Cicadas

For 17 long years they stay

In limbo, underground,

But when, at last, they do emerge,

You’ll know that they’re around.

 

Cicadas noisily arrive

And swarm in our surroundings.

We’re powerless to stop them,

With their loud and constant houndings.

 

But there are clever people

Who don’t try to overlook them.

Instead, they figured out some ways

That they can spice and cook them.

 

They fry them up to get some crunch

Or sprinkle them in stews.

For chefs, a free ingredient

Means there’s not much to lose.

 

So gather those cicadas

As they crash; I’ll be impressed.

But if you serve cicada toast,

I will not be your guest!

The Hungry Caterpillar

He ate one apple, then two pears,

Three plums and, likely, unawares,

Four strawberries, then what came next?

Five oranges, as per the text.

 

Not finished, there was chocolate cake,

An ice cream cone and, no mistake,

A pickle and Swiss cheese, a slice,

Another of salami – nice!

 

A lollipop, some cherry pie,

A sausage and a cupcake; why

Continue? For the story’s sake,

One snack to go ‘fore stomach ache.

 

And that would be, in Carle’s cool tellin’

One fat slice of watermelon.

What would follow would be brief –

Relief, from munching on a leaf.

 

Eric Carle, a kids’ lit thriller,

Wrote The Hungry Caterpillar

More than fifty years ago

And every reader in the know

 

Should feel forever in his debt

For showing us, the best way yet,

That life may take us for a spin

But beauty waits for us within.

Gardening Exposed

The Real Estate section included a list

Of cities, the best and the worst,

To garden and I wasn’t very surprised

That from coast to coast they were dispersed.

 

But this wasn’t your typical gardening, no,

For the cities that they had reviewed

Were places like Austin, Miami, Seattle –

Where you can mow lawns in the nude.

 

Now, I’m not into gardening, but if I were

I still doubt I would worry enough

About finding a house with a nice patch of land

So that I could plant seeds in the buff!

Who's There For You

When, in your life, a huge event

Occurs, it’s soon quite evident

Who’s there for you and who is not –

You learn what kind of friends you’ve got.

 

For whether surgery or wedding,

Anything that’s got you fretting,

Those who care will show support

And those who don’t will come up short.

 

We all have lives and might forget

From time to time, but I would bet

Your closest buddies will provide

The strength you’re needing by your side.

 

But be prepared, for you may find

When your event slips someone’s mind,

There is no cause to be distraught –

She’s not as close as you once thought.

Davening in the Corner

On the outpatient floor

Where you fill out the forms,

We joined masked people, distanced,

All following norms.

 

With the paperwork done,

You’d sit down until paged

But the person behind us

Was counter-engaged.

 

See, before he checked in,

His son whispered, “You know,

You can daven real soon –

In that corner you’ll go.”

 

For an Orthodox Jew

Must obey the commands

And to daven, or pray’s

What the Torah demands.

 

So my husband was called

Then the guy who was next,

Who was still in the corner

Reciting his text.

 

After surgery, he

And my husband came out.

Both were fine - one sans prayer,

The other devout.

Sneakers

 When I started to jog

Back in ‘75

(When so many of you

Weren’t even alive)

The choices of shoes

You would wear on a run,

For a woman, at least,

Made the shopping no fun.

Just Adidas and Brooks,

And with limited styles,

Were the options to wear

As I chalked up the miles.

Then came Reebok, but still,

All the pickings were slim

So you’d see the same shoes

On the streets or the gym.

But that isn’t the case

Anymore, as you know.

The selection had managed

To crazily grow.

As I sit here and marvel

At sneaker-clad feet,

I will rarely, if ever,

Detect a repeat.

White Feather

A black bird pecking on the ground

Seemed happy with what he had found,

Perhaps to decorate, I guessed,

A new or an existing nest.

 

His prize? A feather, snowy white,

Most likely loosened while in flight

From possibly a seagull’s wing

Or pigeon’s, which the wind did bring.

 

He grabbed his treasure in his beak

And flew away; I’d love to peek

At where, among each twig and scrap

He placed that feather in his cap.

