A Different Halloween

Well, Halloween’s different this year –

More things that are real we must fear

And with no trick or treat

There’s no junk I can eat

So of candy corn I can stay clear.

 

Home and stoop decorations are few

And there’s hardly a costume on view.

When I walked down the street

I expected to meet

Little kids in their dress-up debut.

 

Chalk it up to another thing lost

And I wonder – what will be the cost?

Will we snap back real fast

Or will somberness last?

For the former, my fingers are crossed.

Hungry

I’m hungry for contact;

I hunger for friends.

I yearn for the time 

When this whole nonsense ends.

I’m hungry for life

Like the way it once was.

I miss when New York

Had that magical buzz.

I hunger for normalcy,

All that one needs, 

But my hunger right now’s

For a bagel with seeds!

Scary

It’s almost Halloween but I

Am not afraid of bats

Or witches, spiders, vampires, ghosts

Or cross-your-path black cats.

 

I have no fear of mummies, monsters,

Skeletons or ghouls.

What frightens me the most are those

Who follow all the fools

 

Who won’t wear masks or will not vote

Or are prepared to shoot

If all their ballots are in vain

And Donald gets the boot.

 

All Hallows’ Eve will come and go

With tricks and treats curtailed.

I’m scared, though, that Election Day

Might find our land derailed.

Quite Enough

The emails are relentless

With their discounts, deals and sales

And in my former life I’d follow

All those tempting trails.

 

I’d rush off to the stores in search

Of bargains I could buy,

Especially when gifted with

A coupon to apply.

 

At times, I’d even shop online

If shipping costs were free,

Indulging in an “I can just return them”

Shopping spree.

 

But now those emails I delete

Since I don’t need new stuff,

For in my current life my wardrobe’s

Really quite enough.

 

Perhaps one day I’ll feel the urge

To purchase something new,

Yet as for when that day will come

I haven’t got a clue.

Mismatched

A bunch of socks without their mates

Are nestled in my drawer.

You’d think I wouldn’t save them

Since they’re no good anymore.

 

But lately, when I’m choosing clothes

To wear out on the street,

I realize not a soul will notice

What is on my feet.

 

Of course, this was the case before

The virus, but today,

With mask and hat, nobody

Could ID me anyway.

Doing Nothing

When the choice is doing nothing

As opposed to getting started

Then no matter what advice to you

Has often been imparted

 

I will add my two cents’ wisdom

Which I’ve mastered over ages –

Taking that first step is harder

Than the average person gauges.

 

When you stick with doing nothing

There will not be any stresses

So your day won’t be considered

One that taxes or depresses.

 

Let us praise procrastination

For our spirits won’t be shaken

If some challenges may beckon

But no steps have yet been taken.

Zoom Party

A Halloween party on Zoom

Wouldn’t be too much fun, you’d assume

But you would be dead wrong

For I boogied along

With my daughter in our living room.

 

All the Zoomers wore costumes and danced

And the camera had each one enhanced

To fill up the whole screen

So each person was seen

As she shimmied; I watched it, entranced.

 

Every song had a danceable beat

Meant to get people up on their feet.

Some were Halloween themed

With the choices, it seemed,

Leaning less on the trick, more the treat.

 

Since participants can’t meet for real,

Zoom has obvious proxy appeal

And this special needs group

Got to boogie and whoop

With the joy every square did reveal.

Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago, my son was wed

And, dancing at the wedding,

I didn’t have a clue to how much

Joy I would be getting.

 

My friends and family gathered ‘round

In loving celebration.

I focused on the night and had

No long-term expectation.

 

I didn’t have my fingers crossed

In hope of future babies.

If people asked, I felt just fine

In answering with “maybes.”

 

But to my absolute delight,

Their family has expanded

And two more precious grandkids

I could never have demanded.

 

So on their anniversary,

I reminisce while knowing

Their vows would lead to happiness

For me, that keeps on growing.

Suspense in the Suburbs

En route to school to get the kids

We had a real surprise.

Two cops and a dog were running

Through the lawns, before our eyes.

“Look, a sweatshirt!” one called out.

“They must have come this way.”

Some police cars came careening by,

A local law display.

The schoolyard parents, on their phones, 

Found out what had transpired - 

A stolen car, a crash, a chase -

A lockdown was required.

We milled around the yard and wondered

When they would release

The kids from school, but then we heard

They’re waiting for the police.

Some forty minutes later,

All the bad guys had been caught.

The children filed outside

With not a one of them distraught.

Though I live in the city,

Where the crime rates often soar, 

The suburbs brought some criminals

Right up to the front door!

Pre-Election Jitters

This country’s so divided

That I’m feeling really scared.

The rhetoric provided

Hints of violence prepared.

 

Until the last election

There were differences, of course,

But the state of disaffection

Didn’t need a show of force.

