The Game of Life

My son looked through the board games 

And he chose the Game of Life,

Where people-pegs must navigate 

Through times of joy and strife.

My grandkids bought insurance,

Found a spouse and had some kids,

Took a job and earned enough to

Be quite rich or on the skids.

It was fun to watch their styles,

Taking risks or laying low

And they loved to sue each other,

Though the tears would sometimes flow.

Yet the 9 year old did question 

Why the winner at the end

Was the one who had the biggest

Pile of money he could spend.

He insisted that in life

Mere money shouldn’t be the judge 

Of what really is important

As through ups and downs we trudge.

I was thrilled at that conclusion

But I laughed when, in a flash,

He declared himself the winner

After counting out his cash.

G Day

Most Jewish people name their kids

For someone who’s deceased,

Or if they don’t, their first initial

Might be used, at least.

My father, George, was born today

In 1924,

Though when my son was born 

He wasn’t with us anymore. 

So Geoffrey, spelled the English way,

As tribute to my dad,

Is here with me today, a date

That’s always somewhat sad.

Of course, my father’s on my mind 

But life makes its demands 

And George would be delighted by

Both Geoffrey and the grands.

A Change of Plans

My son and family’s flight was one

Of many not to fly.

Instead they found a place to drive 

And thus avoid the sky -

An indoor water park not far

From where we have a place,

So very soon I’ll get to see

Each grandkid’s smiling face.

We had the driveway paved of snow

And shopped for food and snacks.

There will be nothing now that 

This vacation really lacks.

A change of plans may disappoint 

But sometimes, as they say,

A silver lining may appear

To brighten up the day.

Fabrication

When running for office,

You might as well lie

For nobody cares about truth,

And if you are caught

And reporters ask Why?

You can blame it on errors from youth.

 

A lie isn’t merely

“A poor choice of words,”

Which reminds me of “alternate facts.”

The political climate,

With tweets like the birds,

Doesn’t worry how someone reacts.

 

So a twist of a phrase,

Using “Jew-ish” instead

Of denying your claim as a Jew

May assuage any guilt

Over things that you said,

But no job should be given to you!

 

*George Santos, Republican U.S. Representative-elect,

has admitted to fabricating key details of his biography.

A Gift for Myself

I needed a pick-me-up present

But couldn’t rely on an elf,

So I found what I wanted on Etsy

And ordered a gift for myself.

 

The crafter is stationed in Ireland

So when it was several days late,

I figured that holiday madness

Meant that I should be patient and wait.

 

Today, though, with patience rewarded,

A package arrived; there were cheers

From my husband, who noticed the dangling

As Guinness pints sway from my ears.

A Year Ago Today

It’s been a year since Sharon* died.

Though life’s continued on,

It’s not the same and never will be

Now that she is gone.

 

Yet all who knew her hold her close

With memories we’ve made,

So in our hearts, our thoughts of her

Burn bright and will not fade.

 

We’re never sure when we’ll succumb

To life’s strange ebb and flow,

But oh, we lost a special soul

Today, one year ago.

 

*my brother’s wife

The Menorah by the River

Every year, there’s a menorah

As a neighborhood display,

But when I walked past, I noticed

It was missing – what the hey?

 

So I went to check it out and

I was shocked at what I found.

It was moved from its location,

All its branches on the ground.

 

It appeared to have been vandalized,

Like others where I live.

Such a sad and shocking crime,

It would take effort to forgive.

 

To discover this on Christmas,

When the spirit should bring peace,

Hammers home the point that hatred

In this world will never cease.

Autographed

My son got a gift from his buddy,

A book which is sure to get raves.

He was thrilled ‘cause he knew

That the lead of U2

Was the author and one of his faves.

 

But the best part was quite unexpected –

An autograph written inside,

With no question in mind

Of the fact it was signed

By the writer – it was Bono-fide!

 

*thanks to my husband for the punchline 

Being Female in Afghanistan

Imagine being female 

In a Taliban regime,

Where equal rights do not exist

Except when women dream.

Shariah law has taken hold

With floggings taking place

For girls or women who have dared

To show the world their face.

Schools and universities

Say females can’t attend

And there’s no indication that

These rules will ever end.

In life, our paths’s determined

Partly by the place we’re born.

For women in Afghanistan,

Their chances we must mourn.

Wind Chill

The wind chill’s minus twenty-six,

The kind of cold, they say,

Where frostbite can occur if you

Go out to face the day.

 

The mountain’s where my brother lives

So he knows what to do

To keep the fires stoked in case

The gusts come sneaking through.

 

I can’t relate to temps like that,

But Nature makes the rules

And those who don’t bow down to her

Are nothing more than fools.

Nourishment

It’s coffee over tea for me

And bagels over bread.

My other drink of choice is beer

Or, rarely, wine instead.

 

I like my veggies crunchy,

Even if they’re somehow cooked,

And on pizza or on pasta

I could live ‘cause I am hooked.

 

My day would not be happy

Without cheese and also fruit,

Plus some cake or pie or cookies,

With an ice cream bowl to boot.

 

Though my diet wouldn’t satisfy

Most people that I meet,

My mind and body seem content

With what I choose to eat.

