingers crossed it won't be much.

But be it blizzard or a dusting,
Everybody, I am trusting,
Will be glued to the TV
To find out which one it will be.

The Lives We Lead

The city’s population
Is a varied one, indeed
Though there’s not a single person
Living just the life I lead.

Still, of course, some similarities
Must certainly exist
But the differences would overtake them
If you made a list.

On the subways and the crowded streets
I stare at every face,
And imagine how my life would be
In this or that one’s place.

It’s a natural curiosity
To wonder just what lies
On the other side of windows
Lit up there before my eyes.

Surely many I might envy;  
Even more would make me sad,
But I’m certain none would be the same
And yes, that makes me glad.

Every life’s unique, though some may hew
More closely to my own;
Yet, like DNA, the lives we lead
Are ours and ours alone.

Jury Duty, Day 2

The minutes turn to hours
As we wait and wait and wait.
The boredom settles like a fog;
Some sleep or meditate.

I read my book and magazine
And others do the same
Or check their phones or I-Pads,
Read their mail or play a game.

A waste of time for everyone
And I don’t understand
Just why this process takes so long
When everything’s at hand.

The judge is in his chambers
And the lawyers, I assume,
But here we sit and sit and sit
Within the jury room.

The government runs things its way
With methods old and tired.
If this were private industry,
Then someone would be fired!

At the Courthouse

Remove your watch; take off your belt
And place them in this bin.
Your pockets must be empty
Or we will not let you in.

Then walk through slowly, just in case
There’s metal to detect.
If buzzers sound, security
Will have to then inspect.

The line is long, the day is cold
And so we have to wait,
Though no one there is thrilled one bit
About this courthouse date.

We inch along, then make it through
So coffee’s what I need.
Alas, there’s none inside
And I am frustrated, indeed.

‘Cause there’s no way in hell that I’ll
Repeat that check-in scene.
I’ll have to get through jury duty
Minus my caffeine.

Losing at Mah Jongg

I didn’t win at Mah Jongg,
Losing every single game,
But nonetheless I’d say
That I enjoyed it all the same.

To sit around with friends and schmooze
And then to break some bread –
There aren’t many things that I’d
Prefer to do instead.

Though often I’m competitive,
With Mah Jongg  I am not.
I’m really not too good at it,
But give it all I’ve got.

So even if I have a day
Where losing is my fate,
I still look forward very much
To my next Mah Jongg date.

Winter's Grip

In winter, when the temps go down
The trees are all undressed.
It seems a bit ironic,
Although Nature knows what’s best.

For if the branches kept their coats
Of leaves to keep them warm,
Perhaps they’d weigh things down
When battered by a winter storm.

We bundle up when it is cold
And we’re in winter’s grip,
But all the trees (except the firs)
Think it’s the time to strip.

A Bowl of Cherries

If life’s a bowl of cherries,
Or you think that saying fits,
You must realize there’s a factor
That the axiom omits.

Which is cherries, though delicious,
Have a stone lodged deep inside,
The existence of which isn’t something
That can be denied.

Therefore, optimists and pessimists
Can share that great big bowl,
As the cherries and the pits together
Work to make it whole.

It’s a fact that life’s not fair, though,
So if Proverbville permits,
I propose instead of cherries,
We say life is just the pits.

New Credit Card

The bank did not apologize
When sending my new card.
They hoped I’d understand
That fighting fraud is very hard.

But “compromises did occur”
At “merchants undisclosed,”
So brand-new cards were issued
To secure things, I supposed.

Instead of being grateful, though,
I’m very much annoyed.
My automatic payments now
Will soon be null and void.

I’ll have to contact E-Z Pass
And Shutterfly, as well.
My MetroCard won’t add more fares
Unless this news I tell.

This happens several times a year;
The system seems to crash.
Perhaps I should look to the past
And pay this all in cash!

Sameness

When life slips into sameness
And the days go drifting by,
Those who shuffle, feeling aimless,
Should find other fish to fry.

For the bored are never blameless
Since there’s so much they can do
Without being bold or shameless
In the projects they pursue.

We can all claim sloth or lameness
If we fall into a funk
But to overcome the sameness,
We must rise from where we’ve sunk.

Writing

When people’s lives are out of sync
They may resort to drugs or drink
But there’s a better choice, I think,
Which just requires lead or ink.

Not all may have the appetite
For jotting thoughts in black and white
But once you try it, you just might
Find out it brings good vibes to light.

You do not need to see a shrink
To learn that life lasts just a blink;
Yet there’s a chance, though it be slight,
That things will brighten when you write.

My Writing Chair

I’m sitting in my writing chair,
(Though I can write most anywhere)
Surrounded by familiar things
While thoughts and rhymes develop wings.

My feet are resting on the bed
On which a checkered quilt is spread
And out my windows, I espy
A few tall buildings and some sky.

My chair is denim blue and snug;
It comforts me just like a hug.
It doesn’t rock and can’t recline;
The body in it’s mostly mine.

There’s Mozart playing – pure delight,
Though quiet’s better when I write.
Still, somehow I’ll produce a poem,
For in my chair, I’m truly home.

At the Comedy Club

At the comedy club, there were chuckles galore
And the crowd was applauding and hoping for more
When then room rather suddenly went rather dark
And we realized it wasn’t just meant as a lark.

People whipped out their cell phones, providing some light
And the comics continued, still primed for the night.
As the club workers fiddled with wire and fuse,
The audience laughed – we had nothing to lose.

