Longer

No longer can you plan a trip

When driving is the means,

For calculating ETA’s

Is like a hill of beans.

 

Construction doesn’t help things,

Though it keeps the traffic slowed,

But the problem is how many

Cars and trucks clog up the road.

 

To cross a bridge this morning,

Where the backup was a mess,

Added fifty minutes to our ride,

As well as lots of stress.

 

At times we cannot help it –

Cars can take us door to door,

But it certainly takes longer

Than it ever did before.

Off the Button

Within the hurricane report,

Of which I just heard snatches,

A person on the radio said,

“Button down the hatches!”

So many people get things wrong

When idioms are used

And it is understandable 

 For folks to be confused.

But “buttoning the hatches”

Wouldn’t help one to protect 

Either property or relatives,

At least last time I checked.

Unseen

The air is still; without a breeze

There is no movement in the trees,

Yet there’s so much that no one sees

In microscopic form.

For insects, spiders, worms and such

Exist and thrive beyond our touch

And though we may not see them much,

By millions they do swarm.

Though we react to what appears

Before our eyes, it would take years

To analyze the different spheres

Of life outside the norm.

Scratch Off

My nephew scratched his ticket

For the lottery, to find

He’d won a rather hefty sum;

It really blew his mind.

Which made me think, does everyone 

Who plays expect this news?

If so, perhaps to win at last

Means one has paid his dues.

In any case, I hope this windfall

Helps some plans to hatch

And doesn’t cause an outcome

That is not quite up to scratch.

Hints of Orange

Driving to the country,

There was a surprise - 

Hints of orange trying

Autumn out for size.

Green is still prevailing;

Summer’s hanging in,

But some leaves are taking

Fall out for a spin.

Chilly nights are coming,

With them, Nature’s tints.

Soon there will be orange,

More than just as hints.

The Back Seat

When you sit in the front of the car

Then you know that wherever you are

You can see what’s ahead

(If there’s traffic, with dread)

And have views that can stretch near and far.

 

But if somehow, you’re stuck in the back

Then a sense of perspective you’ll lack.

You can stare out the sides

Into other folks’ rides

Or at scenery codes you can’t crack.

 

Sitting way in the back makes me feel

Like a kid with my dad at the wheel

When my worries were few

And I had not a clue

Of what life in the back could conceal.

Cypress Paintings

The Met* has an exhibit,

Cypress paintings by Van Gogh.

We joined the crowds and went to see

This most amazing show.

 

Like all the other patrons,

We snapped photos on our phones,

Except for one lone painting,

Which a rich collector owns.

 

A guard stood right beside it;

He was there to oversee.

“No photos of this painting!”

He repeated frequently.

 

The owner said he’d lend it

If no cameras were allowed,

A tough condition to enforce

Before a growing crowd.

 

But people were complying

When they heard the watchman’s plea,

With so many other cypresses

To photograph and see.

 

*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC

Plans

Having plans once made me happy;

Now, instead, I feel uptight.

When my set routines are followed,

Everything will be all right.

 

Plans unearth the many worries

That stay buried when I’m home,

All the problems that can happen

When, from comfort zones, I roam.

 

So, of course, when visits beckon,

I will naturally say yes,

But the setting things in motion

Brings, to me, a lot of stress.

Message Received

A woman sat down on a bench;

Her dog sat at her feet,

A rather giant canine,

But to make his look complete…

 

Around his neck his collar said,

“F**k off” in neon green.

It was a collar unlike any

I had ever seen.

 

The dog, though huge, looked gentle

So the warning didn’t seem

Like it came from him, but rather

From the human on his team.

 

The message, though, was blaring;

Even canines stayed away.

There’s nothing like a “F**k off” sign

To keep the world at bay.

Reaching Out

A baby in a stroller pointed,

Giggling, at me.

I waved and then he laughed some more

And grinned delightedly.

 

I also had the sweetest kisses

Blown my way from far.

My brother’s year-old grandson

Raised the FaceTime cuteness bar.

 

The urge to thus communicate

Begins when very young,

With smiles the currency employed,

Since words are yet unsung.

 

As children grow and fear kicks in,

That need to reach out slows,

Thus limiting connections

Only to the ones each knows.

Rhyme

Whenever I am struck by something

Strong that I am feeling,

I have to write it down in rhyme,

Which makes it more appealing.

For whether it’s a rave or rant,

My brain can quickly tether

The words with corresponding rhymes

To join them all together.

To many, rhyme’s for children

And of course it is, although it

Can express emotions for all ages,

With a willing poet.

A Creative Act

You write a poem and send it out

And hope somebody reads it,

For that’s what posting’s all about,

Though really, no one needs it.

Since doing a creative act

Is for the one creating

And even if the odds are stacked

Against you, life is waiting.

So take your talent from the shelf

Where maybe it’s been hidden

And do a favor to yourself 

By sharing it, unbidden.

If You Were Me

If you were me and I were you,

We’d know what we were going through,

For we can never quite explain

Our joys, our sorrows or our pain.

