Breaking the Fast

Once a year I do not eat
For just one long long day.
The hours seem to stretch, but still,
I manage quite okay.

When time arrives to break the fast,
With loved ones gathered 'round,
There's just one food I must have first;
On that, I'll stand my ground.

It isn't bread or gooey cake
Or ice cream, meat or cheese,
But honeydew, with juicy flesh
That always seems to please.

I savor every single bite
As sweetness is released 
And once my plate holds just the rind,
I'm ready then to feast!

National Coffee Day

Today's a holiday, but one
You might not know about. 
It celebrates a drink I love
And cannot do without.

You may think beer, but you'd be wrong
(Although I love that, too).
The beverage that's honored 
Is that wake-up morning brew.

Yes, coffee is the drink I mean - 
Addictive, strong and rich.
So many folks enjoy it
And we'd never ever switch.

To those of you who sip your tea
Or cocoa, milk or chai,
I really think that coffee
Is the beverage you should try.

If not, a holiday for you
Your calendar might show.
Today, though, it is Coffee Day,
So raise your cup of joe!

Passport Photos

Our passport photos aren’t great
And not because they’re out of date,
For we’d been told no smiles allowed
And to this edict, we had bowed.

On mine, I look like I’m a thug
Or someone yearning for a hug.
My husband’s looks about the same,
A sour face inside the frame.

But now it’s time – we must renew
And no one said a grin’s taboo
So in the pictures we just took
We both display a happy look.

Perhaps the next time that we fly,
Our smiles, to agents, will imply
That doubts ‘bout us should be dismissed –
Too gleeful for a terrorist!

My Husband

My husband likes to vacuum
(Which is good, since I do not).
The rugs are very clean because
He vacuums quite a lot.

He doesn’t dust or clean the stove
Or scrub the sinks or floor
And changing sheets or washing windows
He would think a bore.

He also cooks, so really,
As for spouses, he’s the best
But he would be just perfect if
He also did the rest.

Marbles

My grandkids got a building toy
With plastic ramps and chutes
So marbles can go zig and zag
Down all the varied routes.

For safety’s sake, the marbles have
Been hidden from their view
Although, with supervision,
They can play with only two.

Henry has the blue one
And for Hadley, it’s the green.
We watch them like a hawk
Yet only rarely intervene.

The biggest fear, of course, is that
A marble will be swallowed
So every move they make, with one
In hand, is closely followed.

The grandparents have other thoughts –
Though marbles may amuse them,
What worries them much more’s the chance
That they will up and lose them!

At Yankee Stadium

I stared at all the jerseys
Worn by Yogi, Mickey, Lou,
The Babe and Derek Jeter,
Thurman Munson, Roger, too…

And I realized all these Yankees,
Those alive and those who’ve died,
Wore those uniforms, no matter when,
With dignity and pride.

For so many baseball players,
Playing ball was all they knew.
They were lucky that success rewarded
What they loved to do.

At the stadium, we cheered them
For each time they got on base,
With an inkling of whose jersey
Will join others in that case.

Henry Turned Four

Henry turned four
With a party galore
As his friends ran around
On the soft-padded floor.

You couldn’t ignore
How their spirits did soar
While they bounced and they tumbled
And just wanted more.

All this was before
Pizza (which they adore)
Served with juice which they spilled
Fast as helpers did pour.

Next the cake was in store
With the answer (a roar)
To “Who wants some?” and faces
To clean was my chore.

It was very top-drawer
From the food to décor.
At the end, though, the kids
Were wiped out to the core!

Please Don't Steal the Toilet Paper

At a rest stop on the highway,
In the women's room, a sign 
Saying, "Please don't steal the toilet paper!"
(Exclamation, mine.)

Beneath it, in parentheses,
Was added ("Yes, folks do it")
Although what type of people would,
I couldn't quite intuit.

I guess the ones who litter,
Cut the lines or text and drive;
In other words, a huge percent 
Of people now alive.

Apples and Honey

For a year that's bright and sunny 
With no ailments you must treat,
Have some apples dipped in honey;
It's the New Year's* snack to eat.

Foods existing through the ages
Have tradition on their side.
In the Bible's olden pages
Gastro wisdom was applied.

So we stick, with sweet precision,
To what ancient tribes were fed,
But if I made the decision,
We'd eat ice cream cones instead!

*Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year

On Rosh Hashanah

I listen to the ancient prayers
I've heard for all my life - 
Before I was a nana
Or a mother or a wife.

I hear them only once a year
And though I know the tunes 
I haven't felt entrenched
Like I once was in many moons.

