The Gardens of Glenveagh Castle

A remote Irish valley, where mountains are stark,
Boasts a castle in Glenveagh, a national park.
As expected, the site is imbued with the past,
But its beauty conceived with intentions to last.

In the gardens, the colors just burst from their blooms
As a challenge to hills where austerity looms
And those purples and oranges, yellows and reds,
Though quite joyous, seem ready to leap from their beds.

With their gates and gazebos, meandering trails
Encourage reflection, which naturally pales
Next to simple acceptance that fortune's bestowed
On the visitor, interest on debts life has owed.

Sheep!

In place of shells, what Ireland has
Within its seas of green
Are sheep of all varieties,
The sweetest you have seen.

From fat white ewes with nursing lambs
To black-faced local beauties,
They dot the landscape, chomping grass,
The bulk of all their duties.

While riding by, with photo stops,
I gaze at them, delighted
And seeing collies herd them,
I feel gratefully invited

To witness such a time-worn rite
The herders have perfected.
I'm thrilled to be here and my joy
Is more than I expected.

Waterfall Walk (In Carnlough)

A mile and a half on a trail in the mist
With the bleating of sheep with black faces
Was a nightcap so perfect I have to insist
That it ranks with the most magic places.

The path did meander on pebbles through trees
As the sky kept the darkness from falling
And when we reached the waterfall, how it did please
That I'd answered the travel bug's calling,

To lift yourself out of the daily routine
For a journey with joys to uncover
Is the very best cure for the doldrums I've seen
And who knows what I next will discover?

Dublin

Nothing beats a walking tour
To get to know a city,
To learn about the pretty spots
As well as those quite gritty.

In Dublin, with a guide named Rex,
We zipped along the streets
And laughed a lot while learning of
Its cool historic treats.

And then to a museum,
An exhibit of Vermeer.
How fortunate it was displayed
While on our visit here.

This all was on 2 hours sleep
But still, we plodded on.
A Guinness and some fish and chips
Until our strength was gone.

In bed at 6! But rested now,
My mind anticipates
The coming day with much to see -
A new adventure waits.

Pre-Trip

Clothes stacked; bags packed.
Bills paid; beds made.
Hair dyed; booked ride.
Fridge bare; moods flare.

Nerves shred; flight dread.
Clock ticks; sweat sticks.
Months planned; at hand.
Uh-oh! Let’s go!

Quick peek – next week:
Back home syndrome.

Faded

My sun hat faded from the rays,
My jeans from lots of cleaning.
I realize I am in the phase
Of what this all is meaning –

That when possessions lose their spark
Once bright enough to blind us,
The mirror lifts us from the dark
And helps to thus remind us

That life goes fast and some of it
May leave us slightly jaded
And like our jeans, we will not quit
But just be rather faded.

In the Course of a Day

In the course of a day, I am Nana and Mom;
I am Words with Friends player and wife.
I am visitor, shopper and cherished old friend,
All the threads that connect in my life.

In the course of a day, I am sister and niece;
I am crossword completer as well.
I am New York Times reader and drinker of beer;
I am rhymer (at which I excel).

In the course of a day, I am neighbor and, too,
I am stranger to most I pass by.
It’s a challenge combining my various selves,
In the course of a day, but I try.

On Siblings

I watch as they negotiate
What each of them can claim,
Announcing something's "Mine!" appears
To be the only aim.

Whatever one is playing with
The other wants as well,
Despite the fact it's not a favorite,
Far as I can tell.

Yet in the market, a surprise - 
The older made his picks
Including items for his sis - 
No envy in the mix.

Just watching out for her, he was
The most attentive brother
For that's what siblings are - 
Both friends and rivals to each other.

City Sighting

Saw a pigeon pecking pizza
On a local urban street.
I assume that it was cold, but still,
A tasty bite to eat.

What a mingling of icons
Of the New York City scene –
Most ubiquitous of flyers
And most common of cuisine.

But what would have made me turn my head
And cause me to look twice
Was if there had been a rat or two
To share in that same slice!

Henry's Visit

Henry* came to visit us
And even stayed the night!
The hours that we spent with him –
An absolute delight.

The house was primed for safety;
The milk, of course, organic.
Our drive was smooth; no ticks showed up
And thus, no cause for panic.

But oh, what fun exploring!
The pillow paths and towers!
The store, the playground and the pool,
The watering of flowers.

His dad’s old games and toys and books
Were there, like pirates’ treasure,
While music (some on tape!) was played,
Which added to our pleasure.

The giggles and excitement
Proved the visit a success
But, “Can I come back next Tuesday?”
Was my favorite, I confess.

*my not-quite 4-year-old grandson

Phoenix

Who could live in Phoenix
Where the temps are through the roof?
The heat is causing flights to cancel;
That’s sufficient proof.

