Nearing the End

When I’m reading a novel
And nearing the end,
(Especially one that
I would recommend),

I want to speed up
So I finally know
Where the author was leading
Through ebb and through flow.

On the other hand, I’d like
To slow it all down,
‘Cause when I reach the end,
I’ll be wearing a frown

Since I must bid farewell
To the characters whom
Feel like friends I know well
Though our parting ways loom.

The pages I’ve turned
And the chapters perused
Have left me intrigued
And provoked and enthused.

But at last, when I know
That the end’s drawing nigh,
I reluctantly finish
And say my goodbye.

Although It's Spring

Although it's spring, the trees are bare;
The house retains a chill.
Though promised warmth is in the air,
I wear a sweater still.

Although it's spring, the daffodils
Have not their yellows shown
And I've not heard the chirps and trills
Of birds who south have flown.

Although it's spring, my short-sleeved tees
Are waiting to be worn 
And dandelions on a breeze
Aren't ready to be borne.

The calendar reminds us that
This season's meant to bring
Such joy, which isn't where it's at
Right now, although it's spring.

Swing Time

At the playground, near the swings,
A memory emerged.
My husband brought it up
And from my brain cells, feelings surged.

"You ever stand up on a swing?"
He asked; I said, "Of course!"
It was a sweet experience,
Lacking in remorse.

To stand up there and clutch the chains
And pump my knees for height, 
The wind a'whipping through my hair
Was total pure delight.

That said, would ever I allow
My grandkids such a thrill?
Perhaps when they are seventeen
Or even more, I will.

Urban Serenade

From my apartment, I can hear
The traffic swishing by,
Since honking horns and back-up beeps
Are not in short supply.

The shouts of athletes from the field
Where games are being played
Combine with children laughing
For an urban serenade.

Occasionally, dogs will bark
And trucks will idle loudly
Or cheers erupt when teams score points
With parents shrieking loudly.

I relish this cacophony.
What some consider noise,
We city folk consider
One of New York’s many joys.

Laundry Day

Once a week we do the wash;
It’s part of our routine.
With just the two of us at home,
There’s not that much to clean.

Apartment living means, for one,
Machines are there to share.
The basement has the laundry room;
We do the washes there.

My husband loads the washers
After I have bagged the clothes,
Then switches them to dryers,
Which is how cycle goes.

We both head down, when time has passed,
To fold and stack the load.
He piles his items, I do mine
And by a silent code…

We split the sheets and towels
And whatever else we share
Until the dryer’s empty
And the folding table’s bare.

We schlep the basket back upstairs
And put the wash away
Until next week, when once again
It will be laundry day.

Eighty-Eight Pounds of Plastic

Eighty-eight pounds of plastic
Have been found inside a whale.
That’s quite a lot despite the fact
Of its enormous scale.

It’s not enough to worry over
Straws we use in drinks,
For what about the other stuff
That’s ocean-tossed and sinks?

Environmental warnings
Do not resonate with most.
For future generations, then,
Some creatures will be toast.

To think of whales’ extinction
Should make all our spirits sag
But especially if caused by
Each discarded plastic bag.

Milestones

If life is one long journey,
There are milestones on the way,
From birthdays and bar mitzvahs
To a graduation day.

A wedding and a baby’s birth
(Or two or three or four),
A moving day or brand-new job
Are other ways to score.

A prize, award or write-up
Of accomplishments will count
When milestones are considered;
There’s no average amount.

But when we look back on the lives
That we have lived or made,
The milestones are the memories
That somehow never fade.

No Contest

Waiting for the ferry
I see water, boats and cars,
The bright blue sky and when it’s dark,
A smattering of stars.

Waiting for the subway
I see schmutz upon the tracks
And crowds of tense commuters
Looking like they can’t relax.

To get downtown I either take
The ferry or the train.
It’s really not a contest –
After all, I’m not insane!

