A Non-Halloween Poem

A poem describing Halloween
Is what you might expect,
Impressions of the holiday
On which I did reflect.

Yet here is where I let you down
And you may think it rude,
But somehow, with no reason why,
I’m just not in the mood.

So if you want to read a rhyme
Of skeletons and such,
You’ll have to find another source;
Do I feel bad? Not much.

It’s good from time to time
When expectations don’t come through.
It’s true to life, but just in case,
I’ll end this with a BOO!

Lava Lamp

My daughter has a lava lamp,
Once given as a gift,
A retro item that, when plugged,
Can give your mood a lift.

The lava lamp was such a fad
That we’d be shocked to know
That future generations

Would find cool that blobby glow.

Its groovy factor didn’t last
But it was guaranteed
To mesmerize a visitor

Who’d smoked a little weed.

Of course, the folks who buy it now

Most likely have no clue

That being in an altered state

Improves that lava view.

Driving in the Rain

Driving in the rain’s a pain.
A normal speed you can’t maintain.
The droplets cause your eyes to strain
And there’s a lot of tension.

In your lane you must remain
Since it is hard to ascertain
If someone else might hydroplane
(Though never his intention).

In rain terrain you can’t complain
For water’s needed to sustain
The plants and trees which, in the main,
Don’t need our intervention.

Yet there’s no gain to just refrain
From stating what is very plain –
Driving in the rain’s a pain.
(I’m brooking no dissension!)

Remote

TV’s didn’t have remotes
Way back when I was young
And though the praises of
All “modern” items have been sung…

It really wasn’t such a chore
To get up off our butts
To change a channel, but before
You laugh and call me nuts…

You have to understand that there
Were 7 stations, max.
I guess we had the quality
Today’s indulgence lacks.

So switching shows was much more rare

And it was no big deal.
A couch potato’s way of life,
To most, would not appeal.

Since there was less obesity,
A theory I could float
Is blaming this on exercise
We’ve lost with the remote!

Counting Time

A year has months;
A month has weeks.
A week has days
Which brook no tweaks.

The days divide
By hours, neatly;
Hours, minutes.
Then, as fleetly,

Seconds tick
As time flies by.
We cannot pause it,
Though we try.

Curses!

I read of a study
That people who curse
Are much smarter than others
And not the reverse!

For cursers, when measured,
Have higher IQ's,
With bigger vocabs
For the words that they choose.

The researchers might
Have been shocked, just a bit,
While the clean mouths thought
(But didn’t say), “F*** that s***!”

Ode to my Eraser

Oh, trusty eraser,
You error replacer,
I thank you for clearing the way,
Preventing disgrace
When I cannot embrace
Words I’ve chosen which do not hold sway.

Just one swipe of your being
Gives way to me seeing
A blank where a blunder has been
So I’m once again free
To discover the key
Which will help me again to begin.

On computers, “delete”
Is a method discreet
To remove words that don’t make the grade
But eraser, you meet
All my needs as you greet
What my pencil has wrongly displayed.

Unnoticed

Flowers sometimes grow in cracks
Or vacant lots or railroad tracks
Or mountain paths where no one hikes
Or hidden where no sunlight strikes.

So, too, a poem, its words composed
And set upon the world, exposed
To passers-by who might peruse
And even comment, if they choose…

Or walk away without a glance,
Without the time to take a chance
On opening their busy eyes
To what could be a real surprise.

For poets’s phrase or flower’s bloom
Might shine a light into the gloom.

Fashion at MOMA

“Is Fashion Modern?” MOMA* asks
And so, in its new show,
The items on display are there
To let us know it’s so.

A pair of Levi’s, baseball caps,
Bikinis and berets,
A Wonderbra, dashikis, kilts
And suits from prior days.

A Rolex watch, Adidas, Nikes,
Mao jackets, too,
A leotard by Danskin,
Polo shirts (but not J. Crew).

Lipstick, flip flops, saris, Speedos,
Ties, stilettos, Spanx,
Jumpsuits, hoodies, Snuglis
(For which new moms owed their thanks).

My friend and I did reminisce,
While strolling the exhibit,
About the clothes like those we wore
When age did not inhibit.

*Museum of Modern Art (NYC)

Two for One

Something I don’t like to see
Is “Buy one item – get one free.”
One is what I want or need;
Two’s in excess – guaranteed!

Two for one does not entice.
I would much prefer the price
Be lowered when I’m buying one
Or, likely, I’ll be buying none!

In Central Park

In Central Park the crowds were out,
New York in all its glory,
With bikers, walkers, picnickers –
The same old weekend story.

The horses clip-clopped on the road,
With carriages of tourists
While singers sang with microphones
And bands without (the purists).

But always there is something new –
Today, some art creations,
Including projects for the kids
With paint or drawing stations.

What caught my eye, though, were two birds
Which shared a single goal –
To fly into a tree trunk
And to exit through a hole.