Dylan's 80th Birthday

In case you weren’t feeling old

(A topic kind of weighty)

You might, as soon as you’ve been told

Today, Bob Dylan’s 80!

 

Our youthful idols cannot age

Unless we do in tandem

And lately, if they take the stage,

They face a senior fandom.

 

I’m glad that Bob’s still kicking,

Earning accolades and cred

Unlike those whose songs are sticking

Though they’re 50-plus years dead.

Track Meet

They limbered up and got prepared

To run in all their races,

In uniforms or matching tees,

With masks upon their faces.

The coach gave pep talks as the kids

Stayed cool within the shade,

Until the time for their events,

When with the sun they’d trade.

We waited for our grandson’s heat 

And listened to the cheers

Of parents, whose shouts likely

Never reached their children’s ears.

Yet of course we screamed for Henry

As he sped around the track,

Maybe dreaming of a medal 

Or just water and a snack.

Animal Embassy

A porcupine, an owl and a beautiful iguana

Were among the creatures that I got to see;

And no, I wasn’t dreaming it or smoking marijuana –

Every animal was real as it could be.

 

For my grandkids were invited to a show with all these creatures;

There were also frogs and tortoises and snakes.

It was wonderful to see, up close, exotic facial features,

Some of which resulted in some double-takes.

 

Both my grands were quite enchanted and were brave enough for petting,

Gently stroking certain reptiles’ backs or shells

And I joined in their enthusiasm, somehow, though, forgetting,

Age has no effect on Nature’s magic spells.

 

*Animal Embassy is a program founded by naturalist Chris Evers,

which connects people with live, exotic animals.

Fisticuffs

 The crowd broke into fisticuffs -

I heard it on the news -

For Middle Eastern politics

Engenders different views.

It happened in Times Square

Where brawlers gathered for a fight.

Pro-Israel or Pro-Palestine,

Each sure their side was right.

Such protests do not shock me -

All my life such things I’ve heard.

But fisticuffs? What did surprise

Was that old-fashioned word.

Needs to Read

A tugboat needs a river;

A sailboat needs a sail.

In order to deliver,

A mailman needs some mail.

 

A baker needs an oven;

A bicycle needs wheels

And pets require lovin’

And a place to sleep and meals.

 

Plants need sun and water;

Children need fresh air.

Every son and daughter

Needs a mom or dad to care.

 

Feet need shoes or sandals;

Stores need lots of stuff.

Birthday cakes need candles;

Just to wish is not enough.

 

Schools require teachers

And kids who want to learn.

Movies showing features

Need their patrons to return.

 

I’d go on forever

If inclined to take the time

For I’ll jump at each endeavor

Which requires a little rhyme.

Cityscape

A tugboat, a ferry, a Circle Line cruise

All chug by on the river, for me to peruse.

A breeze gently blows as the waves settle down

As I soak it all up here on my side of town.

 

A ‘copter flits past with propellers a ‘whirl;

A scooter glides by with a helmeted girl.

A yappy white dog trots, his owner in tow

And sitting here clinches the truth that I know:

 

I’d rather be out on this riverside bench

(For no vista but this will my urban soul quench)

Than be anywhere private, with similar sights

For this cityscape fills me with all that delights.

A Quiet That Deceives

 It’s hard to get used to quiet

When the city is your base,

To focus on the tiny sounds 

So easy to embrace -

The swishing of a wind sock’s tails, 

The rustling of leaves,

The chirping cadence of the birds,

A quiet that deceives.

For nowhere’s really silent,

But depending on your space,

The country’s noise is subtle

While the city’s in your face.

Baby Steps

 Today I had an ice cream cone -

In 14 months, my first

And stepped inside a supermarket -

Cautiousness reversed.

We drove up to our country place,

Last visited last summer,

And stopped to see some friends outside.

(Not vaccinated - bummer!)

So masks were on and off, but still

Some progress has been made.

I hope someday there’ll be a time

When I am not afraid.

I’ll keep on taking baby steps

And know I’m not alone,

But soon enough I plan to have

Another ice cream cone!

To Mask or Not to Mask

We watch the news, we get advice

And then, before we’ve listened twice,

The recommended actions change

And what results is slightly strange.