 

Now, however, things are spinning

Quickly out of our control

And the simple act of winning

May exact a heavy toll.

 

So I watch the news and wonder

What the hell is going on?

Will the states be torn asunder

And democracy be gone?

 

Or will certain groups awaken

And begin to understand

That our future’s been forsaken

By the havoc they have planned?

Six Faces on a Screen

We’ve known each other forty years,

Or close, to be exact

And somehow, our core group of six

Has mostly stayed intact.

 

Since the start, our monthly dinners

Kept us in each other’s loops

And then we switched to daytimes

For the rallying of troops.

 

We talked of kids and grandkids,

Trip and politics and books,

But lately, we’ve had no idea

How everybody looks.

 

For it’s been many moons since we’ve

Been able to connect,

As Covid’s kept us far apart,

Just like you would expect.

 

A few of us have spoken but

We finally agreed

To FaceTime so we could catch up

To see where it would lead.

 

Despite some glitches, there we were,

Six faces on a screen,

The only way, pandemic-wise,

That we could all convene.

 

Though far from perfect, it’s a way

To virtually feel

That forty-year connection,

Both remote and very real.

Ferryboat Names

“Lunchbox” just went sailing by

With “Cyclone Shark” behind.

There’s also “Seas the Day” and more

With river puns in mind.

 

The ferryboats that pass each day

All proudly sport a name,

Some student contest winners,

Guaranteeing some acclaim.

 

Though most are not creative,

Like “Connector,” I confess

I much prefer that to the flat-out lie –

“Friendship Express.”

Hitting the Keys

To type on a keyboard today

Is a little like doing ballet

For each touch makes no sound

Even if fingers pound

So in silence is how you will stay.

 

But when hitting a typewriter’s keys

You can clack with considerable ease.

Every word makes a snap

Like when dancing some tap

So you make as much noise as you please.

Library Books

In ancient days, when I was young,

We borrowed books to read

From the local branch of the library;

Here’s how we would proceed:

 

We’d scan the shelves and make a choice

Then open to the back

Where there would be a pocket

To allow them to keep track

 

Of all the books checked out.

In every pocket was a card

With lines on which to write our names;

It wasn’t very hard.

 

We’d wait for the librarian

Who stamped a certain date

On both the card and pocket

When the loan would terminate.

 

She kept the card, we got the book

And when it was returned,

The card was then replaced, the perfect

Deal for all concerned.

 

If we were late, we paid a fine,

A lesson quickly taught

But hard to pass on down

Since all my grandkids’ books are bought.

Old Bones

With age come aches and pains and, too,

A stiffening of joints

With movements thus restricted

On the body’s weakest points.

 

So hips and neck and hamstrings

And especially the knees

Announce that they’re eroding

As they tighten up and seize.

 

Though exercise and heating pads

May help you to regroup,

Those old bones might be better off

To make a base for soup!

A Rainy Day with the Grandkids

A rainy day spent with the grandkids

Beats the sunniest day on a cruise.

You can never explain

Just how much you can gain

Without seeming to over-enthuse.

 

It’s a joy I feel privileged to sample,

Knowing others don’t share in my luck

But if you can relate

You know there’s no debate

That it’s much more than gold we have struck.

 

As they grow there are brand-new horizons

While we witness their minds stretch and thrive,

So we soak up the bliss

Never quick to dismiss

How their lives help our spirits revive.

A Fine Reason

A sunbather trying to bask

By a policeman was taken to task

Not because it was rude

To be lying there nude

But because she’d forgotten her mask!

Before the Rising Sun

This morning’s sky displayed a moon,

A smiling crescent, opportune,

With Venus hanging to the right,

For photos of that lovely sight.

 

I had no camera nor my phone

So had to leave that view alone

Except, of course, what stayed behind

Within the confines of my mind.

 

Now hours passed; the sky is blue

With not a trace of what I knew

Was obvious to everyone

Outside before the rising sun.

A Poet's Duty

A poet’s duty’s to herself,

To translate what she’s thinking

From random gut reactions

Into words that merit inking.

 

Her purpose doesn’t thus depend

On anyone’s opinion

For on the page, her choices form

The core of her dominion.

 

She is the queen of all she writes

And bows to no one’s censure.

Her pencil leads to paths where others

Might not choose to venture.

 

Some poets crave renown and hope

The whole world will be smitten,

But I have done my duty when

I like the words I’ve written.

Touchstones

My morning walk was rainy;

My feet were soaking wet.

Though I had an umbrella,

Every puddle was a threat.

 

My mask fogged up my glasses

And the sky was pre-dawn dark.

There weren’t many people out

On paths inside the park.

 

Yet even dressed in rain gear

With my hat pulled down real low,

My sunrise buddies spotted me

And called out a hello.

 

I recognized them both as well

By looks and also gait,

Our morning shout-outs the reminders

Of a former state

 

When strangers were compadres

In the urban life I knew,

Reduced now to my touchstones,

Our good mornings right on cue.

