Leap Day

Today is not a day to sleep
For it’s been four long years
Since last time we were told to keep
This month ‘fore March appears.

An extra day for earth to turn,
Determined long ago,
Is Leap Day, which in school we learn
Is something we should know.

For calendars reflect this date
And all those giving birth
Bestow a birthday kids will hate,
At least the ones on earth.

Yet most don’t seem to care about
The calendar’s spare square
Forgetting that, without a doubt,
It isn’t always there.

But those who know may celebrate
A ritual we keep
Once in four years, for on this date
We somehow take a leap.

Thank You

You give a gift and you expect
Acknowledgement, at least,
Yet somehow, in this current age, 
The thank you nod has ceased.

No note, no phone call - it gets worse -
No words when face to face.
To me, this lack of manners
Is an absolute disgrace.

Of course, we don’t bestow these gifts
For something in return
But thank you etiquette’s a basic 
Everyone should learn.

Lost

My class registration’s lost in the mail;
My sock’s somehow lost in the dryer.
My Wi-Fi gets lost in the bedroom;
For baking I’ve lost my desire.

I’ve lost what I need to drink coffee at night.
I’ve lost all my youthful-type vigor;
But the loss that I fear more than anything else
Is my marbles, more than mortis rigor.

Anomaly

No matter what my politics
It’s just one part of me.
We each possess a bag of tricks;
It’s no anomaly

That I can write a perfect rhyme
And yet the way I vote
May contradict your views so I’m
Not worth the poems I wrote.

Let’s judge each other on our work
Despite our own beliefs
For underneath our words may lurk
Encompassing motifs.

A mutual respect requires
Acceptance of divides
And sometimes, one that one admires
Walks with different strides.

Hey Democratic Candidates

Hey, democratic candidates –
Forget campaigns, forget debates.
Just toss your names into a hat,
Let Nancy pick and that is that!

The only way to win the fight
Is for all people to unite
Whose goal is simply to prevent
A reelection we’ll lament.

So Joe or Bernie, Liz or Pete,
Amy, Mike – accept defeat
And join behind the party’s pick
But do not wait – just do it quick!

The months are slipping by so fast
But well before the votes are cast
If we unite, we’ll have reclaimed
The torch from He-who-can’t-be-named!

OY/YO

The opposite of OY is YO,
Two words that most New Yorkers know
And people ‘cross the globe as well,
Though what they mean, not all can tell.

So I’ll explain: the term “Oy vey”
Expresses “Woe is me!” dismay
Or “Oh, my goodness!” or “Good grief!”
And OY is used to keep it brief.

Now YO! is just another way
To call somebody, same as “Hey!”
It gets attention and, when meeting,
Serves as a hello-type greeting.

The Brooklyn artist Deborah Kass
Took O and Y and, with some sass,
Made quite a sculpture, for the view
Is either word when facing you.

The artwork was a huge success
For OY and YO do both express,
In ways to which we all relate,
A quick way to communicate.

How’s Life Treating You?

“How’s life treating you?” A neighbor 
Recently inquired.
He’s a working dad and I’m
A nana, long retired.

“I can’t complain,” was my reply,
“Or rather, I will not.”
For what’s the point when, after all,
I’m grateful for a lot.

The elevators in our building
Finally both work
So endless waiting is no more
What many weeks did irk.

I’m happy for the little things;
There isn’t much to gain
From doing what I often do -
Carp, grumble and complain!

Ode to Nematodes

Oh, nematodes, in your abodes,
From soil to sand to sea,
You live with others, loads and loads,
Most scientists agree.

Your worm-like shapes allow escapes 
In places cold or tropic
Though some of you avoid most scrapes 
Because you’re microscopic.

This little ode I have bestowed
To prove to John* and Tom*
That a rhyme about a nematode’s
Been written, with aplomb!

*Writing friends on Poetry Soup -
Tom said I could write about anything but
John responded that no one’s ever written a 
poem about nematodes. I had to google 
to find out what they were!

A Topic

My kingdom for a topic;
I do not need a choice,
Just one to which I can attach
My daily rhyming voice.

Most subjects seek me out
Or fall, politely, in my lap
And others show as soon as I
Put on my thinking cap.

But once in a great while,
With my pencil in my hand,
I stare into my writing book,
No thoughts at my command.

And so I write a little poem
About my lack of theme,
The words cascading quickly
In a firm and steady stream.

Boxes of Books

In the basement storage space
Where tenants get to stow
Those items they’ve collected,
Lots of things now have to go.

They’re cleaning up, so it was time
To sort through what we’d kept,
Deciding what to ditch or save
(Or what I could accept).

My husband’s books on Freud and Marx
He tossed without a glance;
My English major texts and
Certain novels? Not a chance!

