Another Person's Mind

You never really know what’s in
Another person’s mind.
If you could look, who knows
The kind of secrets you would find.

Though face and body language
May give off a subtle clue,
It’s not enough to figure out
Or maybe misconstrue.

So you can guess, though there’s a chance
That what you had assumed
Is far from the reality
Mistakenly presumed.

The only way to know, then,
Is to come right out and ask;
Then ascertaining honesty
Becomes another task.

The Nest

With beaks wide open,
There they wait.
Maybe mom 
Or dad is late.

Here I have a
Birds' eye view.
Watching them
Is what I do.

Suddenly,
The mom alights
To feed her babes
With bird-sized bites.

Or possibly
It was the dad.
In either case, 
The chicks were glad.

And so was I
To witness this,
A treat, back home,
That I would miss.

Upon the Windowsill

My plants upon the windowsill
Start dancing in delight
When I open up the windows,
Even if the breeze is slight.

In summertime, quite often,
I must keep those casements closed
So to outside air their leaves and buds
Are sometimes not exposed.

If it’s not too hot, I much prefer
A fan to the A/C;
Judging from my plants’ reactions,
I think they agree with me.

Other People's Problems

Self-pity has a likely cure;
Just do a little sharing.
Then you will find, I'm pretty sure,
When you are done comparing...

That other people's problems 
May be even worse than yours.
It puts things in perspective 
When you peek in other doors.

It doesn't pay to wallow
In the negatives you claim.
Comparisons ring hollow
When you play the one-up game.

For there always will be others 
Who, in life, fare so much worse. 
That's at least until it's time
To trade an Uber for a hearse.

Wild Things

Classic children's books are such
For reasons very clear.
Their plots or pictures are unique
And beautifully cohere.

The Sendak stories, which, to some,
Are really quite bizarre, 
Have always brought us pleasure,
E.g. "Where the Wild Things Are."

It's new to Henry yet it drew
Him deep inside the tale,
A feat that Maurice Sendak books
Do always, without fail.

So Max and all the Wild Things,
Which my grandson liked a lot, 
Now will join his favorites in a place
Where supper's always hot.

Unwanted Company

Through a crack in the wall he did peep,
Though in daytime he should be asleep.
All at once he did scurry
As if in a hurry,
Aversion in me running deep.

My brief sojourn outside was cut short
For such company I can’t support.
Any mouse running near
Makes me want to stay clear
Since with others he’s sure to cavort!

Coming First

They tell you in an airplane
If you see the dangling masks,
Place one on your own face first;
Yet somebody always asks,

“Well, then, what about my children
Or my spouse, who’s old and frail?
Shouldn’t I take care of them before
My own needs should prevail?”

Yet the answer is consistent –
We must place ourselves ahead
For we cannot care for others
If our strength seeps out instead.

Such a lesson should be taken
To all aspects of our lives:
Those who sacrifice too much may find
The soul no longer thrives.

So no matter who may need us,
Though our love may be dispersed,
We'll have so much more for giving
If we tend to ourselves first.

A Triple Treat

I met my son for lunch today,
An unexpected treat.
We both had time (quite rare for him)
So it made sense to meet.

We talked of this and that, a time
To simply socialize,
While munching on our lunches
And devouring our fries.

An air-conditioned haven
With my son was every way
A triple treat – a break from heat
And lunch; (he got to pay!)

Dinner with Bogart

“Phil!” he squawks and Phil replies
Which, naturally, is no surprise
For Bogart’s lived with Phil for years;
They get each other, it appears.

At dinnertime, while we did eat,
The parrot joined us, quite a treat.
He ate his pasta, while we looked,
And also munched on some uncooked.

He delicately nibbled cheese
And broccoli, by small degrees;
But most surprising, we were stricken
By the fact he chomped on chicken.

Guess when birds are raised as pets,
They eat the food their owner gets.
I hope, though, Bogart wasn’t hurt
‘Cause no one offered him dessert!

Sunny

The rainy day turned sunny;
We spent it with some friends.
It's sometimes strange and funny
What the forecaster portends.

For we expected weather
Filled with cloudiness and wet
And though we'd be together,
We thought rain was what we'd get.

Instead the sky did brighten
As we moseyed through the day,
Where the sunshine helped to frighten
All those auguries away.

Home Improvement

It's easy to do nothing,
As the years pass, to your house.
"It looks okay" - a maxim
Many homeowners espouse.

But if, at last, the motivation
Strikes and you proceed, 
You may discover some improvement's
What you really need.

A paint job, new appliances,
Replacements for your chairs,
A spruced-up garden and a guy
Who's handy with repairs.  

From day to day, it's hard to see
How much we acclimate
To our surroundings, even as
They turn so out-of-date.

A few small changes may just help
You get into the groove
And you may be surprised to find
Your home and mood improve.