Sometimes (Take Two)

Sometimes I’m busy and sometimes I’m not.
Sometimes I’m freezing and sometimes I’m hot.
Sometimes I’m hungry and sometimes I’m full.
Sometimes I push, sometimes yield to a pull.

Sometimes I’m wired and sometimes I’m beat.
Sometimes I’m grouchy and sometimes I’m sweet.
Sometimes I’m happy and sometimes depressed.
Sometimes I’m calm and at times I am stressed.

Sometimes I’m quiet and sometimes I’m loud;
Sometimes, embarrassed and other times proud.
Sometime I’m social and sometimes alone.
Sometimes I’m confident, other times thrown.

Sometimes ideas come and sometimes they don’t.
At times I despair but most often I won’t;
But one thing that’s always (not sometimes) is I’m
Quite proficient at molding my thoughts into rhyme.

Seasonal

The rain falls down; the worms crawl out,
Their squiggles on the road,
A feast for all the birdies,
The springtime mother lode.

The ants will follow as the grass
Fills in the barren soil,
In search of crumbs or picnics
Which they just can't wait to spoil.

The spiders soon will spin their webs
And bees will start to buzz,
Reminding us that in the spring,
That's just what Nature does.

When flies and then mosquitoes show,
We'll know that summer's near
And that they'll stick around until
Cold mornings reappear.

Counterterrorism

The cops with "Counterterrorism"
Splayed upon their vests
Alert us to the fact that they're 
All set to make arrests.

They eyeball every passenger
In search of someone who
May secretly be plotting
To cause harm to me or you.

At one time I was comforted
By having them around,
Believing that their presence
Helped to keep us safe and sound.

But now it's more unnerving,
Like the sighting of a fungus,
For it makes me wonder if there is
A terrorist among us.

Nature's Gift

The Earth was having a party,
A super magnificent fling,
And Nature was invited
But wondered what to bring.

She scratched her head and pondered
But no ideas would cling.
Arriving empty-handed
Wouldn’t be the nicest thing.

Then suddenly she realized,
As she heard some songbirds sing,
That it was perfect timing,
For the gift she’d bring was Spring!

The Vacant Lot

A building used to stand where now
A vacant lot exists,
Each scattered brick a remnant
Of the past that still persists.

Inhabitants were once ensconced
Within the phantom walls,
Who climbed the stairs each day and
Trudged along in dim-lit halls.

Aromas of assorted meals
Would waft from twice-locked doors,
Occasionally drifting
Up and down to different floors.

The blare of old-time TV shows
Would mingle with the noise
Of conversations or the thumps
Of raucous girls and boys.

But all is still and quiet now;
The vacant lot’s been sapped
Of all the lives that it once held,
Their joys and worries scrapped.

It bides its time, for very soon
Construction will begin
And walls will rise exactly where
The former ones have been.

To Dip

Confronted with a crunchy chip
I never can resist
A dive into a favorite dip,
So here’s a little list:

All types of hummus make the grade
And eggplant, mashed and chunky
Or salsa (not-too-spicy made)
Or cheese (not those too funky!).

An onion dip with sour cream
Is totally addictive
And spinach might just reign supreme
(For vegans, not restrictive).

Though veggies also might be dipped
And certainly are healthy,
The choice is clear, but I’m equipped
To keep my chip dips stealthy!

At Dusk

Too light for night, too dark for day,
Dusk is in-between,
The time when those out walking
Without lanterns aren't seen.

Diurnal creatures settle down;
Nocturnal ones awake.
The sun and moon catch 40 winks 
And give themselves a break.

Unlike the dawn, a spookiness 
Gives dusk a tinge of fear,
A feeling that, just out of sight,
Some evil creatures leer.

My Whirligig

My whirligig requires wind
So when the day is calm,
It sits there quite forlornly
Like it's lacking in aplomb.

But when the gusts are squalling
And the trees are pirouetting,
My whirligig starts spinning
And, oh, what a show I'm getting!

It has concentric circles
So it twirls in two directions.
The faster that it goes, the more
It gains in my affections.