I guess there was a hidden nest
Tucked right inside the tree,
Another sighting in the park
To bring delight to me.

Ruffled

I envy a cool and calm person,
Unruffled by all of life's stress,
Who takes things in stride and never will hide
From impediments to her success.

It's hard to be that type of being,
So centered and quiet and calm,
Who will watch things unfold and will never lose hold,
Owning neither a worry nor qualm.

Of course, I am far from that person 
Who rolls with the punches, serene.
I get flummoxed so fast that you might be aghast
By my feathers, too ruffled to preen.

Under the Bus

The agents uncovered a scheme
When things not quite normal did seem
For when baggage came out 
There could be not a doubt
That a suitcase moved - was it a dream?

So they opened the bag and surprise!
What they found there in front of their eyes
Were computers and jewels 
Stolen using no tools
By the man in the case, they surmise.

For two crooks conjured up a good plan.
In a suitcase, well-hidden, one man
Would unzip as the bus
Moved along; with no fuss,
From the baggage some goodies he'd pan.

Though it's fitting the robbers got caught,
For bad deeds should be punished, we're taught,
I admire their guff
Though it wasn't enough 
To allow them the riches they'd sought.

A Little Slice of Eden

Sailboats on the river,
Choppers in the sky,
Flowers blazing color -
How fortunate am I!

Butterflies a'flutter,
Painters en plein air,
School kids freed from classrooms
Being silly as they'd dare.

Tourists snap some photos,
Pigeons peck for crumbs,
Sunshine coats the atmosphere;
Anxiety succumbs.

A little slice of Eden
On a Wednesday afternoon
And whenever I must mosey
Will be much much much too soon.

A Museum Gift Shop

A museum worth its salt
Has a gift shop that is cool.
If it doesn’t, I’d find fault
And be let down, as a rule.

For when I’ve seen all the art
Or the science that’s displayed,
I will often do my part
‘Til a purchase has been made.

Be it jewelry or a print
Or a postcard or a tee,
In the shop I will not stint
On a gift or treat for me.

That’s providing, like I said,
That there’s special funky stuff.
If there isn’t, well, instead,
I will stomp out in a huff.

But today, I had some luck –
Bought some earrings and a plate,
For I’ll gladly spend a buck
When some quirky things await.

Forgot

There’s something that I meant to do
And I just plumb forgot.
I wish this were a rarity
But sadly, it is not.

My brain can’t cling to any thought
Unless I stop to write it
And so I jot down notes because
It doesn’t pay to fight it.

But yesterday my memo failed
‘Cause I forgot to read it.
I’d stuck it in my bag despite
The fact that I would need it.

I came across it later on,
Too late for my intention.
It wasn’t that important but
Still worthy of a mention.

For likely, this will reoccur
More often, I would bet
Since getting older means
There’ll be much more I will forget.

Girl Boy Scouts

Calling all Girl Scouts!
It’s time to make noise,
‘Cause if you so choose
You can hang with the Boys!

Perhaps someone thought
That you envied their clan
And would be better off
With a role model man.

But it somehow seems wrong
If the name stays the same,
For the Boy Scouts implies
There’s no room for a dame.

Either keep them apart
Or just call them all Scouts,
Then whoever wants in
Will not have any doubts.

Two Sides of a Coin

She stands there in knickers,
A cap on her head,
Looking tomboyish, truant and tough
And a cigarette dangles
From unsmiling lips
To warn all she’s not taking their guff.

It’s a sepia snapshot,
The 20’s, I’d guess,
The photographer long in his grave,
But the girl is my grandmother
Though I’ll admit
It’s an image she’d choose not to save.

All the years that I knew her,
So quiet and prim,
Don’t quite match with the face in the frame.
That’s the reason I treasure
This photo of old,
‘Cause both Jennys were one and the same.

A Hard-Boiled Egg

You crack the shell and start to peel;
It may slide off completely.
If not, too bad, but here's the deal:
The rest won't come off neatly.

But when it's clean, it needs a rinse 
In case some shell is clinging
And next comes salt, which will evince
The flavor it is bringing.

Some slice it up and others bite
While weirdos pop it whole.
Whichever way, it will delight
Despite cholesterol.

So boil one if you're in the mood,
Though we should thank the hen
For bringing us this simple food
To eat now and again.

The Yankee Game

I watched the Yankee game until
I couldn't stay awake
(Though flipping back to C.S.I.,
A habit I can't break).

So when I heard that they had won
It wasn't a surprise,
'Cause they were in the lead around
The time I closed my eyes.

I felt for all the Cleveland fans
Who witnessed their team lose.
It's hard to swallow that defeat 
At home, despite the booze.

But now there are more games to watch 
So I can root, root, root.
When your team plays, it's much more fun -
Of that, there's no dispute.

Helicopters

Helicopters dot the sky
Like dragonflies, but louder.
I wonder if the insect world
Sees them and feels much prouder.