Yet still I go to temple 
And I think, as prayers are read,
That I'll always be connected,
Though by just the thinnest thread.

Euphemisms

She didn't die; she passed away.
He isn't fat, just large.
She isn't mean and nasty;
She just likes to be in charge.

The play we saw was int'resting.
The meal we had - okay.
So much is hidden in each message
That we do convey.

And that is why I understand 
So well when I am told
That I am looking tired;
What it translates to is OLD!

One Right Shoe

One right shoe, a ballet flat,
Sat lonely on the street,
Wondering just why her mate
Left her so incomplete.

The passersby took note and shrugged,
Not curious enough
To waste their time on other people’s
Business or their stuff.

Yet in my head, I conjured up
Scenarios to solve
The mystery of why this coupling
Managed to dissolve.

Cut-Off Music

Watching the Emmys, I couldn’t help see
A glaring inequality.
When certain winners spoke too long,
The band began to play a song…

Implying, time to leave the stage;
Right NOW you have to disengage.
You do not rate a minute more,
So get a move on, out the door.

The A-list stars, though, got to speak
And might have gone on for a week,
Which proves that we should be aware
Of yet more ways that life’s unfair.

Sunday Scene

The tugboats in the river chug
While motorboats bounce by.
The dogs on leashes sniff the ground
And pigeons peck or fly.

The children with their helmets on
Give training wheels a whirl
While grown-ups check their phones
Or let their newspapers unfurl.

A gentle breeze allows the flags
To flutter, flap and dance
As shirtless men soak up the sun
And no one looks askance.

I sit here on a bench, relaxed,
Content to be outside
To jot these thoughts in comfort
Since I’ve all this time to bide.

Skyline

The New York City skyline
Once had visitors impressed,
But now it makes New Yorkers
Feel disgusted and depressed.

For jutting out obnoxiously,
A giant matchstick looms;
It’s a residential building
Filled with billionaire-type rooms.

It is ugly, it is boring
And it’s thrust into our faces
While destroying what was once
The special skyline it replaces.

We all know that its existence,
Though disastrous indeed,
Has been brought about by what
The world gets by on – mostly greed!

Rows of Stitches

I watch the magic happening 
As yarn becomes a shawl;
The knitting needles of my aunt
Are at her beck and call.

Her fingers wind the wool around 
Without her even thinking
And rows and rows of stitches show
Without her even blinking.

Her expertise is such that
I just really can't compare it,
But best of all is when she's done, 
Then I will get to wear it!

After a Hiatus

After a hiatus
Getting back to your routine
Feels both strange and yet familiar
Or more likely, in-between.

So today I took the subway
‘Cause my quilting class begins.
I’d forgotten how the crowds get,
Bumping knees and toes and shins.

But at last I reunited
With my classmates, what a treat!
And arrived in time for claiming
What I think of as “my” seat.

It’s a pleasure to return to
Someplace where you feel at ease
Though when there is a hiatus,
There can be no guarantees.

An Outing

I was writing by the river
On a bench within the shade
When I noticed that approaching was
A nursing home brigade.

Some in wheelchairs, others walking
With companions giving aid,
All were elderly and wrinkled;
Every head of hair had grayed.

So they sat there by the water
As the breezes ricocheted
And they soaked up all the sunshine
For the hour that they stayed.

When the leader gave the signal,
There were none who disobeyed
But I wondered if, among them,
There were those who felt betrayed.

Reaching Out

If we can’t manage face to face,
There still are ways of touching base.
Email, snail mail, text or phone
Help to make us less alone.

Though, of course, when we reach out,
An answer’s what it’s all about.
When none comes through, we wonder why,
Especially as time goes by.

The end result is we are left
Annoyed, let down or else bereft
Which makes me think those touch-base tools
Are used by masochists or fools.

In a Hurry

Chipmunks scamper, dash and scurry,
Creatures always in a hurry.
If they'd learn to just relax
They'd bypass chipmunk heart attacks.

But type-A humans can relate;
We have to move and hate to wait.
Let others plod and take it slow;
Like chipmunks, we must go-go-go!

In the Sunshine

Here I sit in sunshine
While a thousand miles away,
My relatives in Florida
Are under Irma's* sway.

My sister lost her power
More than seven hours ago
While my aunt and cousin in the west
Are waiting, lying low.

It's so strange to know disaster
Is occurring in a place
Where your family or friends are,
Very far from your home base.

So I check in with a phone call
Or a quick and simple text
While I sit here in the sunshine
And I wonder what comes next.

