To Be a Farmer

Must be cool to be a farmer.

(Well, except for all the work!)

Having produce at your fingertips

Would be a lovely perk.

 

Feeding chickens, brushing horses,

Waking up to milk the cows,

All sound great within the fantasy

My urban mind allows.

 

Wearing flannel shirts and Carhartt’s,

Picking crops and baking bread,

Trading subways, cabs and buses

For a tractor ride instead.

 

Oh, I know I’m being foolish;

Farming’s not a lot of fun

And it takes the kind of labor

That’s not meant for everyone.

 

But from days of “Old MacDonald,”

When I think about a farm,

I don’t focus on the grunt work,

Just the hype of all its charm.

Ancient Jewelry

In galleries of ancient art

Were cases filled with rings

And necklaces and bracelets,

Maybe meant for wives of kings.

 

Or possibly for normal folk,

For lots were made of clay,

Ceramic beads not different from

What might be worn today.

 

Though I couldn’t own these pieces

Made in ancient Greece or Rome,

I could pay them homage with

A little mention in a poem.

The Speaker of the House

The Speaker of the House believes

That he will legislate

Because he’s been hand-picked by God,

The hell with Church and State.

 

In his opinion, Trump should still

Be president because

The last election was a farce

And violated laws.

 

His worldview is the Bible,

Saying everyone should read it

For those “anti-God enthusiasts,”

In his opinion, need it.

 

Same-sex marriage is “unnatural”

And anybody gay

Lives a lifestyle he calls “dangerous,”

“Perversion” on display.

 

And abortion is a “holocaust,”

A reference that’s vile,

Yet Republicans apparently

He’s managed to beguile.

 

How can those in charge impose on all

Their personal beliefs

Which defy the founding fathers’

“Life and liberty” motifs?

 

I am saddened by the way this country’s

Permanently torn

And when standing on the sidelines,

All that we can do is mourn.

My Prescription

Your prescription is ready,

The pharmacy wrote.

Reminders were steady,

Each day a new note.

 

I gave in at last,

Just a ten minute stroll.

Get it over with fast

Was my Saturday goal.

 

No big deal, but a chore

I did not want to do.

When I entered the store,

It was quiet; I knew

 

That I’d goofed, for my watch

Said ‘twas 1:35,

Which means that I did botch

When I chose to arrive.

 

From 1:30 to 2,

They pull down every gate

So the pharmacy crew

Can have lunch; no debate.

 

Though annoyed at myself

(I’d forgotten this fact)

Nothing on any shelf

Made this shopper react.

 

So I left, even though

Today’s task wasn’t done

But tomorrow, I’ll go

Before break time’s begun.

Making a Dent

A project that’s intimidating

Needs two things to work –

A nudge to get things started

(So much easier to shirk!)

 

And the time to keep it going,

For that luxury is rare.

Most working people simply don’t

Have that much time to spare.

 

To tackle such an enterprise

And even make a dent

Is to feel a sense of pride

For every minute that you spent.

Nervous

Things that make us nervous

Vary, each of us unique

In what can cause a racing heart

Or sweat or tears to leak.

A lack of time to be prepared,

Results of tests or scans,

An unexpected twist of fate

To mess up all our plans.

Being forced to face a fear

That freezes us inside;

Having to confront a truth

That’s always been denied.

There are those who never feel

Anxiety; I’d bet

That if they do exist, they aren’t

People I have met.

No Two Families

No two families are alike

So we can’t really know

What happens in a household

Underneath the parts that show.

 

The habits, values and routines

Which parents first control

Aren’t visible to those outside,

Though normalcy’s the goal.

 

When children grow and leave the house

And heed their inner voice,

The power to reject or stick

With customs is their choice.

 

What I find most intriguing

Is how those from one abode

Can, as grown-ups, lead such different lives

From those their folks bestowed.

Sheer Persistence

When things are somehow going wrong

And get you in a funk,

It helps to try to lift those spirits 

That have sadly sunk.

Resorting to plan B or C

May boost your sagging state 

And going for a walk or ride

May more than compensate.

But trying different avenues 

To fix a major plight

May prove that sheer persistence 

Can make everything all right.

On Certain Days

Went on a little vacation

And plans we had proposed

We couldn’t do because

On certain days, some things were closed.