 

For should we wear a mask or not?

It’s “no” for those who’ve had the shot

(Or both, if what you got was Pfizer;

One is just the appetizer).

 

In my ‘hood we all were masked.

Who had vaccines? Nobody asked.

But now the CDC has spoken,

Former rules have all been broken.

 

Some still cover mouth and nose

Out of habit, I suppose.

Others don’t wear masks at all

Following the latest call.

 

Most fall somewhere in between,

Dangling masks which likely mean

If you’re too close or seem to lack

A vaccine, then the mask pops back.

 

Of course, you cannot really tell

Who’s gotten vaxxed, but it would quell

A lot of fear, for then we could

Remove our vexing masks for good.

Briana's Birthday

Today’s Briana’s birthday

So we celebrated large.

Her boyfriend and his mother,

For this epic day, took charge.

 

We hadn’t met in person

For some fifteen months or more

Since Covid, helped by distance,

Came around and slammed the door.

 

We drove for two plus hours

For a meal in their back yard

And this is what was waiting:

Pink balloons, some clothes, a card…

 

An Elvis photo in a frame,

A CD and two mugs,

A necklace with a heart, tiaras

And some heartfelt hugs.

 

Brett grilled some yummy burgers

While his mom provided sides.

There was music and a birthday cake

And so much love besides.

 

What a wonderful reunion

And a way to celebrate

Both a birthday and a taste of

Future meetings that await.

 

                                   

*Briana is my daughter. She and Brett met

at a special needs camp over 20 years ago.

Gotcha!

 The orange juice was being sold

At quite a nifty price.

I bought a few containers -

Feeling proud, not thinking twice.

But something made me double-check,

Since looks would not suffice,

And that is when I noticed

What I don’t think’s very nice.

Each orange juice container,

Looking normal, to entice,

Was a bunch of ounces smaller,

So I offer this advice:

When a bargain is presented,

You can always roll the dice 

But from corporate America,

There’ll be no sacrifice.

Labor

Conversation overheard

While on my morning jaunt:

(Such chutzpah only those

Of younger age would choose to flaunt.)

 

“We headed to the hospital,”

One guy said to his neighbor,

“’Cause it was very obvious

That WE’d gone into labor.”

 

I cringe to hear “We’re pregnant,”

When just she’ll display a bulge,

But this was something new, which

No one really should indulge.

 

I held my tongue, quite sure

I couldn’t hold in my disdain

For boasting of his “labor”

Yet with not one labor pain!

Once-a-Weekers

It seems like this pandemic

Has affected what we wear

(No bras, just sweats and tees)

And if we cut or dye our hair.

 

But something I just read about

Surprised me, for this change

May be noticed in some other ways

That I, for one, find strange.

 

For people have stopped bathing

Every day, but they insist

That fears of stinking up the air

Should quickly be dismissed.

 

A bath or shower taken,

On the average, once a week,

With a little cleaning in-between,

Won’t make a person reek.

 

This is something I won’t follow

For I shower every day

And when meeting once-a-weekers,

I will simply walk away!

Before the Parade

In my dream, there’d be a huge parade

Proceeding down my block

And as they reached my building,

I would join the marching flock.

 

I waited, wearing gypsy garb,

In need of some caffeine,

Pacing nervously ‘cause I forgot

To bring my tambourine.

 

The elevator opened and

My father stepped outside,

A carton in his hands with snacks

He’d promised to provide.

 

“Look what I’ve got – brown pears!” he said.

“The kind you always buy!”

He also had my tambourine,

Which almost made me cry.

 

I woke up then, before the march,

But felt an inner glow

From the visit with my dad, who died

Some forty years ago.

That's the Ticket

A ticket can be good or bad –

Depends on where you get it.

If issued by a cop, you’d better

Pay or you’ll regret it.

 

If purchased for the theater

Or a game or sports event,

Your ticket gets you in; the stub

Reminds you where you went.

 

A plane or train or bus requires

A ticket just for boarding

And if your lotto ticket wins,

It could be quite rewarding.

 

No matter how you’ve gotten one,

It always will be cricket

To honor what it says, so please

Remember where you stick it!