Positive Home Test

Perhaps my body’s cozy

Or there’s no place else to go.

Staying home I’m not expose-y;

I’m just going with the flow.

Touchy Covid germs aren’t leaving;

It’s annoying, but I am

Very sure I’ll be receiving

Extra boosts my next exam.

 

How I got it, folks are asking.

Oh, there’s no way I can tell.

Maybe even with the masking,

Every place has germs that dwell.

 

Time will do what it’s supposed to;

Expectations are in place.

Still, for now frustration goes to

Tests with lines you can’t erase.

Collectibles

My son collected baseball cards;

My brothers did, as well.

My Beatles card collection

Was the female parallel.

 

But there’s an opportunity

For everyone to buy –

Although it’s hard to understand

A decent reason why –

 

Some trading cards that feature Trump

In poses quite bizarre –

An astronaut, a cowboy

And the weirdest one so far –

 

A superhero with a body

So unlike Trump’s own,

It would be quite ridiculous,

But somehow it is known

 

That people buy them!

Shelling out, for every NFT,

Enough to question what’s become

Of each one’s sanity.

 

How low can one man really sink

To hawk himself this way?

It’s mortifying to confront

Such ego on display.

Daunting

The gifts are bought and wrapped by now

So I don’t have to think

Of what to get until next year,

Though quicker than a wink

 

The months will pass and once again,

I’ll face that daunting task.

To wonder if I hate it, well,

You do not have to ask.

 

The holidays are special times

And give some folks a lift,

Except for all the stress involved

To find the perfect gift.

Chanukah Candles

I got my box of candles

With exactly forty-four.

I hope that I don’t break one

If it bounces on the floor.

 

Or maybe one’s defective

With a wick that just won’t catch,

Despite the fact I’ll light it

Using match plus match plus match.

 

Occasionally, one is bent

And will not stand up straight,

But leaving it behind, of course,

Is not up for debate.

 

A box of cards was always packed,

Since errors do get made,

With one or two more envelopes

Than for the cards displayed.

 

Yet candle boxes take a chance

That nothing will go wrong

And there will be enough each night

To sing the candle song.

The Pages Turn

The rain, it rains.

The snow, it snows.

Each season comes;

Each season goes.

 

The pages turn,

The years slip by,

While people live

And people die.

 

It’s never changed

And never will,

Yet poets do

Describe it, still.

Aloha (for Rico Leffanta)

I’m not on social media

And yet I have a group

Of buddies I have never met;

I know them from the Soup.*

 

We comment on each other’s poems

And through each varied post,

We learn, in dribs and drabs, about

What matters to us most.

 

My fellow poets span the globe

And one above the rest

Took time each day to let me know

He’d read what I’d expressed.

 

His repertoire of limericks,

Which no one could resist,

Were funny, often bawdy,

But a day was never missed.

 

So when I didn’t see a post

From my Hawaiian friend,

I had a sinking feeling

It might signify the end.

 

Dear Rico, may you rest in peace.

I’ll miss our warm rapport

And your signature Aloha!

Will not greet me anymore.

 

*Poetry Soup, a site for poets

Wrinkled on the Road

My friend had miles of highway

‘Til she’d reach her new abode

So she needed to be up and out

Before a rooster crowed.

 

To help her get an early start

And not be somehow slowed,

She went to bed already dressed

In all-out travel mode.

 

I heard about this plan of hers

And my confusion showed.

I told her she’d be wrinkled

And her laughter freely flowed.

 

I guess no matter what we wear,

We share a certain code,

For age has guaranteed we’re always

Wrinkled on the road.

The Latest Law

The latest landmark law was signed

Which guarantees the rights

Of everyone to marry, after

Years of bitter fights.

 

So same-sex couples needn’t fear

Their love will be denied

And interracial partners

Can rejoice as knots are tied.

 

To those who grumble, I can’t see

Why anybody’s choice

In marriage should be challenged

By an unrelated voice.

 

Let all who make commitments

To each other set their course

For everlasting happiness

(Or possibly divorce).

Kind of Preparation

When you are sick, you stay inside

But right beyond your door,

The earth continues spinning

Like it’s always done before.

 

The world’s events don’t take a pause

Because you’re not included

And thinking that your absence matters

Means you’re just deluded.

 

It’s kind of preparation,

As you hide away in bed,

For the way that life will carry on

Someday when you are dead.

A Second Line

In case you might be wondering

If now I’m feeling fine,

The answer isn’t positive,

But there’s a second line

 

Appearing on my Covid test,

So that’s the reason why.

Despite my shots and masks

And ultra-caution, my oh my!

 

I’ve joined the world’s majority

But wish that I had not,

For feeling sick’s the norm

When it is Covid one has got.

Sick Sick Sick

The Covid tests are negative

But still, I’m sick sick sick.

I sleep away the hours

But improvement will not stick.

 

I’ve got my fingers crossed

Tomorrow I’ll feel good instead

Of spending the whole day curled up,

Not moving from my bed.

Tracking Your Sleep

You can track your sleep

With your watch’s app

So each toss and turn

Gets a little zap.