On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays 

Many restaurants and stores,

Plus museums. shows and galleries 

Posted signs upon their doors.

Please stop by again on Thursday

Or the weekend; we’ll be here!

Were they short-staffed? I’m not certain

But to us, it was quite clear

That some businesses don’t need to wait

For customers to show

And perhaps on early weekdays

We’re not welcome; good to know.

This Season

The deck was strewn with fallen leaves;

I swept them all away

And cleared the gutters with my broom.

The house looks fine today.

I bought two mini-pumpkin gourds,

As I do every year,

Which perch right near the door to lend

An autumn atmosphere.

Surrounding trees are orange-gold,

The foliage at peak.

As far as Nature’s beauty goes,

I’m on a winning streak.

This season’s always magical;

Though leaves mean extra work,

The colors and the cool crisp air

Provide a double-perk.

Forty Percent

Forty percent was the chance it would rain,

Which is what my phone app was predicting.

I went for my walk with my eye to the sky,

But the darkening clouds were conflicting.

 

I had an umbrella which fits in the bag

Where I carry my water for drinking,

So I ambled on, getting further away

And I wondered just what I was thinking.

 

For, after a mile, rain came barreling down,

Without one little drop as a warning.

My umbrella unfurled, I retraced all my steps,

Cutting short my full exercise morning.

 

Though my sneakers were dripping, as well as my socks,

I got home with just minimal stressin’

But I have to remember my phone often lies,

Which is really a valuable lesson.

Baby Fish

In my son’s house there’s a fish tank

Where there currently reside

Five fishes swimming happily.

(A sixth one, sadly, died.)

Today I noticed something new,

A little mesh-type cage

Suspended in the tank for reasons

I could not quite gauge.

Until I looked more carefully 

And, much to my surprise,

Two baby fish were hiding;

As a tactic, very wise.

I learned their one-time siblings

Hadn’t lasted very long,

Being gobbled by the grown-ups

Which, of course, seems very wrong.

But we can’t judge their behavior

Or compare it to our own,

For we humans pamper offspring - 

Well, at least ‘til they are grown!

True Story

In Warsaw, inside of a store,

A mannequin stood on the floor.

With a bag in his hand,

He looked boring and bland,

Blending in with the other décor.

 

Unbeknownst to the shoppers and staff

(And to me, based on one photograph),

It was really a man

With a devious plan

And he thought he would have the last laugh.

 

When the store closed, he stole lots of jewels,

Which for real or fake men broke the rules,

But he somehow got caught

For he should have just bought

What he needed, like most of us fools.

Meeting the Artist

The Cape Cod Museum of Art had a show

And we caught it the very last day,

Displaying the various works of Bob Staake

In a can’t-help-but-grin type of way.

 

If you don’t know his work, you must catch up at once

For each piece is a total delight.

There are mobiles and posters and sculpture galore,

Plus the many kids’ books he did write.

 

In addition to works, what he really does best

Is to illustrate, so you may find

That his fabulous artwork accompanies, too,

Others’ story books that he designed.

 

If you read The New Yorker, you won’t be surprised

That his covers have often appeared

And each one is a gem with a sly kind of wit

That is perfectly, charmingly weird.

 

Luck was shining on us, for the day we were there,

We were in for a most special treat.

Mr. Staake paid a visit and we got to join

An impromptu but sweet meet and greet.

 

What a wonderful way to be able to share

Your esteem with the one who inspired

So much joy; it was thrilling to let someone know

Face to face just how much he’s admired.

Q-Tips

In charge of the museum store,

She was an ex-New Yorker.

Her hair was white, her glasses black

(Like me!) and yes, a talker.

She spoke of moving to the Cape

And though she missed the city,

She’d learned to love her lifestyle now,

Less hassled and less gritty.

In passing, she remarked about

Her other “Q-Tip” pals.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

She answered, “Older white-haired gals.

I guess we look like Q-Tips,

With our heads of snowy white.”

I laughed ‘cause I’m a Q-Tip, too

And somehow, that’s all right.

A Little Dose

The waves lap up against the shore,

A soothing sound that I adore.

I’ve heard this many times before

Yet always, it’s appealing.

Aside from sea gulls, there’s no sound.

