Lusting

We laughed at Jimmy Carter
When he “lusted in his heart,”
But sticking to his thoughts alone
Was noble, just and smart.

As one by one our idols drop
From allegations’ pricks,
It seems no one’s exempt
In show biz, news or politics.

Each day reveals a brand-new name
Of somebody accused.
The president, who led the list,
Must surely be amused.

But all the would-be victims
From when Carter was the prez
Should be grateful he controlled himself.
(At least that’s what he says.)

Tour Group

Most of them weren't listening
To what I had to say.
The teacher tried to settle them
But they did not obey.

A few, though, were attentive
(Still, I wish it had been more)
But that's the way it sometimes goes
On my museum tour.

I volunteer to lead these groups,
The same age that I taught,
And since I've been retired,
It's a contact that I've sought.

Yet there are times when things aren't smooth
(And, no, don't blame the season)
When I'm reminded that I am
Retired for a reason!

Surprise Party

Her friends, encircled, waited there,
Anticipation in the air.
Then in she walked, with widened eyes;
The party was a true surprise.

She laughed and each of us embraced,
Her shock by happiness replaced.
The wine was poured, we had a toast
To really, what had mattered most –

That all her closest friends did heed
Her husband’s call; he did succeed
To gather all to what might be
The coolest room you’d ever see.

We talked, we drank, we laughed, we ate,
A lovely night to celebrate
The birthday of a longtime friend
Which I was happy to attend.

Wedding Day

My in-laws came like they were forced;
My grandma broke her wrist.
My pink bouquet my mother sourced,
Objections (mine) dismissed.

My husband’s suit was corduroy
And he refused a tie
But just his presence brought me joy;
On that I could rely.

The rabbi said the blessings then
The in-laws promptly left,
But happy feelings rose again
And no one felt bereft.

The turkey meal was next unveiled.
(It was Thanksgiving Day.)
Now 42 more ships have sailed;
We’re older now, and gray.

Yet looking back, I marvel at
The sureness in our vow,
A wedding promise made and that
We both still honor now.

Brick

The third little pig knew how to pick
When making his abode of brick.
Of course, he chose it ‘cause it’s strong
And on that count, he wasn’t wrong…

But also, it has street appeal,
A stateliness that can conceal
Whatever’s happening inside,
For upright living is implied.

I grew up in a brick-built house
And live in one now with my spouse
So all my life I’ve felt secure.
When I’m at home, I know for sure

That no one will invade my space.
No huffs or puffs can e’er deface
The sturdy bricks on proud display
That keep those big bad wolves away.

A Simple Joy

Find a plastic container
(Its cover should fit)
And into that cover
Cut out a small slit.

Procure a small package
Of poker-style chips,
The red, white and blue ones,
Just right for small grips.

Present to a child
(From toddler-age up)
And watch her delight
As she fills up that cup.

My children enjoyed this
And now, too, the grands,
The basics of pleasure
A child understands.

Post-Thanksgiving

I gobbled some turkey and cranberry sauce,
Potatoes – both mashed and marshmallowed,
Cooked carrots and string beans, a nice cold beer –
To keep my mood stress-free and mellowed.

I’m taking a break before pie a la mode
And please do not think that I’m boasting,
But leftovers from a Thanksgiving meal
Are worth all the efforts of hosting!

Hosting Thanksgiving

The planning, the cleaning, the shopping and then
The cooking and making things pretty.
The digging up toys for the grandkids for when
They (at last!) visit you in the city.

The setting the table and heating up food,
The waiting and counting each minute.
Then poof! They arrive and the day is imbued
With such joy you just sink yourself in it.

The curious checking of all you possess,
The snacking on foods you have ready.
The zen of the moment removing all stress,
So happy you’d like some confetti.

The playground, the playing, the laughing, the meal,
The chatting with guests over dinner,
The way that this holiday always should feel –
Whether pro as a host or beginner.

The pies and the cookies, the candies and cake,
The hugs and the kisses goodbye-ing.
The hours of clean-up, but make no mistake –
For the host job next year I’m applying!

My Uncle Irv

My uncle was a vegan
Back before that was a word.
As kids, we always found
His eating habits quite absurd.

His veggies he refused to cut
So there upon his plate
Were carrots, leaves and peppers –
We could really not relate.

Especially because that meal
Was on Thanksgiving Day.
We stuffed our faces, laughing at
His colorful display.

If he were still alive today
He wouldn’t seem so odd,
Though I’m sure the turkeys way back then
Considered him a god.

My Home

I had a visitor today
Who’d not been here before
And this is what she said
The moment she walked through the door:

“Your home is just the way that I
Expected it to be.
It really looks like you.” Of course,
The “you” she meant is me.