So we drank and we listened as darkness remained;
The comedians gamely kept us entertained.
The show must go on, as they say, and it did
Though the club never tracked down the glitch in their grid.

Sometimes life has a habit of tossing a curve,
Leaving some with a consequence they don’t deserve.
Still, the laughter last night sure provided a spark
Which was all that was needed to light up the dark.

Blue Laws

Towns appear to still adhere
To laws from long ago,
Included to make church the only
Sunday place to go.

So malls and stores all shut their doors
To force a day of rest,
Assuming all their customers
Were church-bound, getting blessed.

It came to pass not every mass
Was filled from pew to pew,
As worshipers found other things
That they’d prefer to do.

Some towns gave pause and ditched the laws
So shoppers came in droves
In search of electronics, clothes
And even fish and loaves.

But where we drive, the Blue Laws thrive
So Sunday traffic’s light.
In hopes they don’t repeal the rule,
I’ll pray with all my might.

A Gift Horse

Bags and bags of rolls of
Wrapping paper sat in piles
By the curb as passersby
Revealed their New York guiles.

The store must not have had the room
To keep them for a year,
So why not spread the wealth around
And help them disappear?

Some people grabbed a handful
Which looked very Christmasy;
Three rolls with smiling snowmen
Seemed appropriate for me.

The takers grinned and marveled
At this unexpected gift.
I wonder, then, how many,
Once at home, were slightly miffed…

For close inspection showed each roll
Was slit from stem to stern,
Reminding me that nothing’s free,
A lesson I should learn.

To look a gift horse in the mouth
Is never deemed correct,
But there are times that certain gifts
Are ones we should reject.

Fridays

There’s nothing that I’d rather do
Than be with Henry,* just we two.
Of course, some moments might be tough
But still, I just can’t get enough.

To watch him figure out the world,
His sense of self become unfurled,
Is truly one of life's great gifts;
My spirits soar and sorrow lifts.

And now a sister’s here, to boot,
Who’s smiley, sweet and oh-so-cute.
She watches every move we make,
Just waiting ‘til she can partake.

The day winds down, the baths complete,
The parents home, so we retreat.
We say goodbye and Henry cries;
A tiny part inside me dies.

*my 2 year old grandson

Unmired

Don’t count on luck when you are stuck;
It’s fickle and unheeding.
A little pluck may help unmuck
Your journey to succeeding.

Don’t pass the buck or try to duck
When problems have you sinking.
Let others cluck or run amok
While you, instead, start thinking.

You may be struck by train or truck
Before you get unmired,
But brains and pluck, when things just suck,
May get what you’ve desired.

(inspired by the movie “Joy”)

Seeking the Sought

My missing gloves turned up today
(Good thing – I was distraught)
Inside the pockets of a jacket
I forgot I bought.

The lesson of this incident
Is that we really ought
To leave no stone unturned
Until we find what we have sought.

A search that’s merely cursory
Will yield, as wisdom’s taught,
A disappointing outcome,
All your efforts come to naught.

But diligence will show results
That laziness has fought,
So “seek and ye shall find” remains
A wise and prescient thought.

Cashmere

I put on a cashmere sweater
That a friend had passed on down
Thinking it would keep my cozy
As I traipsed around the town.

I was new to wearing cashmere
(Too expensive, I did find)
But I walked out feeling toasty
(And with Seinfeld on my mind).

I discovered, though, a downside
And I soon began to fret
For, combined with my down jacket,
All that cashmere made me sweat.

By the time I got back home, my clothes
Were soaked right to the skin.
I was wetter than, without a shower,
I had ever been.

Think that I’ll return to cotton
Which, for me, works so much better.
Seems that wearing what I wore made me
A living cashmere sweater!

Half-Off

Only buy something
That’s sold at half-price
If you like it enough
To be paying that twice.

If that’s not the case
Then you’re wasting your cash
By doubling up
On a half-as-good stash.

White Noise

Living in the city
There are lots of urban joys,
But the one thing we put up with
Is an awful lot of noise.

Though we tune it out by habit
And just rarely come unglued,
There are nights when sleep’s a challenge
And we yearn for solitude.

Then a possible solution
Did present itself and thus,
There’s a new white-noise contraption
In the bedroom, next to us.

Though my husband swears it’s helping,
Desperation does delude.
I still hear the traffic roaring,
Just a tiny bit subdued.

Still, there’s value in placebos
For believing can hold sway.
While I toss and turn, my spouse is
Snoozing peacefully away.

Fallen Rock Zone

On a highway's "Fallen Rock Zone,"
You might be a little scared
For the warning signs were posted
So at least you'd be prepared.

But I've never seen a pebble
Take a tumble through the air
Or a boulder try to join the rocks
That are already there.

Which now causes me to wonder
Why attention must be callin'
To the fact that there's an area
Where rocks have somehow fallen.

For if safety were an issue,
It would be a simple thing
To remove the "en" from "fallen"
And replace it with an "ing."

I'd Like to Write a Poem

I’d like to write a poem
That’s both uplifting and carefree,
With rainbows, smiles and lollipops
Where real life ought to be.

A poem that paints a landscape
Where we all would like to live,
Where everyone is happy
And there’s nothing to forgive.

A poem where problems don’t exist,
Not even for a bit.
I’d really like to write that poem
But this one isn’t it.