Off-season, no one is around,

So when I hear the wavelets pound,

Relaxed is how I’m feeling.

My normal anxious state recedes.

The ocean rules; my mind accedes,

For this is what my body needs,

A little dose of healing.

Exploring

On a little vacation

Where you’ve never been,

Just Google the town

To know where to begin.

A list of museums

Or gardens or zoos

Will give you the info

You’re likely to use.

Take a peek at a map

And chart out a cool course.

Read others’ reviews 

So you won’t feel remorse.

Then set out to explore.

If the weather gods smile,

You can take extra time

And relax for a while.

Clark Kent

My glasses, like some current styles,

Large, circular and black,

Are reminiscent of some frames 

From quite a few years back.

I rarely wear them in the house;

My sight up close is fine,

But when I head outside they are

A signature of mine.

On FaceTime with my brother,

If I’ve just walked in the door,

He laughs and as he greets me,

I’m aware of what’s in store.

I guess my frames remind him

Of our early TV views,

When Superman dressed in disguise

Reporting on the news.

His Daily Planet cronies

Knew him only as Clark Kent

And his glasses looked like mine,

(Although that wasn’t my intent!)

When I look in the mirror now,

Instead of seeing me,

I see Clark Kent and know my brother

Wouldn’t disagree.

Retracing My Steps

Walking to school with my grandkids,

I realized my earring was gone,

So when turning around, I did scour the ground

For the mate to the one I had on.

I didn’t have luck, but persisted,

Retracing my steps once again,

When I suddenly spied, lying on the curb’s side,

My lost earring, well worth an Amen!

But I realized the bottom was missing,

For there had been a dangling part,

So I searched in the grass; not a minute did pass

‘Til I noticed it there, with a start.

Though I still have to fit them together,

Now my earrings are back as a pair

And I’m feeling quite proud my persistence allowed

Me to have such a story to share.

The Victims

We see the stories on the news

Of those Hamas has killed

Or kidnapped and we think

Of all the tears that have been spilled.

 

To most of us, the victims

And their families remain

As strangers and it’s hard to grasp

Their terror or their pain.

 

A friend of mine has family,

As videos have shown.

Among the people kidnapped,

With their status still not known.

 

Her heart is breaking; what she feels

I cannot comprehend,

For no one can be sure just how

This tragedy will end.

 

Reporters give us numbers

Of the missing or the perished,

But the numbers can’t convey how much

Each one of those is cherished.

Shoe Stop!

When day care classes take a stroll,

In line with lime green smocks,

They look so cute while navigating

New York City blocks.

 

With grown-ups at the front and back

And sometimes in-between,

They move along, accustomed to

This urban life routine.

 

Though yesterday, I passed a group

And heard a teacher shout,

“Shoe stop!” and so I turned to see

What that was all about.

 

Apparently, one little boy

Had stepped out of his shoe

And kept on walking, unperturbed,

As children often do.

 

The teacher held the sneaker up;

The kids looked at their feet.

The owner found, the class continued

Marching down the street.

 

The way the kids responded

Told me this was not so rare,

Though hopefully, the kids go home

With both shoes of a pair.

 

This little city sighting,

As I wandered on my way,

Was a tiny taste of urban life

That often makes my day.

Elderly

Please do not call me “elderly.”

My age may make me old

And if you met me, someone “senior”

Is what you’d behold.

 

Yet “elderly” implies, to me,

A person who is frail,

Who’s stuck in bed or couldn’t walk,

Unaided, on a trail.

 

Since I no longer dye my hair

Or wear a made-up face,

The years have settled in in ways

That time cannot erase.

 

Yet I’ve a while to go before

I’m “elderly. (I hope!)

I’ll acquiesce to “old” or “senior;”

“Elderly’s” a nope!

The Crane Operator

Across the river there’s a crane

That’s 30 stories high,

The operator like

A Lego man up in the sky.

As loads are lifted in the air

And gently set in place,

I wish that I could clearly see

That operator’s face.

I know I would be terrified 

But likely, he is not.

I cannot fathom how he even 

Reached that sky-high spot.

Yet he is up there, hard at work

While safely down below,

I gaze at the construction site 

And watch the building grow.

Out of Gas

I’m staring at my notebook;

The page is lined but blank.

