Silent

I wonder if the athletes

Miss the roaring of the crowds,

Or if they like the stadium

As silent as the clouds.

Today I’m watching tennis

And, despite the greatest shot,

Instead of gasps and cheering

All they hear is diddly-squat.

Though they must be glad they’re playing

(And I’m thrilled it’s on T.V.)

There is surely something missing

That is obvious to me.

For without the fans’ reactions

To surprises in the game

It’s still worth the time for watching

But it’s simply not the same.

It's Easy to Forget

It’s easy to forget sometimes

That life is not the same.

A gorgeous weather day deserves

A little bit of blame.

For on an early morning walk,

My lovely daily task,

When no one is around I can

Remove the blasted mask.

I watch the sun come up and pass

Each restaurant and store,

Pretending that they’ll open soon

For business, like before.

As breezes blow, I picture

Visits to a town or beach,

Strolling gaily, eating ice cream –

Though, to me, that’s out of reach.

For reality reminds me

That the life I live now has

Somehow morphed into an outline,

Missing color and pizzazz.

Weather or Not

Here’s an observation that

You might consider funny –

If the weathermen predicted certain rain,

Many might be disappointed if

It turns out being sunny,

Though such disappointment

Goes against the grain.

For most welcome brighter days

To lift the spirits needing boosting

As opposed to those where clouds bring thoughts of gloom,

But for folks who lately feel

They’re better off indoors, just roosting,

There’s a preference

To stay inside the womb.

Waking Up Early

For those who wake up early

There’s so much to see and do –

A sunrise or some exercise

Before the heat breaks through.

A road or path that’s empty

Since most folks are still asleep;

An atmosphere so quiet

That the sense of peace runs deep.

The only drawback’s obvious –

We early risers may

Get so tired in the afternoon

We can’t get through the day.

What We Remember

We all remember different things

From childhood or the past

For there’s no way to know which ones

Will fade or which will last.

How incidents affect us

Is entirely unique.

What one might fondly summon

Someone else might greet with pique.

Comparing notes may help but still,

A recollection viewed

Through backward-seeing glasses

Might be reasonably skewed.

One benefit to memory

Is what our brains reveal,

No matter if it’s accurate,

Will be, for us, quite real.

Behind a Cloud

I set up a chair in a patch of sun
To counteract the chill
And tip my face up to the sky
To feel the warmth, until...

A cloud drifts by and blocks the rays 
Which had felt oh, so good.
A minute later, there’s the sun, 
Back up there like it should.

This peek-a-boo continues - 
Rules that Nature has allowed - 
So I sit and wait as sunshine
Darts out from behind a cloud.

The Rose Garden

Melanie chopped down the trees
(Not by herself, of course)
That Jackie planted, just so she
Could get on her high horse.

The critics all swooped in to say
It’s “empty,” “cold,” and “white,”
Replacing all the flowers 
That were colorful and bright.

My favorite comment goes like this:
(Or something thereabout)
“Who switches up their garden when
They’ll soon be moving out?”

Virtual Tuck-In

Appearing in pajamas

Right before they go to sleep,

My grandkids’ faces fill the screen

And oh, the joy I’ll reap!

While one gives a detailed run-down

Of what she has done that day,

Her big brother wants me watching

On his tablet while at play.

Technology allows me

Access to their night routines

As I track them in their bedrooms

On our separate iPhone screens.

There’s a very tiny window

When they’ll want to thus connect

But for now these FaceTime tuck-ins

Have a tickled-pink effect.

A Confluence of Happenstance

While sitting on our favorite bench,

Beneath a big black cloud,

A smattering of raindrops fell,

Dispersing all the crowd.

The cell phone rang; some friends of ours

Just happened to be near.

We told them where to find us

As the sky began to clear.

We shared our bench, the sun came out,

The river was a’gleam;

Such luck in these uncertain times

Felt strangely like a dream.

A confluence of happenstance

Allowed us all to meet

And after months apart, our time

Together sure was sweet.

