Billboard

The billboard on the highway
Had no product there to sell
But asked a question: Will you go
To Heaven or to Hell?

Below, there was a number
You could call or you could text
So you could get an answer as to
Where you’re going next.

I wonder just how many
Will give in and make that call,
Though hopefully the truth would be
Nobody after all.

Yet I suspect there are some souls
Both gullible and rash
Who would, for that information,
Part with lots of hard-earned cash.

Holiday Leftovers

When hosting a holiday meal
There's always a certain appeal
To food that remains 
For you've taken such pains
To prepare it, it seemed an ordeal.

But after the guests have all split
If you're honest, you'll have to admit 
That your efforts have paid
Since the food that you've made 
Can be eaten for days, bit by bit.

Anxiety's Pull

When hosting on Thanksgiving Day,
I worry there won’t be enough
For it’s the American way,
On holidays, to overstuff.

If I were alone with my spouse,
We’d eat a few bites and be full
But when there are guests in our house,
I give in to anxiety’s pull.

Should I run to buy more at the store
Or stop fretting and try to relax?
It won’t be many hours before
All the company will have made tracks.

What’s the worst that can happen, I think –
There’ll be talk that we needed more food
But perhaps with a bit more to drink
We’ll all be in that holiday mood.

Anniversary Poem

Got married on Thanksgiving Day;
A backyard was the venue.
Extended family gathered;
There was turkey on the menu.

It inconvenienced everyone
Yet those who loved us made it.
The traffic was horrendous
And the stress did thus pervade it.

But now, 44 years later,
Here we are and still together.
Looking back, we couldn’t know
The many storms we’d have to weather.

Still, we did it as a team
And it’s kept us both from sinking
So we’ll head out for a meal
And a toast with what we’re drinking.

In the Time Zone Zone

For every hour difference
In a time zone where you’ve traveled
There’s another day of jet lag
Which can make you feel unraveled.

That’s the story I’ve been told
And it’s up for some debating
But I know it’s many years
Since I’ve heard it circulating.

I’m just back from overseas,
With 6 hours or time between us.
If you saw my spouse and me,
You might want to quarantine us.

For exhausted’s how we look
Though we’re back to navigating
All the bits of our routines;
Still, 5 tired days are waiting.

Cashless

We never used an ATM
In Stockholm, on our trip.
The guide on our free walking tour
Took dollars for a tip.

For every other purchase
We used charge cards like the Swedes,
Since coins and bills, it seems, are things
Today nobody needs.

A sign in a museum 
Made the point with quite a splash:
"We accept just who you are but we
Are not accepting cash."

How strange to visit someplace 
With no currency in hand.
Perhaps someday all cash will be
Considered contraband.

Licorice

In New York and so many places,
Chocolate shops abound,
Where milk and dark and white, with nuts
Or not, can all be found.

Yet here in Sweden, there's a store,
If you want something sweet,
Which carries only licorice,
A Nordic candy treat.

Varieties are plentiful,
Including those with salt, 
Which you may want to spit right out;
If so, it's not your fault.

For licorice, the jet black kind,
You either love or hate.
I love it but when made with salt,
I simply can't relate.

Yet other combinations,
Like with chocolate or fruit,
Taste delicious and they come in
Different styles and shapes, to boot.

Today, my last in Sweden,
I stocked up to take back home,
So I'm leaving with sweet mem'ries
And the topic for a poem!

Learning the City

Took the hop-on, hop-off boat
To Skansen in the cold, 
An open-air museum
Worth the visit, we were told.

We wandered 'round and stopped inside
Old farmsteads, barns and school 
Where guides in olden costumes
Told the history, so cool.

Varieties of animals,
From ponies, goats and cows
Were there to see as well as 
Nordic wolves and moose a'browse.

From there we went to Abba,
A museum filled with song;
Watched videos and naturally
Did dance and sing along.

Another boat to Old Town
And the Christmas market crowd,
Then watched a candy maker work,
Where everyone was wowed.

Stopped briefly in a Blues club
Where we listened, packed in tight,
To a band on board to usher
All its fans into the night.

Up next, a lovely dinner
In a cozy local place
Where they found a little table
So some tourists they'd embrace.

