Out Like a Lion

November goes out like a lion,

All growly and ready to pounce,

Though I doubt that a lamb-like December

Will waltz in with a whirl and a flounce.

 

Still, I’m grateful that most of this autumn,

We’ve managed to spend time outside

For with winter just waiting to greet us,

Much more time in the house is implied.

 

Since I exercised early this morning,

While the lion was still not awake,

I’ll not venture out into the jungle

And relax with a stay-at-home break.

 

Yet I hope that tomorrow the weather,

On the day that the calendar turns,

Will be welcoming all who desire

To cross lions off from their concerns.

A Sunny Day

People pass on foot or bike

Or skateboard, wheelchair, scooter,

While chatting, singing, texting

Via iPhone or computer.

 

While in the sky the birds take wing –

The pigeons, seagulls, sparrows,

A few in pairs as if they’d felt

The sting of Cupid’s arrows.

 

Beneath the river, I presume

Are lots of local fishes,

Which swim and rarely do fulfill

The anglers’ fervent wishes.

 

Between the bushes and the trees

The squirrels frisk and scurry

And sometimes mice or rats join in,

But always in a hurry.

 

A sunny day out in the park

With life around me teeming;

If not for masks on every face,

I’d think I might be dreaming.

Fresh Trees

Their fragrance always fills the air

Around this time of year

But in this time of Covid,

I thought they would not appear.

 

Yet on my morning walk I was

Quite taken by surprise

To see a row of Christmas trees

Propped up before my eyes.

 

“Fresh Trees!” the sign announced

To all the people walking past.

I always wonder just how long

That “fresh” is meant to last.

 

I’m not a Christmas person

So I’d never buy a tree.

Still, the normalcy of seeing them

Felt wonderful to me.

A Little Shout-Out

When friends or family make a call

Or text or email, I embrace

Their reaching out, for there is love

In every case of touching base.

 

A little shout-out’s all I need

To let me know they think of me.

I do the same since now, of course,

We’re all considered “absentee.”

 

A written note sent through the mail

(So rare these days) works just as well

As one I read upon a screen

And, even better, I can tell

 

A lot about a person’s mood

In phone calls, for within that voice

Are hints of why the call’s been made –

To rant, seek solace or rejoice.

 

And lastly, there is FaceTime, Zoom

Or Messenger, with face-to-face

But all, to me, complete the job

Of taking time for touching base.

T-Day

The family could not be together

So we counted on turkey meals twice.

Our son made a feast for us Wednesday

With our grandkids – both yummy and nice.

 

And today, after much trepidation,

Our daughter came home for a night.

We had ordered a turkey and trimmings,

All the foods that we knew would delight.

 

But our order was never delivered –

Just a glitch they could fix, we supposed.

Yet connecting with customer service,

We found out that the warehouse had closed.

 

So my husband dug into our freezer,

Found some chicken and mashed up some spuds.

With some veggies and salad and ice cream

We’ll have dinner without any duds.

 

There’s an irony here to acknowledge –

In my daughter’s group home they will eat

All the turkey day food they can manage

And, most likely, dessert that’s a treat.

 

But if given the choice of tradition

Or a (lately) rare visit with us,

I am certain she’d choose eating chicken

For her dad is the cook. (That’s a plus!)

Encroaching

 Throughout the land, in every home,

Thanksgiving is approaching

But this time other issues

Sadly seem to be encroaching.

To those outside the bubble

There’ll be faces framed on Zoom

And all will then pretend

That they’re together in the room.

Some gatherings will be outdoors

With heaters put together

To stave off what is typical

For late November weather.

Unfortunately, many

Will now celebrate alone,

For some, the only solitary 

T-Day they have known.

It’s really just another day - 

If that’s the way we view it,

Then somehow we can take a breath

And manage to get through it.

Transformed

 A picture is transformed by adding

Colors to enhance

And music can make even

The most tired person dance.

Some seasonings can make

Plain foods into a yummy meal

And time can take a broken bone

And help to make it heal.