*a category 4 hurricane

My Companion

A writer needs a place to write
With comfort, peace and quiet,
Or that is what I've heard, at least;
Some day I'd like to try it.

We all make do with what we have
And noise is my companion,
Surrounding and entrenching me
Like echoes in a canyon.

I tune it out, though it be traffic,
Radio or siren,
The kinds of things that likely
Never bothered Poe or Byron.

Not being in their league, of course,
(And barely well-regarded)
My thoughts still make it to the page
Though noise has me bombarded.

The Key

If you've ever been with someone
In a pout or cranky mood,
Or one whose sheer exhaustion
Is in every bone imbued...

The key (which isn't guaranteed)
But might help, just a fraction,
Is a simple trick I've learned;
In just one word, it is - distraction!

A story or some brand-new facts
Or music good for dancing,
Some silliness or crafts or snacks
Can all be mood-enhancing.

This tip won't work in every case,
Though it's my deep belief
That if it does, you're sure to breathe
A sigh of great relief.

A Tiny Bit of Honey

A day is never wasted
If one thing has made you smile
Though that joy that you have tasted
Might just last a little while.

Still, a tiny bit of honey
Is enough to make life sweet
And there’s no amount of money
That can honestly compete.

So be grateful for those sightings
That have caused your face to grin
For the tiniest delightings
Keep the embers stoked within.

Staying the Same

It’s easy to do nothing
Though there's lots I’d like to change.
The old stuff is familiar,
With no need to rearrange.

So I find if I procrastinate
The hours melt away
And before I know what hit me –
Poof! There goes another day.

I admire those who sally forth
And tackle things they should.
It would be so great to join them
And I’d do it if I could.

Stopping by the Q on a Weekday Evening (with apologies to Robert Frost)

Which train will come, I’ll try to guess
But that won’t really help my stress.
It’s building up as crowds surround
Creating quite the urban mess.

The tourists all must think we’re nuts
To cram on platforms where such gluts
Of humans stream without an end
To pack so tight we’re touching butts.

Announcements say the train is near.
We crane our necks; no lights appear.
Then suddenly the rumble sounds
Of braking by the engineer.

The subway’s stuffy, cramped and late.
It does its best to aggravate
But all that we can do is wait
And that is what we do; we wait.

Clacking Away

When home computers made their way
Into our homes, things changed
And desks in dens or bedrooms
Were cleared off and rearranged.

The typewriter was certainly
The first thing taken out,
Tossed or shelved inside a closet
By all those but the devout.

Yet those true aficionados
Through these years have clacked away,
Knowing all those Smith-Coronas
Would be cool again some day.

A resurgence is occurring
With a slowly building hype
That it’s awesome, boss and groovy
On a typewriter to type.

There’s a reason we should cherish
Retro items from the past
For their coolness factor often has
Most modern things outclassed.

The Tappan Zee Bridge

We drove the brand-new Tappan Zee;
It’s modern and it’s sleek.
Only one direction’s finished;
It’s been open for a week.

The other side will join the club
Real soon and when it does,
The river will look very different
From the way it was.

The older bridge looked much as
An erector set appears,
Like the one my brothers played with
In their early childhood years.

It will slowly be dismantled
When the new one is complete,
As the past fades to oblivion,
A sorrowful retreat.

For the future’s out there waiting
And most things won’t be the same,
Like the bridge once called the Tappan Zee,
Which boasts a brand-new name.

But to tried and true New Yorkers,
Any name they tried to pick
(Former Governor M. Cuomo)
Simply put, will just not stick.

So let’s celebrate the opening
Of a bridge I guarantee
That, no matter what the signage,
Will remain the Tappan Zee.

My Pencil Point

My pencil point was out of joint
And didn’t feel like writing
Although the page was clean and fresh
With lines that looked inviting.

Its sullen mood had me imbued
With thoughts I tried to deaden,
For many wouldn’t place their trust
In one so plainly leaden.

Yet oftentimes we conjure rhymes
Quite quickly and with pleasure.
Perhaps the credit should be shared
By us in equal measure.

Princess Diana

I remember when I heard -
The awful total shock.
It's those iconic moments
That your mind can never block.

The news clips of the wedding
And her royal obligations;
The flowers at the palace
And the grievers of all nations.

The funeral, reminding me
Of that of JFK,
Both with children, young and fragile,
Crushed beneath the public sway.

Now it's 20 years behind us
But the story will not fade,
For the life of any princess
Doesn't match how it's portrayed.