At last, we made our way back 
To our room in the hotel,
On streets that by day 3 we can
Maneuver pretty well.

Tomorrow will be easy 
For we've learned our way around.
It's a pity, though, that Monday
We'll be flying homeward bound.

Vasamuseet

In August, 1628,
A Swedish warship sailed,
Yet on her maiden voyage
Every safety system failed.

The Vasa, tall and narrow,
Was too heavy on the top.
She teetered in the wind and then
She couldn't seem to stop.

Her trip was 20 minutes;
It took just 5 more to sink.
Though most escaped, some 30 souls
Did perish in the drink. 

Amazingly, the ship was found
In 1961,
333 years since
She'd had her short-lived run.

Remarkably, they raised her hull,
Which mostly was intact
And built a new museum*
Where the crowds she does attract.

If you're in Stockholm, visit;
It's a wonder to observe,
A tribute both to Nature
And the experts who conserve.

*Vasamuseet

Christiania

A hippieish community
You enter through a gate
Is Christiania, to which 
Some people can't relate.

Mosaic art is everywhere
And sculpture made from goods
Abandoned or discarded from
The outer neighborhoods.

A market sells necessities 
For credit cards or cash 
And Pusher Street (no photos, please!)
Has different strains of hash.

The residents inhabit
What began as squatters' pads
In varied styles of funky,
Though now home to moms and dads.

The lifestyle's very different 
From the city* right outside
But the Christianians see what
They've built with joy and pride.

*Copenhagen

Tivoli Gardens

It doesn't feel like Disney World
Though it has lots of rides 
And food and fun and shops galore
It naturally provides.

Since 1843, it's been
A Copenhagen treat,
A perfect place downtown
For friends and family to meet.

You stroll right up and pay the fee
And then you're on your way -
No snaking lines or checking bags
To spoil your night or day.

Despite the cold, the festive lights
And sparkling decorations 
Are there to welcome locals
And those here from other nations.

The Danes have made a special place
Without commercial shtick.
Appealing to the grown-ups 
Is what likely does the trick.

Viking Genes

First we saw some skinny dippers 
Jump in the canal.
Guess that's not unusual 
Today for this locale.

Then we saw two twenty-somethings
Going for a dip.
With temps down in the 40's
That is something I could skip.

My husband asked them if this was
A part of their routines 
And how they did it in the cold -
They answered, "Viking genes."

We're here in Copenhagen
So perhaps their claim is true
But being from New York I think
They must have lost a screw!

Away

Though never one to take much risk,
My younger self, at least,
Would view life as a banquet 
And be ready for a feast.

I'd sample some exotic tastes
And venture, armed with pluck,
To unfamiliar places,
Never worried I'd be stuck.

I'd marvel at the vast array
Of offerings to choose, 
Without the aid of tour groups,
Led by bus or van or cruise.

My older self, however, 
Having savored many treats,
Is less likely to explore, with ease,
Unknown or foreign streets.

So being in a brand-new place, 
Though temptingly arrayed,
Has me, sadly, having to admit 
I'm just a bit afraid.

Of course, we'll go and do and see
But not quite like before.
We'll still dive in but nowadays 
Stick closer to the shore.

Transfers

When needing a transfer, by ferry or plane
And time's the determining factor,
It's hard to stay calm 'cause a place in your brain
Sparks some stress like an A-bomb reactor.

The panic sets in that you will not connect
So you race at a speed that looks frantic
And when it turns out that you weren't correct,
The relief that you feel is gigantic.

Still, it takes quite a while for your heart to slow down 
And regain the composure you've squandered.
Perhaps your next journey to some distant town
Will be solely to where your mind's wandered.

Mystified

A book out from the library
Occasionally holds
A paper with a message
Or a list within its folds.

The borrower who left it
May have used it as a mark,
Reminding her whence in the tale
She needs to disembark.

I’m used to such remainders
But today I was surprised
To take note of someone’s writing
In a place that mystified.

On the last page of my writing book
(Which I am now approaching)
There’s an inked-in cell phone number
On my private space encroaching.

Above it are some letters
But they do not spell a name.
Did someone write this in the store
From which this journal came?

Of course, I never noticed it;
The book appeared brand-new
And really, what’s the difference?
There is nothing I can do.