A ready shoulder can transform

A frown into a smile 

With words of kindness and support

To go that extra mile.

When times are tough we are transformed

If kith and kin provide

The love that keeps us going

As it’s glowing deep inside.

Telling It Like It Is

 The governor of Maryland 

Had excellent advice.

Perhaps if more Republicans

Agreed, it would suffice.

Annoyed at Trump’s shenanigans 

And his obnoxious tweets,

He blurted a suggestion 

Which deserves a few repeats.

“Stop golfing and concede!” he said,

Which echoes, to a T, 

Exactly what so many feel,

Of course, including me.

That simple phrase, four little words,

“Stop golfing and concede!”

Is what should happen, for it's what

Americans all need.

November Twenty-Second

Fifty-odd years ago

JFK died.

If you were living then,

You must have cried.

 

TV ran on and on –

Pink hat and shots;

Oswald and Ruby

Connecting the dots.

 

Bloodstains on Jackie,

The LBJ pledge;

All of America

Sitting on edge.

 

John John saluted,

The widow in black.

Innocence ended

And never came back.

 

Each twenty-second

The month of November,

Those moments flash back

And I pause to remember.

*This poem was written and posted

on November 22, 2011. The first line

read "Forty-eight years ago..."

I decided that I couldn't say it any better today.

Pardon

The turkey who gets pardoned

Doesn’t understand his luck,

As all his buddies soon will have

Their feathers set to pluck.

 

Tradition gives the president

One pardon every year.

Most likely, then, that pardoned bird

Will up and disappear.

 

Where does he go? Where will he live?

Is this a second chance

Or will he have to do, next year,

The “Please don’t kill me!” dance?

 

The rest of us get ready to

Find recipes we’ve stored,

Relieved to know our turkeys, dead,

Have somehow climbed on board.

 

For just how disconcerting

Would a scene like this one be:

An oven-ready gobbler shouting,

“Hey there! Pardon me!”

Escape Boy

My grandson’s discovered Houdini;

He loves to get trapped and escape.

His grandpa knows just how to trap him

‘Til he wriggles free with not a scrape.

 

I wonder if Harry Houdini

Had a grandpa who’d tickle and tease,

Causing giggles and shouts of enjoyment

With every snuggle and squeeze.

 

If he did, maybe we’d not have heard of

The most famous escapist of all

For the fun’s being trapped, not escaping,

If you have a fun grandpa on call!

Wise Advice

A wise man supposedly said,

“You can sleep all you want when you’re dead”

Meaning time that you waste

Simply can’t be replaced

So make use of each minute instead.

 

I agree, but when you’re feeling tired,

It’s hard to do what is required

To produce or create

For a somnolent state

Seems like one in which you have expired.

 

The trick, then, to keeping awake

When your mind wants to take a quick break

Is to have a nice snack

Or have two, back to back

For when dead, there are no chips or cake!

The More We Know

The more we live, the more we know

But no one wants to hear it

For what we’ve learned from long ago

Makes people doubt or fear it.

 

The modern methods serve the young

So all our wise conclusions

Are seen as quirks to which we’ve clung,

Our warnings as intrusions.

 

The irony is as we age

We shrug at the rejection

For youth can never truly gauge

The folly of perfection.

 

Thus we observe and try our best

To stop from interfering

Since anything we might suggest

Won’t be, to them, worth hearing.

National Button Day

Yesterday was Button Day;

I somehow let it slip

Or maybe I just chose instead

To button up my lip.

 

Begun in 1938,

This date was set aside

To celebrate the crafters

Who keep notions stores supplied.

 

For think about your buttons –

Not those round ones, white and plain

But the myriad varieties

That sewing sites contain.

 

There are endless shapes and colors

And materials as well,

Most with little holes for threading –

Look real close and you can tell.

 

Why, the perfect style of button

Can improve a garment’s looks

And as fasteners, they’re easier

Than zippers, snaps or hooks.

 

Just don’t push somebody’s buttons,

Even one who’s button cute

For on Button Day (or one day late)

We owe them a salute.