I’m sure there must be upsides
But it’s not the place for me.
One hundred seventeen!* ‘Bout sixty’s*
What I like to see.

*temperatures (in Fahrenheit)

Thunder

Is it really any wonder
Some are terrified by thunder?
From the sky its crashing boom
Seems like a sign implying doom.

The ancients likely did believe
That punishment they would receive
By gods on high assigning blame
For deeds their thunder put to shame.

But as a child, I heard the tale
Of Rip Van Winkle; without fail
The part I loved was when he bowled;
A strike was thunder, I was told.

Since then, I’ve loved that booming sound
So let those cracks and roars abound.
Of course, I can be cool and smug
As long as I’m inside and snug.

My Father

My father died at 55
When I was 31.
He never was a grandpa
Though his namesake is my son.

For Fathers' Day I must have bought
A token card and gift,
The effort being just enough
To give his heart a lift.

I miss his laugh and, too, the way
He liked to tousle hair,
A subtle way, without a word,
His soul to me he'd bare.

He missed so much by dying young.
Now memories must serve
To fill in all the gaps with love
The years have helped preserve.

Vowels

In “Words with Friends,” I want to howl
When playing while needing a vowel.
            Unless I choose “Swap”
            My chances will stop;
I might as well throw in the towel.

Yet sometimes I’m stuck with a glut
Of vowels – I have nothing but.
            I’ve nowhere to go;
            My points stay down low.
It’s obvious I’m in a rut.

We all know in gaming, of course,
There’s no room for bile or remorse.
            We play what we get -
            Rejoice or regret -
Then hop right back up on the horse.

Building

The pillows on our couch inspired
Imaginative play.
My son arranged them carefully
In his creative way.

They formed a fort or hideout
Or a castle or a ship
Or just a group of stepping stones
On which we'd often trip.

That happened many years ago.
Today I watch and smile
As the son of that same pillow boy
Constructs in his own style.

His building blocks are blankets
Used to make his own "hotel,"
With divisions for his parents' room
And sister's space, as well.

He cordoned off the "bathrooms,"
One for girls and one for boys
And when there were no more blankets,
He built walls made out of toys.

I'm glad I got to witness
A new generation's boy
Use his mind and hand to build some walls,
The kind I can enjoy.

Made in Germany

In a local hardware store,
An old one – not a chain –
I found just what I needed,
Though I thought I’d search in vain.

Some saucers for my flowerpots
So water wouldn’t drip.
I’d recently transplanted
And I had to re-equip.

Imagine my surprise, though;
On these saucers, what’d I see?
A label boldly stating
They were “Made in Germany.”

It really goes to show you,
Since that gave me such a shock,
That it’s rare to find an import
That is not from Chinese stock.

Guess some other countries export,
Or at least it so appears,
But more likely, my new saucers
Have been on that shelf for years!

Buried with your Pet

New York has a brand-new law
And graveyards must comply;
Now pets and owners may be buried
Jointly when they die.

For dogs and cats no longer need
To languish in a grave
Intended just for animals;
Their owners simply save

The ashes of their favorite pet,
The feathered or the furred,
So when the owner’s time has come,
Together they’re interred.

What happens next we cannot know
But with this new endeavor,
Eternity will now provide
For scooping poop forever!

At Home

I’m here at home
But I don’t care
‘Cause I don’t wanna
Leave the air.

The sun beats down;
The temps are high.
To venture out?
No reason why.

I’m reading books;
I’m potting plants.
Think I’ll get bored?
No, not a chance.

My closets wait
For me to clean.
A crossword’s in
The magazine.

Tomorrow heat
Will fizzle out;
Then I will leave,
Without a doubt.

A-hem

The puppy was attracted to
The hem of my long skirt.
His snapping sharp-edged baby teeth
Kept me on the alert.

A smattering of scabs adorned
His owner’s hands and arms.
Restraint in puppies never ranks
Among their many charms.

So once I saw the damage he’d
Inflicted on some skin,
I figured he could nip my hem
So I’d be safe within.

A Breeze

There's nothing like a gentle breeze
To set your mind and soul at ease,
Especially on sunny days
To temper all those UV rays.

The swaying leaves and bending boughs
Encourage one to dream and drowse.
The windsock's ribbons bounce and twirl
While dandelion floaties whirl.

Since mothers often know what's best
(As one, to this I can attest)
It figures what can most appease
Is Mother Nature's welcome breeze.

Rust

My table (meant to stay outdoors)
Has patches now of rust.
I don't want to replace it
Though good sense insists I must.

Its chairs are super comfy
But to rust they've, too, succumbed.
My husband says, "Get rid of 'em!"
Yet that would leave me bummed.

I bought a can of rust remover
And a can of paint.
If you suspect I'm handy, well,
In layman's terms, I ain't!