For how their rumbles fill the air,
Attracting much attention,
Although their engineers would claim
That wasn’t their intention.

Still, I prefer the gentle buzz
Of wings to their propellers.
(Except for stinging insects –
I’ve no fondness for those fellers!)

"Faces Places"

A film about a mismatched pair
Who travel throughout France
To photograph the folks they meet
Is one that just enchants.

They print the pictures jumbo-sized
And paste them onto spaces
Which normally possess a blankness
That their art replaces.

So water towers, freight trains, walls,
Containers meant for shipping
Get locals’ faces plastered on,
A concept I found gripping.

The English title, “Faces Places”
Hasn’t really captured
The magic of this movie, with which
I was quite enraptured.

Last Night

3:54, 3:55
The glowing clock is mocking.
Its digital display deceives –
No ticking and no tocking.

Yet seconds march along while thoughts
Unpleasantly come flocking,
My tired mind incapable
Of a triumphant blocking.

Insomnia, from what I’ve heard,
Is really not too shocking,
But how I dread those nights when it
Maliciously comes knocking.

A Lazy Sunday

A lazy Sunday afternoon
For reading and reflecting,
For crossword puzzles, Words with Friends
And on-the-phone connecting.

The dreary weather makes me feel
No guilt for staying put.
I did my morning walk so there’s
No goofing off afoot.

Well, maybe just a little bit
For closets should be tackled,
But it’s real nice from chores to be
Just fleetingly unshackled.

The Orchard

The orchard had a racket
With some autumn fruit to pick –
A pumpkin or some apples
But it wouldn’t be too quick…

For the parking lot on Saturday
Was filled with family groups
And to get to where the orchard was
You had to jump through hoops.

The lines were long for everything –
The picking trees and store
And bakery and port-a-potties;
Plus, just one thing more…

The temps were not quite fall-like.
It was sunny and so hot
That if you think it was fun
I must assure you it was not.

Still, the kids ran up and down a hill
And climbed the hay-bale pile,
Enough to make us almost feel
The trip was worth our while.

We left and cranked the car’s AC
To max and headed back,
But first – lunch at the diner,
Just to get us back on track.

A New Yorker's View of Times Square

Times Square is better than it was
But still in every crowd
The poor and homeless fill the streets;
It's dirty and it's loud.

I wonder what the tourists think
And if the mayor's blamed.
When I am there I look around 
And mainly feel ashamed.

Of course the lights of Broadway
Give the area some glitz 
But all the hype of glamour 
Somehow just no longer fits.

The shows are still quite fabulous
Despite the vibe of sleaze.
I guess all cities share this truth
To varying degrees.

A, My Name is Alice

Last night I couldn’t fall asleep
Despite my kind of counting sheep,
Reciting ditties in my head
While toss and turning in my bed.

One tune goes through the alphabet.
If you’re from Brooklyn, I would bet
You know it too – you might recall
You’d chant it to a bouncing ball.

It starts off “A, my name is blank”
And in that space your mind would crank
A female name that starts with A
And in the next line, you would say:

“And my husband’s name is Al”
(Or Andrew, Austin or his pal).
“We come from Alabama” or
Another A place – there are more.

The final line is what we sell
Like “apples” – does this ring a bell?
Then you repeat with B and C
And all the letters up to Z.

I wish this worked, but it did not.
I gave it everything I’ve got
But knowing all that was at stake,
I finished, but was still awake!

Outside In

Outside the confines of our homes
The world just barrels by.
Events from news reports
Are far away and don’t apply.

We watch them from our bubbles,
Witness sorrow and despair.
The sadness fills the screen
But we are here and that is there.

Unless, of course, we’re visiting
Or living in the place
Where destruction, death and anguish
Have descended, face to face.

Only then are we reminded
That, though victims may be reeling,
Not a soul who isn’t in it
Can imagine what they’re feeling.

Tom Petty

When people we admire die,
Of course we mourn and wonder why
Someone so special had to leave;
We cannot know and so we grieve.

The music world and those who rock
Come yesterday received a shock.
Tom Petty'd had a heart attack
And no, he won’t be coming back.

To all his fans, and I am one,
The sinking in has not begun.
To face the passing of Tom Petty
Can’t be done – I’m just not ready.

Illusion

Safety's an illusion
For there's no place that's secure.
The tourists in Las Vegas
Weren't worried, I am sure.

But waiting for disaster,
Paranoia stakes its claim
And terrorists are not the only
Crazies we can blame.

Still, life is there for us to live
With all the good that's in it,
Although it could be over
In an unexpected minute.

October

If every month’s a color
Then October has to be
The same orange as a pumpkin
And I think we’d all agree.

For as fall, in its ascendance,
Turns the leaves and ripens gourds,
Golds and oranges and ochres
Are the notes of autumn’s chords.

So I welcome Ms. October
Gussied up in tangerine,
Bringing just enough of chilly days
To supersede the green.