Nostalgia's Gaze

Of all the holidays we’ve missed,

And yes, there would quite a list,

The one that will affect me most

Is one where I’ve been guest and host.

 

Thanksgiving Day, which takes the prize

For straining all those family ties,

Still, somehow, in nostalgia’s gaze,

Appears to be the best of days:

 

The relatives all gathered round,

The turkey, crisp and golden-browned,

The football game, the big parade,

Desserts of every type arrayed.

 

But not this year, for Covid rules

And huge productions are for fools

So we will pine and maybe grieve

For memories that may deceive.

The Chances We've Got

Though nothing is normal, at times we pretend

And oh, it’s so sad when that vision must end.

We hang with our grandkids or see a good friend

Then poof! It’s reality time.

 

We laugh and we dance and we cook and we eat

While knowing each minute together’s a treat

And though it may just be through Zoom that we meet

To end it feels just like a crime.

 

The life we once lived is now sadly on hold

So being with loved ones is precious as gold.

If only that joy we could somehow enfold

Then from out of the doldrums we’d climb.

 

Yet we must delight in the chances we’ve got

To help us untie all our guts in a knot

And know that we’re giving it all our best shot

(Which for some of us, happens in rhyme).

Square

 In school, in math, I learned a square

Had equal sides, so it was fair

To see it not at all the same

As shapes by any other name.

A rectangle was different since

Two sides were shorter, glaring hints 

That it could never be a square;

Inside my brain, that fact is there.

Today, though, in a class on Zoom,

I found out I cannot presume

That what I learned is still correct;

Somehow, the dots do not connect.

I’d helped my grandson with his math

And led him down the wrong-choice path

For rectangles included squares 

When counting - caught me unawares!

Now math is not my strength, but still, 

To alter what I’d mastered will

Into my credence place a dent -

At least in rhyme I get to vent!

MagnaTiles

 I’ve always liked old-fashioned toys -

No batteries required -

To let imaginations soar

And get young minds inspired.

Both my kids and grandkids blossomed

And creative juices flowed

As, with blocks and dolls and puzzles

They found childhood’s secret code.

Yet occasional improvements

Can enhance the tried and true,

Like the MagnaTiles my grandkids use;

Ideas come pulsing through.

Plastic shapes which stick together

So that structures can be built

They form endless combinations,

Like an old-time crazy quilt.

As I watch the towers rising,

So symmetrical and neat,

I am grateful I can witness

Such a new old-fashioned treat.

Handing Over the Reins

Handing over the reins is, of course,

Very rarely involving a horse.

It’s about the tradition

Of easing transition

Of power, with no show of force.

 

The expression is mostly applied

When a leader is stepping aside

And helps he who comes next

Not feel lacking or vexed

With all negative feelings denied.

 

Yet today, those same reins are held tight,

While the whole world is watching this plight.

It’s an ugly impasse

Lacking candor and class

Led by one who is driven by spite.

Know-It-All New Yorker

My husband won a contest

On a weekly FM quiz

To prove to all who listen

What a “know-it-all” he is.

 

The prize is a certificate

And maybe some acclaim

From the kith and kin tuned in

When Jeff*, the DJ, says your name.

 

A call came through soon after

For the winner’s home address

And Jeff playfully explained to us,

As if it would impress:

 

“Now when you get your certificate,

It’s valuable to you.

When you go out to a restaurant,

This is what you need to do…”

 

So we thought, free meal or discount,

But that wasn’t what he said,

Though he had us both in stitches

By what he exclaimed instead:

 

“If your table has a wobble

In one leg a little bit,

Take your prize and fold and place it,

Very gently, under it.”

 

Well, this “know-it-all New Yorker”

Learned just what his title’s worth

But it added to our day

With the injection of some mirth.

 

*Jeff Spurgeon, WQXR-FM, NYC

RIP Alex Trebek

All across the U.S.

From the east to west coast

Folks are mourning the loss

Of the “Jeopardy” host.

 

He was there on our screens

More than 35 years

In a job few would choose

As their hoped-for careers.