I had the thought, though, what if I
Picked up the phone to dial
That number waiting there? I won’t,
But oh, that makes me smile!

TGIF

Weekdays are when most folks work,
With weekends set for rest
And so their spirits start to perk
As workdays have progressed.

When Friday rolls around, there's joy
And also some relief
That finally, at last, oh boy!
From work, they can debrief.

It's strange, but even once retired,
Fridays still rank high.
Though work-type stresses have expired,
All good thoughts apply.

For me, there is an added plus -
It's babysitting day.
Explaining is superfluous
If grandkids come your way.

Wednesday and Friday

In kindergarten, years ago,
Each day, upon my blouse,
My mother pinned a handkerchief
Before I left the house.

They weren’t meant to blow my nose,
Just there for decoration,
With printed names of weekdays
Worn in suitable rotation.

Amazingly, the Wednesday and
The Friday still exist,
Two items that, when cleaning house,
My mother must have missed.

So all this time, I’ve kept them,
Tucked away so they would last,
A tangible reminder
That connects me to my past.

World Kindness Day

You may not know today’s the day
Designed for being kind
So it’s a chance for you to pay
Benevolence some mind.

Get off your butt and give a seat
To someone who can use it
And smile at everyone you meet;
If someone scowls, excuse it.

With chores around the house, assist
And change to right a wrong
By calling kith or kin who’ve missed
Your voice for way too long.

Acknowledge those who have your back;
Boost someone’s self-esteem.
Encourage all to stay on track
When following a dream.

We shouldn’t need a special day
For all of us can spare
Some kindness shown along the way
So others know we care.

A Round Table

King Arthur had the right design
For when ideas abound
Discussion goes much smoother
At a table that is round.

When more than four sit down to talk
At tables long or square
The conversation’s aimed at who
Sits in the closest chair.

So little groups will splinter off
And miss the latest news
Of those down at the other end,
Affecting points of views.

But when the table’s round, all those
Participate as one
And everyone’s caught up before
The meal is even done.

Mercury Transit

I noticed several telescopes
As I was walking by
Along the river; all were pointed
At the morning sky.

The reason? For a rare event
When Mercury is seen
In transit passing by the sun,
Not part of its routine.

It won’t be viewed again from here
‘Til 2049
When other eyes will get the chance;
(But certainly not mine!)

Without a telescope, I watched
A clip upon my phone.
A tiny freckle crawling
On the sun was what was shown.

To many, this was quite a thrill
For science buffs to spot
But I felt no excitement
Seeing such a tiny dot.

On the Side of the Road

A car's pulled over on the road 
And hidden by the door,
A child lets out an urgent stream
Within the traffic's roar.

The parent gets him back inside,
Their motions chop-chop-chop, 
The passersby relieved to have
Avoided such a stop.

We've done this for our grandson
When there's been a pressing need
Although, of course, anxiety
Is surely guaranteed.

But when his dad is with us
We must detour off the road
In search of a facility
Containing a commode.

I'm sure his way is safer
Though with age, I've come to know
That, especially with children, 
When you've gotta go - you go!

Dance Contest

Years ago, when my kids were small,
We danced at night and had a ball 
When we were in our country house,
A custom we should all espouse.

Years later, here we are once more,
With grandkids on the dancing floor,
Both moving to the radio,
Their dad just going with the flow.

Of course, their nana joins the fun, 
Her smile the wattage of the sun,
For words cannot describe the joy
Of dance, the grandkids and her boy.

Scooter

We scootered to first grade today,
Passing buses and cars on the way.
With no sidewalks to ride on
My grandson relied on
My guidance so safe he would stay.

By the curb's where he needed to be
Which, of course, would have pacified me
But somehow he kept shifting
And soon he was drifting -
Not safe, I am sure you'd agree.

I've enjoyed all our walks Friday morn
So the scooter request had me torn.
Though, for speed, it made sense
It made me much too tense;
Back to walking, for sure, I am sworn.

End-of-Term Party

At the final quilting class
We always bring in food.
This is what today’s assorted
Choices did include:

Purple grapes (2 different types)
And fat green grapes as well,
Lots of cheese and berries,
Chocolate filled with caramel;

Powdered donuts, cookies, too
(The oatmeal raisin kind),
Chocolate covered pretzels
And some chips no one declined.