The Woman at the Bus Stop

I pass her every single day

While on my morning walk

But rarely give a second glance;

There is no cause to gawk.

She’s sitting on the bus stop bench

Protected from the rain

With coffee or a snack at hand,

Her clothing neat and plain.

Today she read the paper,

Which I do each day as well,

Yet she has never noticed me,

As far as I can tell.

You may wonder why this ordinary

Person’s in my poem.

Here’s the answer – she intrigues me

For the bus stop is her home.

Six Weeks of Camp

They made it through six weeks of camp;

I’m happy and surprised

For I believed the calendar

Would have to be revised.

Precautions had been taken

And it seems they did the trick.

No counselor or camper

Closed things down by getting sick.

My grandkids loved each minute,

Having fun just like they should

With a summertime experience

Which did us all some good.

They’re signed up for next year, I heard;

Let’s hope the world has changed.

If not, another season

Just like this can be arranged.

Nailing a Bench

Nailing a bench is like getting a spot

For your car, but instead it’s your tush

That will reap the rewards, but in either case it

Does require some luck and a push.

For you cannot relax when you’re out on a hunt;

You must focus and force yourself on.

If you pause or let something distract you, well, then,

When you look up, your spot will be gone.

For the car, it must be the right side of the street;

For the bench, it must be in the shade

But when you are in luck and you score a good spot,

Then you’ll feel like your day has been made!

Yellowjackets Flying

I watch the yellowjackets fly
‘Neath overhanging eaves,
Remaining just the briefest time
Before each buzzer leaves.

They’ve obviously built a nest - 
You’d know that at a glance -
And there they’ll wait to sting someone
As soon as there’s a chance.

In Nature, there’s a reason for
Each creature to exist.
If stinging insects got the boot, though,
They would not be missed. 

A Ray of Hope

Sometimes when things seem so bleak
Oblivion's all that you seek,
A small ray of hope
Allows you to cope
And at sunny skies gives you a peek.

It may not pan out, but at least,
When anxiety's slightly decreased,
The knots in your gut
May unloosen somewhat
So despair and distress are released.

We all manage in different ways
So one's rainbows are somebody's grays
But the tiniest light
In the tunnel just might
Be enough to wipe out one's malaise.

Opening the Gyms

The governor announced that gyms

Will open in a week

So all the fitness freaks can start

Improving their physique.

At just one-third capacity,

Facilities will let

Much fewer members enter

To absorb each other’s sweat.

Despite the mandatory masks,

(Assuming all comply)

There will not be a surface

That remains germ-free and dry.

Yet hordes will flock to exercise

And take it all in stride,

While others, me among them,

Will continue walks outside.

My Favorite Umbrella

My favorite umbrella’s

Covered with a field of sheep

Which are white but with black faces,

Doing fine without Bo Peep.

All are sized about the same except

For one that’s rather large,

Fully black but with a shamrock

On his back, like he’s in charge.

It’s a souvenir from Ireland

Purchased in a Dublin shop.

It prepared me for their weather,

Though it never rained a drop.

Still, whenever there’s a drizzle

Or a downpour, I’m brought back

To that lovely visit seeing sheep,

All white, with faces black.

The Fate of Schools

I feel for those with power

To decide the fate of schools

For people are divided

And there are no prior rules.

How safe are classes held indoors

Where germs just love to lurk?

And if they’re only part-time,

What of parents who must work?

Will everybody wash hands well

And wear a proper mask?

Will those who don’t cooperate

Be taken thus to task?

For those who choose the option

To have learning be remote,

What happens to the children

Who, alone, can’t stay afloat?

There’s talk of filters for the air

Or rooms with special vents,

Of kids in pods or possibly

Erecting outdoor tents.

How hard to be the ones in charge

For they will bear the wrath

Of critics, even though right now

There’s no one perfect path.

Thinking of Home

My brother sent a photo of

Our childhood home and, yes,

It brought me back to younger days

But what I must confess…

Is that, though I was happy there,

I’ve no wish to go back.