 

Always steadfast and calm,

Never ruffled or down,

He was king of the hosts

Though he needed no crown.

 

At the end he did share

With us all his last answer.

The question – “What killed him?”

A mean Stage 4 cancer.

Lightness

There’s a feeling of lightness

Afloat in the air

Replacing the crushing

Depression once there.

 

The cloud cover’s parted,

Admitting some sun,

A reward for the challenges

Conquered and won.

 

The path won’t be easy

But now there’s a chance

So it makes perfect sense

If we just want to dance.

 

There is joy that’s reflected

In half-hidden smiles.

For hope that’s been muted,

We’ve turned up the dials.

 

I sail down the sidewalk

Where once I did trudge,

No longer afraid of

The muck and the sludge.

Not a Word

Where’s the tweeting? I have heard,

From POTUS, not a single word.

It’s really quite a lovely change –

My pressure’s in the normal range.

 

Not lies to set my blood to boil;

No barbs from which we must recoil.

No single put-down, not one smirk –

For us, another losing perk.

 

His lackeys, too, have sealed their lips,

Still stuck on sinking battleships.

Their gutlessness prevents congrats

To all the winning democrats.

 

Today is quiet in the news

And whether you sport reds or blues

I’ll bet you’ll find your day complete

Without another ******* tweet.

A Sigh of Relief

A whoop and a holler

Of – not disbelief –

But of unbridled joy

With a sigh of relief

 

Is the way that so many

Can finally feel

For the end of this era

Will help us to heal.

 

We’re yearning for decency,

Craving some peace,

While hoping that hatred

Will lessen or cease.

 

A miracle’s needed

For us to unite

But today’s the beginning

To making things right.

National Saxophone Day

 In the midst of all this chaos 

When frustration’s only grown, 

Let us pause to stop and listen 

To the lovely saxophone.

Adolphe Sax was its inventor

Back in 1846

And his instrument remains

One of musicians’ favorite picks.

Charlie Parker, Clarence Clemons,

John Coltrane and Kenny G

Are a few whose sax renditions

Have made music history.

So forget this doomed election.

Take a breath and clear your head

With the melancholy musings

Of a saxophone instead.

Swing States

Why can’t swing states count their votes?

They should have been preparing.

Instead, at their percentage points,

We anxiously sit staring.

 

Nevada’s six electoral votes

Are hanging there for grabbing

While every news reporter

Keeps on blithering and blabbing.

 

And what of Pennsylvania,

Also Georgia – almost finished!

My faith in our whole system

Has most surely been diminished.

 

South Carolina did its count

So why is North so lagging?

Are workers doing all they can?

A lot of tongues are wagging.

 

We’ve waited almost four long years –

Some hours more won’t kill us

But what I hope is when it’s done

The end result will thrill us.

Riven

I’m trying to be positive

But deep inside my gut

A chorus filled with “not again!”

Is there to undercut.

 

I check the undecideds

As the numbers fluctuate

And know there’s nothing we can do

Except to sit and wait.

 

The country’s riven clean in half,

The red states and the blue.

We aren’t the United States,

For unity’s taboo.

 

We’re holding our collective breath

And clinging to our hope

That when the votes are tallied up,

The losing half can cope.

Prediction

I would predict a landslide (Blue!)

Without a hint of déjà vu

But superstition rears its head

And warns me to shut up instead

 

Or else I would absorb the blame

If vic’try came to What’s-His-Name.

The reason why might give you pause –

A kinnehura*’d be the cause.

 

*a pronouncement indicating good fortune

which should not be uttered for fear of

attracting the “evil eye.” (Yiddish)

Take Your Pick

Trump or Fauci – take your pick –

Only one can make you sick.

One is fiction, one is science –

Choose which one deserves reliance.

 

MAGA crowds, so quickly riled,

Love to see their foes defiled.

“Fire Fauci!” they start chanting

As their leader keeps on ranting.

 

I’m so tired of this fight

So let it end on Tuesday night.

If Biden wins, we can be sure

We’ll hear from Fauci that much more.