Our names were neatly printed
On each inside cover page,
The penmanship reflecting
Either circumstance or age.

Yet it was time to lose them
So we severed certain strings,
Despite the tug of memory
That, after years, still clings.

Identity

A bird enthusiast’s a birder;
Guess that means that I’m a worder!

Splitting the Bill

When friends share a restaurant meal
Who eats what is not a big deal
For the bill will be split
Though I have to admit
That some awkwardness this could reveal.

A group member might simply declare
He or she finds his portion unfair
‘Cause she ate so much less
That it gives her distress
To contribute a similar share.

It’s a problem one rarely expects
When the dining group often connects
Since there isn’t a doubt
Time will even things out
Or perhaps what they need’s separate checks!

Bright and Sunny

Bright and sunny, brisk and still –
Just a jacket fits the bill –
Is the weather I adore
And that which lures me out the door.

You can keep your summer damp
Or swimming days for beach or camp;
Lay temps on me just north of cold
And skies of azure to behold.

Staying in on days like these,
Unless you’re riddled with disease,
Is close to what I’d call a crime
And not deserving of this rhyme!

Brunch

I’m not sure but I have a hunch
That people indulging in brunch
Wake up pretty late
So think it is great
To eat breakfast when I would eat lunch.

By giving a fancyish name
Those late-risers think they can claim
That their honest intent
Is for time to be spent
Making breakfast and lunch seem the same.

There are crossovers, I will admit
And both meals are considered legit
But we early birds need
For our day to proceed
Morning rations or throats will be slit.

Hudson Yards

We met some friends from out of town
Who had 3 hours to spare
So Hudson Yards was the New York
We thought we’d like to share.

The subway ride and escalator
(Very long and deep)
Were, from their usual routines,
A rather giant leap.

We climbed the Vessel, took some pics
And strolled the High Line to
The Hudson, where some piped-in music
Glorified the view.

The indoor shops were quite a hit
And purchases were made.
At Citarella, lunch was picked 
From gourmet foods arrayed.

A little trip to Hudson Yards
On a cold and sunny day
Provided lots to see before
Our friends went on their way.

Red Roses

Red roses today are on sale;
For Valentine’s Day they won’t fail
To impress all the gals
Who are more than just pals
And a hint of romance will prevail.

But the sign announced 55 bucks
For these flowers considered deluxe.
Maybe buyers don’t care
But to many folks, they’re 
Just a rip-off for V-Day, which sucks.

Early Morning in Manhattan

Eight million people living here
Yet on my morning walk,
Deserted streets provided
Not a thing at which to gawk.

Behind each window there were souls
In various routines –
Asleep or in the shower
Or engaged in breakfast scenes.

I marveled at the emptiness
In such a busy place
Where no one moseys, but proceeds
At a frenetic pace.

Yet not in early morning
For it might as well have been
Any tiny U.S. city
As the huge one I was in.

"Come from Away"

The theater is a brief escape
From everything routine,
Providing highs and lows and sometimes
What falls in between.

But when a show’s uplifting
It’s a magical event,
So much more than entertainment,
Time and money both well-spent.

Today I saw “Come From Away,”
Which tells, in song, the tale
Of stranded planes in Newfoundland
When kindness did prevail.

The 9/11 passengers
Descended on a town
Where locals fed and housed them,
Keeping moods from sinking down.

That tragic time’s remembered
For the sorrow and the pain
But the joy from this performance
In my thoughts will long remain.

Travel and Tsuris* and Grandkids, Oh My

Getting together with girlfriends entails,
Aside from the obvious – eating!
Discussions of life and the various ways
We fill time up that seems to be fleeting.

Of course, we compare all our upcoming trips
For our journeys are different and take us
Within the U.S. or across the big pond
Where no ship, car or plane would forsake us.

We cannot resist as we show off the kids,
For each one of our grands is amazing
And it’s lovely to share pics and videos as
We soak up the delight and the praising.

But the topic that overtakes most of our time
Is our health and the way it’s declining –
The aches and the pains and the doctors and tests;
We commiserate, kvetching** and whining.

As the years ratchet up, that’s the way that it goes,
There is sunshine but also much raining
So we laugh and we smile at how lucky we are
Though, of course, we leave room for complaining!

*troubles or woes; aggravation
**complaining

The Presidential Medal of Freedom

Previous winners were Elie Wiesel,
Mother Teresa, Bob Hope,
Norman Rockwell, Rosa Parks,
Walt Disney and a Pope*…

B.B.King and Yo Yo Ma,
Dylan and Pearl Bailey,
Frank Sinatra, E.B. White,
Tom Hanks and Alvin Ailey…

Meryl Streep and I.M. Pei,
Spielberg and De Niro,
Harper Lee, Casals, Aretha –
Every one a hero.