But it won't hurt to take a shot
And see how it turns out
Before buying a replacement.
(Which I'll need, without a doubt!)

Missed Calls

Years and years and years ago
If you would call a friend
And no one answered, that is where
Attempts would likely end.

There was no voicemail or a way
To even prove you'd tried
So people had to take your word
Although you might have lied.

But nowadays, your screen reveals
Who phoned and who did not.
You can't pretend that you have missed
A message that you got.

So was it better in the past?
That answer I do lack
But if you call, there's no excuse
If I don't call you back.

Bells and Whistles

We mostly stick with basics
When we make a major buy,
So recommended bells and whistles
Seem to pass us by.

Yet today we took possession
Of our brand-new Subaru
And to get new safety features,
We were forced to upgrade, too.

For the first time, we’ve a moon roof
We can open for some air,
Which I think I will enjoy, although
I didn’t think I’d care.

We have fog lights and a camera
To provide a view behind
And both seat and wiper warmers,
Which in winter I won’t mind.

There are sensors that start beeping
If you drift from here to there
And the visors have extenders
To reduce the threat of glare.

So I wonder if to basics
This will make me bid farewells
For I think I can get used to
All these whistles and these bells!

Scientologists

It looked like a scene from a sci-fi film
When the aliens roam through town,
In their matching clothes with their faces set
Showing neither a smile nor frown.

With determined strides, lone or in a group,
They went scurrying to and fro
And their stark white shirts and their dark black vests
Told me all that I need to know.

Past their tax-free lairs and their fenced-in rooms
We drove, wondering mostly why
Folks would get sucked in to this seeming cult
As reality passes them by.

Anyone can choose how to live his life
And so, too, Scientology peeps,
But observing them, all that I can say
Is it gave me a case of the creeps.

The Rainy Season

The thunder booms; the rain pours down.
The sky is steely gray;
But in the rainy season, well,
There's nothing more to say.

The beaches are deserted so
My bathing suit's unworn.
The souvenir shop vendors all
Look bored and quite forlorn.

I'm here to visit relatives
So I don't really care
But to tourists on vacation
All this rain does not seem fair.

Still, in nature everything, of course,
Has got to have a reason.
Thus, to balance out the sunshine
There must be a rainy season.

Before Takeoff

The planes were lined up in a queue,
A reminder of something I knew.
     They awaited permission
      Like at intermission 
In theaters outside of the loo.

One by one each one skyward immersed
As the rest inched up closer to first
     But like women in line
     Still not given the sign
There were tempers (and bladders!) to burst.

To Dine

A civilized meal lets you dine
With a tablecloth, napkins and wine.
            The lighting is low;
            The room has a glow
And your mood is relaxed by design.

Compare that to dinner tonight
On the phone in between every bite.
            As I guzzled my drink
            Standing over the sink
I knew agita* this would invite.

For there’s certainly lots to be said
When you calmly sit down to break bread.
            As you nibble and sip
            Stress releases its grip
So your brain and your belly get fed.

*indigestion, agitation, anxiety

Next Friday

It’s Monday or Tuesday; I’m making a date
By email, by phone or by text
And Friday’s the day that I want to relate
So my spouse says, “Which one?” I say NEXT.

But next Friday, to him, is a few days away
And that isn’t the one that I meant,
For that one is THIS Friday and, to his dismay,
My annoyance is quite evident.

See, in Brooklyn, our THISSES and NEXTS we all knew
With no reason to thus clarify.
If I said, “Meet next Friday,” I understood you
Would just nod or say yes in reply.

Since it seems that not everyone has this in hand
I will spell it the best I know how.
THIS implies that the date coming up, understand,
Is the one in the same week as now.

But when you’re talking NEXT, check your calendar page.
I assure you the date you will find
Is the one after THIS one has been center stage
And the week has left mem'ries behind.

I don’t get the confusion; it’s simple as pie
Though my husband thinks I’m off my gourd.
Still, at least in New York, I can kind of see why
THIS and NEXT is a double-edged sword.

To Swap

In "Words with Friends" you have to know
Exactly when to swap,
For sometimes with the tiles you have
You can't come out on top.

The same is true in life, I guess;
At times we have to trade
Our car, our job or maybe spouse
Before our chances fade.

I mostly hold my letters, though,
And rarely make a switch,
Since upgrades are among those things
For which I have no itch.

I play with three opponents
And of course I lose a lot,
Perhaps because I mostly tend
To stick with what I've got.

Peach Lace Skirt

She strutted in a peach lace skirt,
Engaged in conversation.
Her legs were bare for temps were warm –
From tights, a liberation!

It brought me back to younger years –
That breeziness and hope,
When sunny days held promises
Which left no time to mope.

Her office beckoned, I was sure
But there’d be time to flirt,
For how could anyone resist
That brand-new peach lace skirt?