We all indulged a little bit;
The platter, though, stayed full
For women watch their waistlines
And resist that snack-time pull.

Still, a party with no goodies
Wouldn’t really qualify
So our little feast was perfect
For an end-of-term goodbye.

Downtown

The tour guides hold their flags aloft
And tourists, like a herd,
Stick close together, hanging onto
Every single word.

They stop right by the Stock Exchange,
The cellphone cameras snapping,
Then watch their charges grab the bull
‘Midst giggling and clapping.

But meanwhile, the New Yorkers,
Both the natives and the new,
Quickly walk right by; their strides imply
It’s what they’ve gotta do.

They take no note of statues,
Famous buildings or the church.
A path around the tourists is
The object of their search.

It’s the same with any city –
Though the visitors may stare
At the famous sights, the residents
Don’t have the time to care.

Specialists

In younger days, my doctor calls
Were few and far between.
A checkup visit wasn’t ever
Part of my routine.

But aging changes all of that
For everyone is trying,
By seeing every specialist,
To staunch the fear of dying.

So now a dermatologist
Will check a brand-new mole.
Suspicious bloodwork? You’re in
Hematologist’s control.

Of course, the gynecologist
Must get a yearly see
And ophthalmologists and those
In rheumatology.

Let’s not forget those stress tests
Cardiologists insist on
And also the urologists
Whose plastic cups get pissed on.

Most gastroenterologists
See clients up in years
And certainly psychiatrists
See seniors for their fears.

I wonder if we might be
Better off just saying “**** it”
For all these doctors can’t prevent
Our kicking of the bucket.

                             

Fall Behind

We changed the clocks, which threw me off
So I was up at 5;
Too dark to walk, I had to wait
For sunrise to arrive.

I read my book and checked my mail
Until the sky was light.
Two days before, that hour
Would have been as black as night.

We spring ahead and fall behind;
I never get that straight.
My mind can’t wrap itself around
This need to fluctuate.

But soon the mornings will be bright
Enough to hit the park,
Though way before it’s dinner time
Outside it will be dark.

Our brains and bodies will adjust
As time goes forth and back.
Tonight, however, I am sure
By 8 I’ll hit the sack.

Hello Nana

Relationships with grandkids
Are controlled by mom and dad
And time with them fulfills a dream
I didn’t know I had.

For hours that we spend are not
Like any other time –
Exhausting, yes, but precious
And delightfully sublime.

Yet as they age, becoming selves
That they’ll grow up to be,
Connections made outside the home
May oftentimes be key.

So I was thrilled this weekend
When each grandchild made a call,
On Daddy’s phone, to share some news
That held them in its thrall.

If life is like a garden
And a grandchild is a seed
Sown and nurtured by their parents,
There’s one thing each one will need –

It’s the sunshine that the nana
And the grandpa do provide.
“Hello Nana” on the phone was proof
That need’s been satisfied.

My Stuff

I look around at all my stuff 
On table, shelf or wall
And can't resist a smile because
I really love it all.

A home reflects just who we are
So how it is designed
Lets all who enter have a glimpse
Of how we're self-defined.

Except, of course, if all the stuff
Is just one person's taste.
My husband, if he had the chance, 
Would have it all replaced.

In marriage, though, we compromise 
And if we care enough,
We learn to live with how our spouse
Delights in all her stuff.

Major Crash

Early morning on the road,
Babysitting duties call.
Traffic outbound's mostly light,
Heading to the suburbs' sprawl.

Suddenly, it all slows down;
On the GPS, a flash -
Point three miles up ahead,
There has been a major crash.

At a standstill, we are trapped;
Nothing really we can do.
Even with the updates, we are
Stuck in lane without a clue.

Not a siren to be heard.
Not a horn, impatient, honks.
Every driver is resigned
To extra minutes in the Bronx.

Inbound cars are flying by
Yet we suckers sit and sit,
Trying hard to take a breath
And, hopefully, avoid a snit.

All in the surrounding cars
This morning share an equal fate -
Even though we left on time,
Each of us will show up late.