Trump and Putin

(to the tune of "Love and Marriage")

Trump and Putin, Trump and Putin -
Both seem oh-so-very highfalutin,
With such praises gushin.'
(Though who knows what was said in Russian?)

Trump and Putin, Trump and Putin -
When you see them, you should start salutin.'
Since they both love power,
Admiration we should shower.

Why, why, why then do we hate them?
Just pick a reason.
Lie, lie, lie to us until we think
It must be treason.

Trump and Putin, Trump and Putin - 
If you think they're bad, you're right, darn tootin.'
Hawks of likewise feather
And I would bet that their duet 
Has no Nyet yet - Bullies together!

The Perfect Shady Spot

I found the perfect shady spot
Where I could do some writing.
With river view and chirping birds,
It surely was inviting.

I noticed that the nearby benches
All were hot and sunny.
I felt real lucky, but you know
That life is sometimes funny…

And so, in fifteen minutes’ time,
What came to pass I’d feared –
My lovely shade, so nice and cool,
Had all but disappeared.

You can’t rely on very much
When Nature’s in control.
We bow to her conditions,
For she’s not one to cajole.

The Sparrows

We wait for tickets on a bench,
Free Shakespeare time, in Central Park.
The local sparrows hope to wrench
Some crumbs, so they are on their mark.

The word gets out and so they flock,
A grackle sometimes squeezing in,
For they don’t need a watch or clock
To know when snack time will begin.

The pigeons, oddly, stay away,
The sparrows having staked their claim,
But in the park, on any day,
All birds will eat (and we’re to blame).

The humans and the birds both wait,
Impatience knocking at the door,
In hopes that soon upon our plate
We’ll get what we are waiting for.

Trump Abroad

At first, when he sidestepped the Queen,
A slight that the world had not seen,
We hung our heads low,
Embarrassed, although
Such faux pas have become quite routine.

But the meeting with Putin was worse
For it seemed, when the two would converse,
Someone looked like a chump
And, of course, it was Trump
Who makes things go from bad right to verse!

Bleeding Madras

A fad when I was younger
Was a bleeding madras shirt.
The colors, after washing it,
Would somehow then convert.

If often had a vibrant plaid
To start with, but when wet,
The dyes would start to run;
You’d never know what you would get.

Of course, you had to hand-wash
For if tossed in a machine,
The other clothes would color-change
While they were getting clean.

As crazes go, it didn’t last
Too long and I would guess,
Not many liked to hand-wash
And the sink was left a mess!

The Trump Balloon

In London, the crowds got to swoon
At a 20-foot orange balloon
Of a baby, quite plump,
Looking very like Trump
As he often appears – a buffoon.

His huge mouth is agape with a scream,
Surely spouting a foul-sounding theme
And his little hand grasps
What inspires some gasps –
That’s his phone, with its Twitter-type stream.

So the “welcome” the planners conceived
And that Londoners thereby achieved
Was a slap in the face
Bringing Donald disgrace
And the chance to see how he’s perceived.

Gimme a Break

You can break a promise, break a toy,
Break a rack in pool;
Break a tennis player’s serve
And even break a rule.

Break a horse to saddle up;
Take a break for lunch.
Break a glass (at Jewish weddings);
Listen to it crunch.

Break a habit, break a heart,
Break your back by lifting;
Break your neck and break your fast
And break a line by shifting.

Break up laughing, break-out stars,
Break out with some zits;
Break a losing streak and break
Your taffy bar to bits.

Break dance, break-up, break a bone;
Break a record – wow!
Break your train of thought, just like
I’m going to do – now!

Sportsmanship

Two tennis pros at Wimbledon,
Competing stroke for stroke,
Played six hours plus and both
Were going, as they say, for broke.

Of course, at last it had to end;
My favorite, sadly, lost.
The winner, though, acknowledged
What the competition cost.

When interviewed, he shook his head
And then apologized
For seeming less enthused than
The reporter had surmised.

He felt for his opponent,
Knowing that he would have been
As devastated if he hadn't
Held on for the win.

Such humbleness was such a sign
Of well-deserved respect 
And with roles reversed, the same response 
Is what I would expect.

Aches and Pains

All you younger folk, take heed;
Here’s advice that you will need:
Every effort to keep fit –
Diet, gym class, all of it,
Will not help you as you age
From entering that “senior” stage.

Age alone is what explains
The bulk of many aches and pains.
Joints and muscles, all agree,
Arrive with Nature’s warranty,
Which, we never comprehended,
Cannot really be extended.

When we’re young we make mistakes,
Thinking all those pains and aches
Of older people we’ll avoid
Because precautions we’ve employed.
We view our elders with contempt;
From their distress we’ll be exempt.

This, then, is a wake-up shout.
There really isn’t any doubt
That even if you treat them right,
Your mind and body won’t be quite
The same as age controls the reins
And aches and pains are what remains.