Still, though stats may prove

That you slept like crap,

You must know yourself,

Since your brain will map

All the signals sent

To your thinking cap,

Which will thus conclude -

Hey! You need a nap!

Once Mighty

In prehistoric times, he roamed

(Of course, he had his body),

The king of his surroundings –

(That’s a title not too shoddy).

 

But now this T-Rex (just his skull)

Has something to consider,

For soon he will be auctioned

To some wealthy highest bidder.

 

He’s hanging up at Sotheby’s

And mornings, every day,

I pass the auction house and check

That he’s still on display.

 

Oh, how the mighty fall!

This creature, looking fearsome still,

Awaits his fate most humbly

(Though he might fetch $20 mil!)

'Twas the Night

‘Twas the night before Christmas and I didn’t care;

I had dozens of latkes I had to prepare.

The menorah was ready, with candles to light,

Waiting there by the window, a wonderful sight.

 

The presents were wrapped and I lined up the dreidels;

The soup was a’bubble, with floating knaidels.

The applesauce waited to chill in the fridge

In a Chanukah bowl. (Yes, I tasted a smidge.)

 

The cookies were baked like my grandmother taught,

(So much better than any that anyone bought)

Shaped like candles and dreidels and six-sided stars;

There were plenty to fill cookie platters and jars.

 

When I suddenly sensed there was something the matter.

I raced to the kitchen – the oil was a’splatter!

For while I was fixing the festive display,

I should have been frying (not quite my forte).

 

The first batch of latkes was burnt to a crisp

And smoke filled the kitchen (much more than a wisp),

But tying my apron for take number two,

I ditched all the burnt ones and knew what to do.

 

I lowered the flame and reheated some oil,

Plopping spoonfuls of batter I wouldn’t let spoil.

Then I conjured my childhood and Chanukahs past,

When I had no idea years would fly by so fast.

 

And I pictured my nana and grandma, as well

As my parents, my grandfathers and Aunt Sydelle

And my brothers and sister and cousins galore

And my uncles and aunts I’ve not mentioned before.

 

While my latkes were frying, so crispy and gold,

I remembered how Chanukah used to unfold,

When we played with our dreidels and gathered our gelt,

In our family’s embrace and the love we all felt.

 

So I cooked the new latkes with patience and care,

Knowing that with my kids and my grandkids I’d share

All the pent-up emotions I’ve hidden inside

With a platter of latkes, now perfectly fried.

 

And to all who will celebrate Chanukah time,

I do hope there’s a lesson for you in this rhyme –

For the very-best feelings our childhoods instill,

Through traditions, our hearts and our bellies will fill.

 

                                                          

                                                     

Gifts

Gifts give lifts

To those who get ‘em,

Knowing you

Did not forget ‘em,

 

But to those

Who do the buying,

Finding gifts

Is oh, so trying!

Not-Quite-Happy Returns

A package comes, you open it

And, though it seems to match

The order that you placed, there is

A big or little catch.

 

It doesn’t fit or isn’t quite

The item you expected

Or maybe there’s a problem

In the way it was inspected.

 

You print a label, wrap it up

And rapidly return it.

If there’s a lesson there, it isn’t

Hard for you to learn it:

 

The purchases we make online,

Though easy, cheap and quick,

Unlike the ones in person,

Often do not seem to stick.

Pure Delight

Oh, to sit and write is such pure delight

When the sun wards off a chill.

Just to be outside I am thus supplied

With the words that wait at will.

 

All the passersby needn’t know that I

Jot my thoughts as they stroll past,

After taking time to make sure my rhyme

With the rhythm will hold fast.

 

Soon the day will fade with encroaching shade

And I’ll head indoors to post,

Feeling grateful that on a bench I sat

At the spot I love the most.

Home in the Rain

When the rain’s coming down

And the sky’s looking gray,

Then inside of my home

Is where I want to stay.

 

There are chores I can do

Or museums to see,

But all snug in my space

Is contentment to me.

 

Though I did take my walk

And I’m dressed to go out,

Just relaxing indoors

Is what I’m all about.

 

Since the weatherman says

That tomorrow will clear,

For today I’ll indulge

By remaining right here.

Guest Lists

When inviting some folks to your home,

Over guest lists you really should comb,

Crossing out those whose views 

Have made names in the news

Or you might wind up here in a poem.

So a bigot or one filled with hate

Should not find his name card on a plate,

Though, of course, it’s a choice 

To break bread and give voice

To whomever you think carries weight.

Still, expect to be hit with some flack

As your friendships come under attack.

If you’ve chosen to dine

With some snakes, show some spine

And admit that it’s savvy you lack.

The Month of December

I don’t remember

The month of December

So sneakily showing its face.

The previous seasons

It must have its reasons

For choosing to somehow erase.

 

Since, like a magician,

What’s come to fruition

Is something we didn’t expect:

The year’s close to ending

And there’s no defending

To-do lists with boxes unchecked.

 

Yet we must keep hoping

That we’ll still be coping

With every curve life seems to throw,

For age has us finding,

As months keep unwinding,

We’ll never learn all we can know.