I took that as a compliment

For how we dress our nest
Is to guarantee we’re happy,
Not so others are impressed.

I’m relaxed in my apartment
And my husband would agree,
Though I’m glad when others notice
A reflection there of me.

In the Line of Duty

I got a splinter from the
Laundry basket made of straw.
I banged into the stepstool
So my shin is red and raw.

I knocked a chair right over
And it fell onto my toe.
Another one’s still injured
So I’ve only eight to go.

These wounds are all the products
Of my sad attempt to clean
Which is obviously, not to me,
A part of my routine.

Early Morning Country Walk

An early morning country walk
Provides a quiet time to talk
Of this and that, surrounded by
The trees and houses, clouds and sky.

The leaves drift down and coat the ground,
The barren branches left, one crowned
With such a gorgeous hornets’ nest,
All creatures had to be impressed.

A leaping deer darts ‘cross the road
As cars approach, in panic mode,
Then disappears while by and by
A flock of turkeys catch my eye.

We head on home and as we chat,
Of some of this and some of that,
We’re grateful for the sweet embrace
Of Nature in this peaceful place.

Grapes of Wrath

The grapes were green and really huge
And surely had appeal
(Forgive the unintended pun)
But they were not a steal.

For when the cashier placed them,
In their bag, upon the scale,
The customer in front of me,
Who heard the price, turned pale.

"Ten dollars for a bunch of grapes?"
Her face reflected panic.
The cashier calmed her down -
"I'll take them off - but they're organic."

I know "organic" makes folks think
Such food is that much better,
But it's not worth it if it makes
The purchaser a debtor.

A Lucky Find

Sometimes in a store you'll find
Just what you'd hoped to see,
The price and style so good
Your brain and pocketbook agree.

It doesn't happen all the time
But when components click,
It feels like fate is leading you
To what you need to pick.

And so you quickly make your way 
To join the checkout line,
Convinced that what you've found 
Is by celestial design.

Of course, it doesn't balance out
Those times when choice demanded,
Since not one thing was appealing,
That you come home empty-handed.

Inflatable

Its uses, I guess, are debatable
But oh, what a grin it produced!
A turkey, both fake and inflatable,
Was in a new store introduced.

I almost gave in to temptation,
For what a good joke it would be
When the guests, beaming in admiration,
Would hear hosts claim it chemical free.

Vegetarians likely would love it,
Sitting out on a platter to tease,
While the faces of those who learn of it
Would spout giggles, to varied degrees.

Streaking

There once was a fad we called streaking
For those with attention-type seeking
But not for a prude
‘Cause you ran in the nude
Very fast, to prevent people peeking.

The witnesses often were shrieking
Though gazes, of course, they were sneaking.
The streaker was thrilled
For his dash had fulfilled
Being cheeky enough to cause freaking.

The Library Book

I scanned the shelves to pick a book
That seemed to be appealing,
From those adjacent to my shoes
To those up near the ceiling.

Selecting some that might work out,
I skimmed the first few pages,
For mostly I can tell by then
A story that engages.

A half an hour passed before
I found a prime contender,
The author someone in whose words
I’d happily surrender.

I checked it out and brought it home,
Some reading time in store
But soon enough it came to me –
I’d read this book before!

Toy Story

A British man, age 50,
Had a cough that wouldn’t quit.
An X-ray showed a mass and so
He thought that this was it.

When doctors stuck a probe inside,
The patient was in luck.
Instead of cancer in his lung,
A toy had gotten stuck.

It seems when he was 7,
Playing in his room, alone,
He’d swallowed, accidentally,
A tiny traffic cone.

Its orange shape had wedged there
43 long years ago,
But now the surgeon figured
It was time for it to go.

The gent recovered quickly
With his lungs all nice and clear
And he left without his cough
But with a treasured souvenir.

He Said, She Said

A can of worms has opened up
And so much slithered out
That every accusation now
Contains a seed of doubt.

A leer, a touch, a grope, a rape,
All met with a denial,
Including those kept secret for
Much longer than a while.

The lawyers pounce; the tabloids print
The sordid tales, supposing
That those in power had much more
Than egos for exposing.

And so we listen as each day
The accusations mount
Which soon enough will be much more
Than we can even count.

A Topic

“My kingdom for a topic!”
Said the poet to the pad.
Forgive me, William Shakespeare,
I was desperate (just a tad).

Most often, there are subjects
Lining up inside my head,
But once in every while
There’s just emptiness instead.

The obvious solution
(Which I’ve obviously chosen)
Is to write of my dilemma
(Which you’ve noticed, I’m supposin’).