My Mothers' Day

My son made the arrangements –

Got the flowers and the food.

My husband, daughter, grandkids,

In-laws rounded out the brood.

 

We haven’t been together since

Pandemic time began

But Mothers’ Day and sunshine

Formed the basis of the plan:

 

A talent show indoors and then

An afternoon outside,

With space to play and lunch

And even birthday cake supplied.

 

The moms all got bouquets,

My daughter frolicked with the grands

And anyone with family,

I’ll bet, surely understands

 

That sometimes just a get-together’s

All you really need

To emphasize the love and help

Despondency recede.

My Tonsils

I had my tonsils taken out

When I was in first grade.

My younger brother did as well

And we were both afraid.

 

We didn’t really get it but

We somehow understood

That wearing P.J.’s in the car

Would lead to nothing good.

 

While driving to the doctor’s

There was time for me to think

And come up with a plan. (Such acts

Are field days for a shrink.)

 

The oldest child had privileges

So if worse came to worst,

I got my mom to promise that

My brother would go first.

 

The deal was made, so I relaxed

Until the doc was prepped,

The ether waiting for my bro,

If promises were kept.

 

But herein comes the clincher –

I was dragged in first and cried,

Not only for the surgery –

My mom had flat-out lied!

Watching the Feeder

 The bird (a dove?) was pecking ‘round 

The seeds that scattered on the ground.

A chipmunk timidly approached;

The bird disliked his turf encroached.

So twice I saw him lift his wings 

(I rarely get to see such things)

To scare the chipmunk (just a guess);

The rodent, though, felt no distress.

A cardinal came by to feed

And little birds of unknown breed.

The dove calmed down, the chipmunk stayed

While from my perch, I never strayed.

Imagine this Pandemic

Imagine this pandemic

In the years preceding Zoom

Or Netflix or computers -

Likely it would feel like doom.

Perhaps it’s not an accident

That all this happened now

For without such key distractions 

We’d have still survived, but how?

Relying on our families

For both food and entertainment 

Might have caused a rise in familycide

From boredom in containment.

So despite us all complaining

Of this Covid-19 curse,

With technology we realize

Things could sure have been much worse!

On My Morning Walk

On the pathway, I noticed a fish

Which a jogger would most likely squish.

Though the river was near

How it got there’s not clear;

For a gull, it would make a nice dish.

 

Later, on the tail end of my walk

On the railing there sat a huge hawk.

People stopped and they stared

But they should be prepared

For each day’s a surprise in New Yawk!

Secrets in the City

The traffic flows across the bridge

Without me even knowing

About the drivers, not a smidge,

Or where the heck they’re going.

 

The same applies to passersby,

A flock of strangers streaming,

Who stroll or jog or scoot, while I,

Upon my bench, sit dreaming.

 

The city holds one’s secrets close,

Which many find appealing,

Though some succumb and overdose

On all of that concealing.

Goodbye to the Gallaghers

When you watch a show for many years,

The characters you’re viewing

Become like friends; you care about

Their lives and what they’re doing.

 

So when the final season wraps,

It’s sad to know they’re leaving

And part of you might even do

A tiny bit of grieving.

 

Of course, the actors will disperse,

Their fictional creations

Abandoned as they seek some other

Brand-new adaptations.

 

But we, the audience, will miss

The Gallaghers of “Shameless,”

Who felt so real that their portrayers

Surely aren’t blameless.

 

Farewell to Frank, Fiona, Lip,

To Debbie, Carl and Ian;

To Kevin, V and all the rest

I never tired of seein’.

 

I thank you for 11 years

Of TV time enjoyment

And hope each actor finds, real soon,

Fulfilling new employment.

Critique

When finishing a project

That’s all yours and thus unique,

The last thing that you want to hear’s

A negative critique.

 

Yet when you’re going public

Anyone can have his say

Despite the fact the way he feels

May spoil your lovely day.

 

In giving an opinion

Sometimes holding something back

Is better than the words which seem

Too much like an attack.

 

For honesty, at times, can cause

A person to be hurt,

The outcome I would do my best

To very much avert.