Watching the French Open

What joy to watch a tennis match

Despite the empty stands.

At least the umpire needn’t give

His “Quiet!” reprimands.

 

Today I watched the Open (French),

A famous match on clay.

The action kept me riveted

A good chunk of the day.

 

My favorite player did his part

To glue me to the screen

And won the title, making shots

Both powerful and clean.

 

Though life for some is normal now,

For me it’s still on hold

So show some tennis on TV

And surely, I’ll be sold.

If I Couldn't Read

If I couldn’t read

I’d be saddened, indeed,

Also angry, frustrated and bored

For all that I need

Except love, I’ll concede,

Is some writing that’s striking a chord.

 

Many hours I’ll spend

Scarfing fiction on end

With The Times added in for a treat

And if you recommend

Some new book that’s on trend

That will help make my life more complete.

 

I am glad that my eyes,

Which I must emphasize

Have been trusty for many a year,

Still help me to surmise

Life is full of surprise,

Which may conjure a laugh or a tear.

The Fly

Smack into the VP debate,

When answers were starting to grate,

A fly landed square

Onto Pence’s white hair;

A distraction it thus did create.

 

The audience watching, remote,

Who’d be very soon casting a vote,

Were all fixed on the fly

But Mike had no clue why

There was something of which to take note.

 

There were jokes and cartoons that implied

RBG was the one who supplied

That big fly to alight

To the Dems’ great delight

Though, of course, that would like be denied.

One Degree of Separation

I check the weather on my phone

Before I step outside

To figure out the warmth

My clothes and jacket should provide.

 

Aside from what is in the sky,

Like clouds or sun or rain,

There’s other information

That a glance will help me gain.

 

For underneath the temperature

It tells me how it might

Feel different from the number

That they’ve listed on the site.

 

Today the temp was 55

When I walked out the door.

According to the phone, though,

It would feel like 54.

 

If you sense the distinction

In the day by one degree,

I tip my hat to you

For you’re a better man than me!

Not a Walk in the Park

I got together with a friend

I haven’t seen in ages.

We met in Central Park, a spot

That certainly engages.

 

The flowers were in gorgeous bloom,

The gardens lush and tended

And everyone wore masks,

As Dr. Fauci recommended.

 

We strolled the grounds while catching up

Then found a bench for sitting

While birds and bees flew by

And even butterflies were flitting.

 

Yet there were also chipmunks

And some squirrels all a’scurry.

I even saw a mouse or two

Which didn’t make me worry.

 

Until from underneath a hedge

A big fat rat did scuttle,

To which my “Ew!” reaction

Wasn’t what you might call subtle.

 

It’s really most unfortunate

That this unpleasant sighting

Removed some pleasure from a day

In which I was delighting.

A Deepening Frustration

He stood there on his balcony

And looked like Mussolini,

But ripped his mask off, like the chains

Encompassing Houdini.

 

The message that he thought he’d sent

Was “Look at me – I’m healthy!”

(As well as being powerful

And popular and wealthy.)

 

Yet that’s not how he was perceived

By viewers ‘cross the nation

Who watched in shock and horror

And a deepening frustration.

 

We’re fiddling with reality

And we are scared and shaken,

Stuck deep inside a nightmare

From which we cannot awaken.

Once Purple

The bridge was once a purple hue;

There’s just a trace remaining.

It should be freshened up, but seems

The city is refraining.

 

Of course, it’s low priority

Compared to needs more pressing

Like sanitation, safety, schools

And other ones worth stressing.

 

Yet when I saw that purple bridge,

The opposite of boring,

It made me smile and surely set

So many spirits soaring.

 

Perhaps one day, if things return

To life as we once knew it,

Some painters will show up

With purple paint and get right to it.

A Pensive Pence

A pensive Pence with any sense

Would wonder what will happen hence

For he must know, as things now go,

He may be asked to run the show.

 

Yet while we wait, the news to date,

Assuming that we have it straight,

Tells me that I’m okay in rhyme

To claim that Joe’s just Biden time!

I Hate...

I hate the fact I feel fatigue

For no apparent reason.

I hate the fact I can’t get cherries

Since they’re out of season.

 

I hate when someone shares my bench

Though six feet can be measured.

I hate to lose or misplace something

That I’ve always treasured.

 

I hate when out-of-staters

Park their cars right on my street.

I hate when I can’t order foods

I’ve always loved to eat.

 

I hate when aching joints prevent

Me skipping up the stairs.

I hate when someone blesses me

Or puts me in their prayers.

 

I hate not seeing friends and also

That I cannot travel.

I hate the way that Covid made

So many lives unravel.

 

I hate the fact my age keeps finding

Different ways of showing,

But most of all, I hate the fact

My list of hates keeps growing.