Coming Up Short

Sadly, there's news that I have to report:
Sometimes your age has you coming up short.
You may plan a trip or an outing and then
Boom! It hits you - you're wandering out of your ken.

You may tempt the gods and proceed even though
A tiny voice whispers it's best not to go.
If sleepless nights happen you don't have a choice -
Admit your defeat and pay heed to that voice.

Then alter the plans you'd intended to keep
Just the tiniest bit to ensure you will sleep.
Admit that the years have been taking a toll;
Find an easier path and get ready to roll.

Hungry

At a meeting, someone said,
“I’m hungry. Who has food?”
Some offerings were made for which
He showed his gratitude:

A yummy looking sandwich,
Missing two or three small bites
And a little bag of pretzels,
Like those given out on flights.

He ate and felt much better,
Glad that we could help him out,
For that’s what having friends around
Is really all about.

The meeting over, I walked out
To catch an uptown train
And passed a stranger on the street
Who shouted out, in vain…

“I’m hungry. Who has food for me?”
He seemed about to cry;
But all the crowd that swirled around
Just kept on walking by.

Right Side Up

To children, something upside down
Is silly, a mistake.
To grown-ups it's more ominous 
(Unless we mean a cake).

For we expect things to appear
The way they ought to be,
So right side up provides us with
A certain symmetry.

When things go topsy-turvy
And the world seems upside down,
Then every smile will do the same 
And turn into a frown.

Boundaries

We live within the boundaries
We’ve established for ourselves,
Which likely do not match
Where any other person delves.

For all of our parameters
Are special and unique
Tailored physically or mentally
To comforts that we seek.

The daring cross the borders
Where adventures may await
While most others rarely plunge
Beyond the confines they create.

It doesn’t pay to envy
Those whose boundaries are immense
For to violate our own might yield
A sorry consequence.

Things We Can't Control

There are things we can’t control
As much as we would like to
Just as there are places
Much too far for us to hike to.

And so we need to take a breath
And change the things we can,
Forgetting all that we cannot;
It seems a simple plan.

Yet often our intentions
Contradict our intuition
And therefore all our efforts
May not come to their fruition.

It’s better, then, to map a route
We’re able to complete
Than to struggle unsuccessfully
And wallow in defeat.

Fall Behind

By now I should be quite resigned
To “spring ahead and fall behind”
But every time we change the clocks
It seems that sheer exhaustion knocks.

I wake up when I think it’s time
Though it no longer is and I’m
Unable to get back to sleep
Since daylight early starts to creep.

And then when it’s still afternoon
I eat my dinner – way too soon.
At 8 p.m., for goodness’ sake,
I’m struggling to stay awake.

Dominoes

When two parts of my life cross paths
I can't resist some smiles
Although they may diverge
By many years and many miles.

My aunt, who just turned 89,
Plays dominoes for fun
And calls to tell me, with a laugh, 
How many times she's won.

Today my grandkids came to play
In our vacation place,
Discovering their dad's old toys,
Soon strewn about the space.

A highlight was the dominoes, 
Placed carefully in line, 
But unlike when my aunt competes,
Just strictly for design.

It warmed my heart to think about
These bookend sets of tiles,
Both much enjoyed by those I love 
In very different styles.

Toddler Gym Redux

The shoes are stashed in cubbies,
The jackets hung on hooks.
The kids are having quite a blast -
At least that's how it looks.

The trampoline is busy
As toddlers bounce and jump
While rubber bumpers ring the gym
So no one gets a bump.

There's music from the speakers,
A breeze from all the fans
And balance beams, all with a part
In Friday morning's plans.

When caring for the grandkids, 
I think of days gone by 
When I would take their father
To the same class at the "Y."

Having a Clew

Within my brain there’s residue
Of many things that I once knew
And on occasion, from the blue,
A word appears, as if on cue.

For on my phone, the word on view
(A daily treat, each morning due)
Was one for which my mem'ry drew
On Theseus, the hero who

Was seeking out an avenue
To leave a maze he’d ventured through
And did so, when he used a clew*
A maiden gave, who loved him true.

I’d read this tale (one of a few)
When I was young; as knowledge grew
I never thought I could construe
The key to “clew” without a clue.

*a ball of thread, yarn or cord

Terror Attack

You’re out to stroll or on a bike,
A lovely day, a sky of blue,
When suddenly, a terror strike
And sadly, that’s the end of you.

We hear the news; we’re stunned and shocked.
The TV shows the blurry tape.
The perpetrator’s plan, half-cocked,
Did not allow him to escape.

Investigations start, but still,
The wounded ache, the dead are gone.
We’re horrified, but know the drill –
We move along and carry on.