The intervening years have set me

On a different track.

It’s nice to reminisce but really

When we think of home,

We should be happy where we keep

Our toothbrush and our comb.

If all our time’s spent in the past

Where we did once belong,

Then something in our current life

Is definitely wrong.

Who's Left

Lewis Carroll, Harpo Marx,

Albert Einstein, Eminem,

Paul McCartney, Judy Garland –

These are just a few of them.

Add DaVinci and Obama,

Oprah, Jimi and Bill Gates,

Charlie Chaplin, Morgan Freeman –

All have something that relates.

R.B. Ginsburg, Mozart and

Ted Williams and, of course, Babe Ruth,

Helen Keller, Ringo Starr,

Matt Groening and Bart Simpson. (truth!)

Jerry Seinfeld, Larry Bird,

Ludwig B, Spike Lee, Mark Twain

Are among the ten percent

Who use the right side of the brain.

Since today’s Lefthanders Day

Let’s honor all of those who are

As I will with my grandson Henry,

Who’s my lefty fave by far!

Packing Up Her Trunk

In Argentina, Mara

Lived a sad and lonely life,

Crowded with unfriendly roommates,

Twenty years of constant strife.

She’s an elephant from Asia

Who was stuck inside a zoo

But the powers-that-be decided

There was something they could do.

So they took her on a road trip,

Days and many miles away,

To a sanctuary in Brazil

Where she could safely stay.

Now she’s found a friend in Rana

And they’ve formed a touching bond.

It’s a tale like Cinderella,

Altered by a magic wand.

In the midst of a pandemic

It’s uplifting just to hear

Of the type of happy ending

That I feared would disappear.

My Aunt's Birthday

I’m usually in Florida

To visit with my aunt

To celebrate her birthday

But this Covid year, I can’t.

Her sons (my cousins) will be there

To mix a toasting drink

And take her out to dinner

Where more glasses they will clink.

I’m sure there’ll be a candle

Stuck into some type of cake

So there will be a chance for her

A birthday wish to make.

We sent a gift, we called and sang

But it just can’t compare.

With fingers crossed, I’m hoping that

Next year we can be there.

Overheard on Mt. Rushmore

Picture this: Mt. Rushmore

With its most imposing heads

Discussing certain rumors

Which the White House likely spreads.

“He can’t be really serious!”

Groused Teddy, steaming mad.

“I think he is,” calm George replied.

“He’s nuts, though, I should add.”

“There isn’t room up here at all,”

As Thomas pointed out.

“He’ll just buy the surrounding land,”

Said Abe, “without a doubt.”

“But what a nerve!” they all agreed.

“Such chutzpah truly shocks!

How could his head be made in stone

When it is full of rocks?”

Shrinking

I “talk” to people on the web

From countries far away,

A few I’ve been to, others that

I’d hoped to see one day.

By telephone or FaceTime

I connect with those I know,

Some frequently enough I’m up

On all their ebb and flow.

Despite all that, the world that I

Inhabit has begun

To shrink a little more each day;

My travel days are done.

The prison I’ve created,

Though much better than a cell,

Is the confines of my home,

The rooms of which I know so well.

My neighborhood provides me

With some peaceful walking streets

And a bench besides the river

Gives me afternoon retreats.

Once a week I’m granted freedom;

To the suburbs we do drive,

Spending time with kids and grandkids

To remind me I’m alive.

Other people are expanding

In the things they choose to do

But I’m stuck without the tools I need

To help me break on through.

Season 6, Episode 9

In season 6 we have been stuck

And numerous calls brought no luck.

Episodes 8 to 10

Left us wondering when

Into episode 9 we could tuck.

It’s a problem, the company said,

But we’ll fix it; why don’t you instead

Stream it on your TV.

If it’s smart, you won’t see

The omission that you seem to dread.

Since our TV is dumb, we were screwed

So we paused and some other shows viewed,

But today, a surprise

And a sight for sore eyes

For the show we were missing’s been queued.