Juiced

Every morning, all my life,
I drink a glass of juice.
It helps the pills go down
And it is healthy, you’d deduce.

But as I just discovered,
If you did, you would be wrong,
For fruit juice in a healthy diet
Just does not belong.

It’s filled with sugar, so much so
It’s worse than drinking Coke.
How awful when assumptions
You have had go up in smoke!

A fruit in its entirety
Is best, the experts said,
So it would be much better
Eating oranges instead.

This knowledge is engaging
But I’ll cling to this excuse –
I’ve survived this long so I will stick,
Each morning, with my juice.

Out!

Miraculous is how it seemed
That they escaped alive,
Those 12 boys and their coach,
Who many thought would not survive.

For 18 days they languished
In a cave beneath the ground
With raging waters rising near
The place where they were found.

The Navy Seals are credited
With rescuing the team,
Reversing parents’ nightmares
Into one amazing dream.

The world held its collective breath
While all this was transcending
And let out whoops of great relief
To hear the happy ending.

Straws

Years ago, the straws we used
Were paper ones, some striped.
Then plastic ones took over,
Since their sturdiness was hyped.

My grandkids love the bendy-types
In neon-colored hues,
Especially when from the box
Their favorites they can choose.

But it has been discovered
That these plastic straws pollute
And injure many animals
And human beings, to boot.

So Starbucks just announced that they
Won’t serve them anymore
And other corporations plan
To even up the score.

They’ll all revert to paper,
So old-fashioned and iconic;
Seems some “retro” things were better,
Which is just a bit ironic.

Trilling

It's such a thrill to hear the trill
Of birds up in the trees.
The notes just spill from every bill
In melodies to please.

With every frill the backyards fill,
A concert most delightful.
Their innate skill means hearers will
Perk up at every biteful.

We know the drill - they'll sing until
They stop; it isn't for us.
Then all is still and we would kill
To hear just one more chorus.

Rusty

My garden planter's turned to rust
And I am slightly vexed 
For outdoor items should, I trust,
Not leave me so perplexed.

If they are meant to be outside
You'd think that would imply
That what they're made of could abide
When weather's not quite dry.

My "outdoor" ceiling fans, as well,
Have rusted and look bad. 
Though they still work, the fact they sell
For "outdoors" makes me mad.

I guess in Mother Nature's realm
We have to be resigned 
To knowing when she's at the helm 
She'll leave some rust behind.

Federer

At Wimbledon, all dressed in white,
Is Federer, still at the height
Of tennis genius, a delight
To watch when he's in action.

Against opponents he will fight,
Displaying his athletic might.
His cool demeanor will not bite
At any slight distraction.

On Centre Court, in day or night,
His playing will the crowd ignite
And win or lose, he's most polite, 
Which adds to his attraction.

Hey, Scott Pruitt!

Hey, Scott Pruitt!*
We all knew it
Soon would come to this.

Rumors flew; it
Seemed you blew it.
Truth you would dismiss.

Anger'd brew; it
Looked like, “Screw it!”
Were the words you’d hiss.

You’d pooh-pooh it
As on view it
Seemed you were amiss.

How’d you do it?
Breeze right through it,
Seemingly in bliss?

Well, Scott Pruitt,
Now boo-hoo it!
You we will not miss!

*Trump’s head of the EPA

Fourth of July

For every burger we consume,
Each hot dog we are chomping,
We should remember on this day
The Redcoats we were tromping.

For every icy beer we chug,
Each ear of corn we're biting,
We have to thank the colonists,
Who sacrificed by fighting.

If independence wasn't won,
We'd be on different footing,
Enjoying Shepherd's pie, perhaps,
Or maybe Yorkshire pudding.

My Muse

I’m staring at my notebook
Whose pages I’ve perused
To double-check a topic;
My muse is quite bemused.

For lately I’ve been empty
Where always I’ve enthused.
I don’t know why poetic themes
Have slowed and barely oozed.

My confidence is sagging;
My ego’s slightly bruised.
I need a jolt of energy
To somehow be infused.

But meanwhile as I struggle,
Where once I blithely cruised,
My muse just sits there mocking
And I’m really not amused.

The Way People Are

People do the things they do
From “normal” to bizarre
Because, as often is observed,
“That’s just how people are.”

But lumping them together,
Even though some traits are shared,
Implies that those who give
And those who take can be compared.

We all have things in common
Yet it’s surely not a fact
That because we’re human, there’s
A certain way that people act.

My Pencil

My pencil is illegal
And not because it’s lead,
But stamped upon its body
It says “NY Bd of Ed.”

When I retired from teaching,
I took some pencils home
For they’re just perfect when it’s time
To write my daily poem.

I taught for 30 years and thus
A lot of things I’ve learned,
Among them is that pencils “borrowed”
Need not be returned.

So if they come arrest me
For property I’ve poached,
I’m sure they can find others
With more cause to be reproached.