Those close to us will empathize

And try to see things through our eyes,

Yet even then, they will not know

 How high or low our moods may go.

It isn’t like we try to hide

The feelings bubbling inside,

But we could only truly see

If I were you and you were me.

When a Day Begins

When a day begins with thunder

That can split the sky asunder,

What you, in your wildest story dreams do not expect 

Is to later find you’re under

Such a blue sky that you wonder

How the then and now can possibly connect.

Mother Nature, though, is fickle 

And her fancies she may tickle

With a shower, a tornado or a storm.

For if rain is just a trickle,

It would not be worth a nickel;

Nature much prefers the novel to the norm.

A Line of Kids

I often see a line of kids

With vests of neon green

Go walking down the street; it is

A charming urban scene.

 

They’re anywhere from two to four,

Connected by a rope,

So no one up and wanders off;

At least that is the hope.

 

A grown-up walks in front and back

And stops to deal with tears,

But mostly, it’s a happy group,

Or that’s how it appears.

 

I’m sure they get to run around

As those in preschool should,

Though, being city kids, they also

Stroll the neighborhood.

Stoop Ball

In Brooklyn, there were lots of stoops,

Most often used for sitting,

Or else as fields for stoop ball,

Where Spaldeens* would do our bidding.

 

You didn’t need a friend to play –

Just threw that ball, renouncing

Your expertise if you could only

Catch it after bouncing.

 

We had no use for yards or grass

To keep our playtime going,

Just one Spaldeen and someone’s stoop,

The perfect place for throwing.

 

*the way we pronounced Spalding, which

was a popular brand of pink high-bouncing balls

Navigation

We navigate our childhoods

With our parents at the wheel,

Smooth sailing for the lucky ones;

For others, an ordeal.

 

Along the way, we learn and grow,

Absorbing what we see,

Then choosing what we’ll keep or toss,

Deciding who we’ll be.

 

At some point we can steer ourselves

And once we take control,

Our moms and dads no longer play,

For us, a starring role.

 

It’s strange that all that effort,

Which is parenthood’s intent,

May yield outcomes unexpected,

Not requiring consent.

Pickle on the Road

When walking along on the road,

An object appeared, so I slowed.

It was probably tossed

From a car that had crossed;

The surprise on my face must have showed.

‘Twas a pickle, a deli-type spear,

Maybe packed with a sandwich? Unclear.

Crisp and green, its appeal

Would add much to a meal 

Of a passing black bear or a deer.

Still, the person who flung it outside 

Didn’t mean for a snack to provide.

He was likely a smug

Type of littering bug,

Maybe pickled himself, for the ride.

Sustenance

Though sun and rain sustain a tree

And coax it to maturity,

For humans that is not enough;

To grow, we need more complex stuff.

For we require the kind of care

And nurturing to help prepare

Us for the challenges we’ll face

When fortune slips from our embrace.

With luck, we’ll know within our core 

That we are loved; with that in store,

Our sustenance will help us be

As tall and mighty as a tree.

Tornado Watch

Right now there’s a tornado watch,

Although the sky’s bright blue.

How accurate the warning is,

I haven’t got a clue.

Tornadoes aren’t common here,

Yet things can always change.

There’s lots of crazy weather now,

Unusual and strange.

When Dorothy of Kansas tried 

To shelter, she was scared,

But in that world, the people

(Real and fiction) were prepared.

We have no place for hiding here

From twisting winds so strong,

So I will hope the weather folk,

As usual, are wrong.

In the Shade

When the sun’s beating down

And your pep starts to fade,

You can catch a reprieve 

Stepping into the shade.

For your skin will complain

And you might be dismayed

As the sweat starts to drip,

If you’re not in the shade.

Though it’s not quite A/C,

You will still have it made 

Just as long as you find 

Some small spot in the shade.

Hooray!

With a broken arm, there are many things 

That I haven’t quite managed of late,

Like put t-shirts on, reach for shelves up high,

Carry items of any real weight.

Though my husband helps (cutting up my food,

Doing dishes and making the bed)

And my left hand tries to replace the right,

With results quite below par instead…

There are signs of hope, for I now can write,

Do some cleaning and - let’s hear some cheers -

After five long weeks, I feel more like me,

Since my earrings are back in my ears!

Unwelcome

The store was most inviting

With its various antiques,

The kind of place for browsing

That a retro-lover seeks.

 

I stopped in on a Sunday

But I didn’t stay for long,

For the music that was blasting

Was a real religious song.

 

Now the owner makes her choices

Based on what she likes to hear

And she joined in on the chorus

In a voice both loud and clear.

 

Yet I think consideration

To the shoppers should be paid.

If the radio played country

(Not my thing), I would have stayed.

 

Had this happened close to Christmas

Maybe I’d have been prepared,

But I wasn’t, so I left and

I could tell nobody cared.

Educational Journeys

A catalogue came in the mail

Of places I could visit,

Descriptions of the journeys

Both exotic and exquisite.