We had almost accepted defeat;

Thought the season would stay incomplete

But the problem’s resolved

And the techies involved

Gave my husband a real birthday treat.

Family Movies

On the DVD, I’m topless

And relaxing in the pool

With a metal bucket in my hand,

Too young for ridicule.

While in other scenes I toddle

Or get jiggled for a smile

And I get to rock some outfits

Showing off a sense of style.

“Family Movies” is the title

Put together by my bro.

What a kick to see some relatives,

Their younger selves aglow.

All my grands and even Zaide*

Plus my uncles and my aunts

Laugh and mug so that the camera

Can record each circumstance…

While, along with several cousins,

I clap hands or sit and stare

At the future that awaits us,

Of which we are unaware.

*Yiddish for grandfather but in this

case, my great-grandfather (pronounced

“Zay-dee”)

The Leos in my Life

There are many Leos in my life

With August birthday dates.

We sang to Hadley for today,

Her 5^th she celebrates.

On Saturday, my husband’s day,

He’ll say he’s 53,

Just like he’s done for many years,

But that’s okay with me.

My favorite aunt turns 92

On Tuesday of next week.

This year we cannot visit but,

Like every day, we’ll speak.

A cousin and a nephew also

Share the Leo sign,

As well as 2 close buddies,

Dear and precious friends of mine.

I’m not a fan of horoscopes

But still, I must admit,

These Leos, with my Aries,

Seem to be a perfect fit.

Counting

My mother counted meatballs

As she plunked them in the pot.

When I exercise, I count each rep

So I know what is what.

We’ve been told to count our blessings

And, of course, to count the change.

Counting sheep to an insomniac

Would surely not seem strange.

A dieter counts calories.

(For that, please count me out.)

A KO’d boxer hears the count

And knows he’s lost, no doubt.

A countdown at a launch pad

Lets us know that blast off’s near

And the thought that counts reminds us

What we want might not appear.

If you’re counting on an ending

To this little counting spree

Then don’t worry since you know that you

Can always count on me.

To Do a Thing

How hard it is to do a thing,

No matter what it is.

Determination sometimes fizzles,

Losing all its fizz.

To tackle a new project or

To make some kind of change

Requires the kind of energy

That might seem out of range.

How simple it appears to be

To leave things as they are,

No need to tap into

The perseverance reservoir.

Though life at such a standstill’s

Crying out to be cajoled,

The effort to improve it’s

Much too easy to withhold.

Bodies

Sit outside in summer,

Watch the bodies passing by;

Fat and skinny, in-between,

But one or two – oh, my!

Sculpted to perfection

Like a fitness magazine,

Muscles glowing with a healthy

Exercisey sheen.

Male and female both attract

Some well-deserving stares

For, in truth, nobody has

A body that compares.

Wonder how it feels to be

That body on display

And how much effort went

Into it looking quite that way.

Cassette Tape

My brother found an old cassette

Recorded several weeks

Before our father died and yes,

My dad both laughs and speaks.

There was no voicemail then and so

My mother did record

A little message; thereby

Both their voices have been stored.

My mom talks first, with updates

On my father’s health; I’d bet

They had no clue how dire

The situation soon would get.

A visit to the doctor next;

My dad was short of breath.

In three weeks’ time, we’d get the call

To tell us of his death.

Despite today’s technology

And knowledge we’ve amassed,

What’s magical to me is hearing

Voices from the past.

National Girlfriend Day

A lot of made-up holidays

Deserve, perhaps, a shrug.

Today, though, in pandemic times,

We all could use a hug.

So to thank my special girlfriends,

Here’s a distanced-hug in rhyme.

Relationships may vary but

I hope you know that I’m…

More grateful for your friendship

Than my actions sometimes show.

My appreciation’s deeper

Than you’ll ever really know.

On this day to honor girlfriends,

Though we’re miles and months apart,

Each of you has staked a claim within

The confines of my heart.