Shockingly, another name’s
Been added to the list,
With whom most honorees, I think,
Would hate to coexist.

For if you read Rush Limbaugh’s quotes,
So shameful, cruel and mean,
You likely would agree his presence
In that group’s obscene.

It should have come as no surprise
For such a bad decision
Is what’s to be expected from
The master of division.

*Pope John XXIII

National Pizza Day

Today’s the day to celebrate
A food that few dislike or hate
For pizza’s found most everywhere;
A town without it would be rare.

From big round pies served by the slice
To square Sicilians, all entice,
No matter if they’re topped with cheese
Or have more fancy pedigrees

‘Cause toppings vary; where you eat it
May decide what tops complete it –
Pepperoni, veggies, ham,
Pineapple or shrimp or clam

Sausage, meatballs, spinach, ‘shrooms,
Even tofu, one assumes.
Sprinkle with oregano
Or pepper flakes; you’re good to go.

We should all indulge today
So if you’re home or you’re away,
Go find yourself a sizzling slice
Of gastronomic paradise!

My Favorite Republican

When history someday recalls
Behavior that simply appalls
They just have to reach
Those we chose to impeach
To see some who defy protocols.

Yet the record of Senate near-brawls
Will have info that sometimes enthralls
Such as votes that got split
Like the one in which Mitt*
Proved a pol in his party had balls!

*Mitt Romney, the only Republican
who voted to remove Trump from office

The Snow Ball

The first grade students, two by two,
Marched in to our applause, 
Their dressed-up outfits, top hats, too,
Gave all a smiling pause.

They danced the twist and cha cha slide,
All perfectly rehearsed,
Sang “Winter Wonderland” and “Frosty,”
Every child well-versed.

A touching sweet rendition of
“I Am Your Child” brought tears
And cotton snowballs tossed aloft
Precipitated cheers.

We watched our grandson slide and stomp,
His brand-new bow tie on
And beamed with pride while wondering
Where all the years have gone.

First grade is halfway over;
It’s been wonderful to share
Events like these and hopefully,
We always will be there.

A'thumping

I really don’t want time to fly
For life is short already
But politics is in my brain
A’thumping, strong and steady.

I hate to listen to the news,
The current state depressing
And as November nears, it will get
Nastier, I’m guessing.

No matter what the outcome
I just want it all to end
And I hope that past the rancor
We can somehow all transcend.

Get Thee to a Meadery

Tired of IPA’s or wine?
To Scotch you never took a shine?
Maybe what you really need
To perk you up’s some old-time mead.

Not quite retro, more medieval,
Meaderies boast the retrieval
Of this drink from ancient days
Is more than just a passing phase.

Made with honey, sometimes fruit,
The brewers are in hot pursuit
Of gaining fans on all frontiers,
Most likely those who relish beers.

It’s said to be the oldest brew
With alcohol, much overdue
For a resurgence, which is why
We all should give some mead a try.

The Ambulance

Its siren is annoying;
Its flashing light disturbs.
Its speed propels pedestrians
To back up to the curbs.

It zigs and zags on city streets
Ignoring lights turned red,
Determined to respond, no matter
What might lie ahead.

A heart attack or vertigo,
An accident or fall;
A suicide or murder –
The attendant’s seen it all.

To passersby, its presence
Is forgotten in a minute
Except, perhaps to thank their stars
They’re not the patient in it.

Super Bowl Sunday

We had the snacks, including chips
And watched the game in little clips
Including the commercials, though,
Which ones I missed I wouldn’t know.

For grandkids joined us for the Bowl
With seeing touchdowns not the goal,
But rather hanging out to spend
Some time with us; their daddy’s friend

Who lives nearby, was having guests
For Super Bowl, so we were pressed
To watch the kids – a total joy
To host our favorite girl and boy.

I hardly focused on the score
(To me, it’s mostly all a bore)
But I would guess we had more fun
Than, at their party, anyone.

Today

The groundhog said we’ll soon have spring
And later we’ll hear JoLo sing.
In Melbourne, Novak’s still the king
On this, a gloomy Sunday.

Impeachment’s hit a welcome pause
While Dershowitz invents new laws
Yet I am happy, just because
Today will be a fun day.

The grands will pay a visit soon
To liven up the afternoon.
To have them here is such a boon
It’s like a prize I’ve won day!

The Impeachment

The founding fathers in their graves
Are surely not at rest
For what they had intended
Has been brutally repressed.

The country’s been divided
By a madman at the wheel
And all attempts at justice
Somehow crumble and congeal.

At least a call of witnesses
Would help, if just a little,
To let the nation hear some truths
Before the sure acquittal.

With this administration
All decorum has departed
And we, the people, rage inside
Yet still feel broken-hearted.