Today the wind's cavorting
As I watch in pure delight 
While my whirligig goes whirling 
Like it's gearing up for flight.

Dark in the Morning

It's dark in the morning 
But then it stays light 
Until, by the clock,
It's approaching the night.

For those who wake early,
The day is on hold.
To walk in the dark,
I cannot be cajoled.

So I wait until daybreak
To head out the door
But am glad that the sun 
Lasts much more than before.

In the blink of an eye
When I wake, there'll be light,
Then the dawn and the dusk
Will set everything right. 

Made in China

If something’s made in China,
The quality might be
Below what we would once expect,
I think we’d all agree.

What really drives me crazy is
When they include instructions,
The grammar and the spelling sometimes
Need some introductions.

It shouldn’t be that hard to find
Transcribers to dispense
The how-to-guide translations
That, in English, make some sense.

My Flying Drink

When flying on a plane, I choose
A drink that isn’t beer or booze
Or soda (‘cause I hate the fizz);
So can you guess what drink it is?

Tomato juice – just straight, no ice.
It fills me up and will suffice
To quench my thirst and complement
Whatever snack the airline’s sent.

I never drink it otherwise;
It’s not among my bar supplies.
For when I’m safely on the ground,
Much better choices do abound.

But in the air, if they produce
A cup of warm tomato juice,
I take a sip, then have my fill;
For flying, it sure fits the bill.

The Tourist Shops

The tourist shops have lots of stuff
Nobody really needs,
But that's an observation that
Nobody really heeds.

For people on vacation spend 
Much more when they're away 
On items that, if seen at home,
Within the store would stay.

Though really, isn't that the point
Of traveling afar -
Detaching from routines to be
The way you think you are?

Old Photos

My brother calls up on his phone,
From years when we were younger,
A slew of pictures which creates
Nostalgia-feeding hunger.

We scroll and scroll and name some kids
While others are elusive, 
Including photos of ourselves -
In one case, inconclusive.

It's strange to see a photograph
Which others are IDing
As you, although you know it isn't
You that they are seeing.

An image may be hard to prove
Without some speculation 
Of being that of someone's 
Long-remembered expectation.

Umbrella Regret

In the rain, I was out and about.
It was windy, of that there’s no doubt.
Though I put up a fight,
My resistance was slight;
My protection got turned inside out.

I hurried home, drippingly wet
And filled with umbrella regret.
It was not a good sign
That this old friend of mine
Looked as bad as umbrellas can get.

With its spokes bent and twisted in two,
I knew there was naught I could do
Except bid it farewell -
Kind of sad, you can tell –
‘Til a new one will make its debut.

You Can't

You can’t have sun without some rain.
You can’t have joy without some pain.
You can’t have loss without some gain;
That’s just the way things go.

You cannot win unless you try.
You cannot laugh until you cry.
You cannot soar unless you fly;
Experience will show.

You can’t connect without some doubt.
You can’t have growth without some drought.
You can’t keep in what must come out,
For ebb gives way to flow.

My Husband's Gym

My husband's gym, a block away,
And which he goes to every day,
Was vandalized; an email sent
Explained the vandal's sole intent.

The locker rooms were crudely marred
With swastikas; there was no guard
To monitor the locker floor,
For there was not a need before.

This crime of hate is sad but worse,
Within a membership diverse,
It's awful knowing there are those
Who'd sink to such appalling lows.

They'll paint the walls, remove the stains
But likely there will be some strains
Among the members, wond'ring who's
The culprit targeting the Jews.

Free Solo

To climb a mountain one must be
Both confident and fit
And smart enough to know when it
Is time to up and quit.

To climb alone, though, with no ropes,
“Free solo” as they say it,
Has a different type of risk involved,
No matter how you weigh it.

The Oscar-winning film about
One climber’s daring feat
To summit famed El Capitan’s
A cinematic treat.