 

The trips were educational,

For travel and for learning,

With some possible connections

To new friends upon returning.

 

The itineraries beckoned –

Every country you’d consider

If you had the savings ready

And the time that you could fritter.

 

So I thumbed through all the pages

Of the places for exploring,

But for now, my home has more appeal

Than anyplace for touring.

Howdy Doody Time

In a funky store that sells antiques,

I made the coolest find –

A bright red Howdy Doody watch,

The kind you have to wind.

 

The Howdy Doody Show was on

When I was just a kid

And watching it in black and white

Was what we children did.

 

Each week a group of lucky tykes

Became part of the show.

Alas, I had the measles when

I had the chance to go.

 

Nostalgia’s very powerful

And certain things we’ve missed

Are gone forever but not all,

For now upon my wrist

 

There is the watch that was

The inspiration for this rhyme.

To anyone who asks I’ll say,

“It’s Howdy Doody time!”

A Wriggle in Time

There once were a couple of worms 

Who perished; their very last squirms 

Such a long time ago -

46,000 years, so you’ll know -

Which a study by science confirms.

They were trapped in a permanent frost

And would likely be forever lost 

But some gophers around

Dug them up from the ground

And before they were heedlessly tossed

A sharp scientist said, “Thaw them out!”

And, despite some reactions of doubt,

Into water they went

And ‘twas soon evident

They were wriggling slowly about.

Does this prove if we’re buried in ice

We can come back to life and live twice?

I’m not sure that applies

To our human-type size

And for me, once around will suffice.

Old-Fashioned Fools

A bagel shop displays a sign That says, “No dogs allowed,” But rules are rarely followed now And signs leave no one cowed. So oftentimes when I walk by, A canine on a leash Strolls in as if his owner Sees the words, but can’t capeesh.* The doctor’s office posts a note: “No cell phone use inside,” With which most waiting patients Somehow manage to abide. Yet once again, there are a few Who think they are exempt, Which leaves the office manager A little bit verklempt.** I’m tired of people who ignore The stated rules, as well As norms of our society; Decorum’s gone to hell. I miss the days when manners meant You followed all the rules, But those of us who do today Are just old-fashioned fools. *Anericanized Italian for understand **Yiddish for frazzled

Animal on Road

The GPS gives warnings 

If there’s roadwork or a crash

So that drivers use their brakes and

Into other cars don’t smash.

Though there is an alert we get

When traffic’s somehow slowed

And always it intrigues me -

It says “Animal on road.”

I’m hoping for a T-Rex 

But I’ll take an elephant,

Yet as soon as we go by,

I see exactly what was meant.

For mostly it’s a critter

Like a possum or a deer

That’s been squished just like a pancake,

As what’s left of it makes clear.

Perhaps it’s just as well, since if

A T-Rex made its mark,

The traffic would be stalled, the gears 

Stuck in Jurassic PARK!

Advice for the Soon-to-be-Retired

To people not retired yet,

Some info I can share

On what you might expect if life

Decides to take you there.

 

You’ll have the time to travel

(If you have the ways and means)

And a chance to find some hobbies;

(Join the sports/crafts/gaming scenes).

 

If you’re lucky, there’ll be grandkids

Who might occupy some days

Or perhaps a part-time gig’s for you.

(Much nicer if it pays!)

 

But as the years progress

With all that freedom (so exquisite!)

You may find your planner filled

With every sort of doctor visit.

 

‘Cause it’s rare for a retiree

To never have a date

With a medical provider –

All those -ologists await!

 

So to those who’ll soon retire,

Cram it in – take every trip,

Since your future holds a specialist

For heart, brain, knee and hip!

Return of the Invaders

The spotted lantern fly is back,

With wings of spots on red and black,

Arriving not with praise or pomp,

But calls to, if you see one, stomp!

They first appeared a year ago

And are invasive, so you know,

Destroying all the other plants

They meet, in every circumstance.

I haven’t seen one yet, but I

Am quite prepared to help them die,

My trusty soles all set to crush

These bugs and turn them into mush.

RIP Pee Wee Herman

There was nothing out there like it

When Paul Reuben’s show first aired.

To the Pee Wee’s Playhouse family,

No one else could be compared.

 

There was Globey (yes, a talking globe)

And Chairry (yes, a chair),

Plus a host of wacky others,

All with silliness to spare.

 

Cowboy Curtis, Mr. Window,

Blue-faced Jambi, Miss Yvonne,

Pterri, Reba, Randy, Conky,

Oh, the list goes on and on.

 

Leading all of them was Pee Wee,

Less a grown-up, more a kid,

Who delighted in his buddies

And in everything they did.

 

And the joy was so infectious,

Even parents had to smile.

(Also, sneaky wordplay for adults

Showed up once in a while.)

 

I’ll remember Pee Wee Herman

(Reuben’s alter ego star)

For providing entertainment

Filled with joy, though quite bizarre.

 

I was grateful, as a parent,

That with Pee Wee on TV,

There was laughter, now recalled

By both my grown-up son and me.