But watching it, though riveted
At such a show of guts,
I felt both admiration and
Belief that guy is nuts!

Looping

Looping's a term
That is currently used
When a teacher and class
Are agreeably fused.

So the following year,
When the children move up,
The teacher remains with them.
Is this good? Yup...

If the teacher is great,
It's a pleasure for all.
She knows all their habits,
Deciphers their scrawl.

The students feel comfortable,
Nothing to fear.
The term can begin
With the classroom in gear.

Yet, the flip side exists
If a teacher is weak.
For those in her classroom
The outlook is bleak.

The verdict's not out yet,
But I'll have you know,
This "brand-new" idea
Did exist long ago.

I had Mrs. Heyman 
For grades 1 and 2
Way back in the 50's.
Inventive? Who knew?

So many ideas,
"Innovative," they claim,
Are just blasts from the past
With a newfangled name.

A Scraping of Shovels

When the snow arrives at night,
Blanketing the city,
All is peaceful, soft and white,
No longer gray and gritty.

But with morning, what we hear,
And there is no escaping,
Is the grating sound, so clear,
Of nonstop shovels scraping.

Sidewalks must be free of ice
And everyone so doing
Is not concerned with being nice,
But staving off some suing!

Aviation

Yesterday I was in Rome,
The end of a vacation.
Today, though, I awoke at home,
All thanks to aviation.

I tracked my flight upon the map,
The little arrow moving
And didn’t take a single nap,
The choice of films improving.

They served two meals, a snack as well,
Plus drinks for our imbibing.
The hours slipped by, as you can tell
From what I’ve been describing.

The flight was smooth, the hassles few;
No turbulence or rocking,
Though sure enough, and right on cue,
Some jet lag’s come a'knocking.

A Tour Group

Joining a tour you meet people
Who may not be like you at all –
Politically, age-wise and maybe
With views that repel or appall.

Religion’s another divider
As well as the places you live
And quickly, you’ll learn who’s not social
Or those who have much they can give.

But mostly, the group comes together,
Conversing and laughing despite
All the differences that are apparent
To all from the very first night.

The young and the old, the Christians and Jews,
The urban and rural-type folk
Connect as they share in their journey,
Enough to enjoy the same joke.

Of course, the director’s a factor,
Uniting his charges until
There’s sufficient concern for each other
That some friendships may form (and they will).

At the end, though, with hugs and “Safe travels!”
The tour group, at last, must disperse,
Their experience richer for meeting
Fellow travelers truly diverse.

Strolling in Rome

The monuments are stately;
The churches are impressive.
The frescoes and the statues 
Are amazing and expressive.

The ruins do proliferate, 
Their grandeur still inspiring,
While trattorias beckon
If your energy's expiring.

Yet best of all the offerings 
That render Rome exquisite
Are the streets set up for strolling
If you have the chance to visit.

The cobblestones and alleyways
Meander and invite you
To step inside the many shops
Intended to delight you.

Then suddenly, around a bend,
A fountain looms, enticing,
Surrounded by gelato stands,
For pick-me-ups sufficing.

To people-watch or meet head-on
Historical remains,
Just roam the streets and you will feel
Italian in your veins.

When in Rome...

A free afternoon
So we heeded advice.
We strolled by the river;
The streets did entice.

We wandered down alleys
In neighborhoods where
Unexpectedly, ruins
Cropped up here and there.

To keep us from flagging,
I turned to gelato.
My spouse had espresso -
He liked it a lotto.

But when we were ready
To hit the hotel,
We vetoed a taxi,
For back where we dwell...

We travel by subway,
By foot or by bus.
It's quick and it's cheap,
Which of course is a plus.

Yet we're tourists and don't
Know the routes, like at home 
But we figured - we'll ask.
After all, when in Rome...

So we purchased two tickets 
And made our way back
By bus and by subway;
The code we did crack...

With the help of some locals,
For at every station
Were "Grazies"* and smiles,
Which don't need a translation.

*thank you in Italian