I’m like the driver with no map

Or gas within the tank.

 

I’ve got the engine started

But I have no place to go,

So I’m sitting here in neutral

With my spirits sinking low.

 

It doesn’t happen often

That my mind will not engage,

Yet my musings somehow managed

To get words upon the page.

 

It’s almost time for typing,

For what finally seems clear

Is that sometimes simply idling

Is enough to get in gear. 

Melted Cheese

A lunch for me that’s bound to please

Is one containing melted cheese,

For on a bagel or some bread

(The crusty type) or else instead…

 

Inside a quesadilla shell

Or anyplace to melt it well,

I love its oozy stretchy form,

Especially when it’s still warm.

 

It could be cheddar, maybe Swiss

Or mozzarella (that can’t miss)

Or muenster, gouda, edam, jack

To make a meal or just a snack.

 

The salad lovers may protest,

Yet pizza fans would pass the test,

For life provides no guarantees

Except when lunch has melted cheese.

Halloween Goods

The Home Goods store sells things you need

And many things you don’t.

Some people buy both types of things,

But others simply won’t.

Their Halloween collection

Is immense and so much fun,

With items meant to bring a smile

To almost everyone.

The pumpkin orange bowls and mugs,

The ghosts and bats and brooms

And witches on the pillows

And stuffed toys for all your rooms.

The towels, sheets and candlesticks,

The platters, streamers, flags,

The placemats on display right near

The trick-or-treating bags.

I know folks like to decorate,

But still I find it queer 

To spend so much on things you’ll use

Just one month every year.

A Carton of Eggs

On my walk to stretch my legs

Today I came across,

On the path, a dozen eggs,

So I am at a loss.

 

The carton sat there and each shell,

Though rather neatly cracked,

Did pique my interest and compel

This writer to react.

 

Did someone eat those eggs uncooked?

(I’d cringe to try one raw.)

But on the sidewalk, last I looked,

A flame’s against the law.

 

At least within whoe’er consumed

Those eggs for some strange bash,

A sense of guilt should then have bloomed

To chuck them in the trash.

Alert

At exactly 2:20

There’ll be an alert

Which, if you have a cell phone,

You cannot avert.

 

Conducted by FEMA,

This country-wide sound

Will let everyone know

That there’s danger around.

 

Since this is just practice,

There’ll be no real harm,

Just a test of a national

Safety alarm.

 

They’ve given fair warning,

Yet I would surmise

That for many, this will be

A scary surprise.

In a Museum

In a museum I no longer care

To read what they write on the wall.

I look at the art, check the names and the dates

And don’t need much more info at all.

 

I don’t want to listen to audio guides

Explaining the backgrounds of works.

Just having the time for some gallery strolls

Is the best of retirement’s perks.

 

As I’ve gotten older, my patience is thin

So historical facts make me bored,

But the chance to see paintings and sculpture to me

Is enough of a lovely reward.

Julie's Wedding

When you attend a wedding,

You’d expect, one would assume,

That the planning would be geared for friends

Of both the bride and groom.

 

So it’s always a surprise, that as

The bride or groom’s mom’s friend,

There’d be oh, so many aspects

Of the wedding to commend.

 

Yes, my close friend’s daughter tied the knot,

The venue a delight,

The ceremony held outdoors,

The chuppah decked in white.

 

The food was all delicious

And the cocktail hour rocked,

With my favorite deli meats on rye –

Pastrami! I was shocked!

 

The ceremony was a blend

Of two religions, yet

Both traditions were included

In a magical duet.

 

The bride and groom were glowing

And the crowd could not help smile

When they joined the band to play the drums

With joy, pizzazz and style.

 

But the best part was the music,

Which made dancing not a choice,

For the pick of songs got everyone

To boogie and rejoice.

 

What was really most amazing

Was that all the dance tunes sung

Had familiar lyrics we all knew

From back when we were young.

 

Yet they spanned the generations

So the friends of groom and bride,

Plus their parents’ friends all hit the floor

With zeal they couldn’t hide.

 

Even grandkids danced a storm up

And their energy amazed!

Just watching them go on and on

Left some onlookers dazed.

 

Man, I haven’t had that kind of fun

In ages, which just proves

That the perfect setting helps us all

To bust out all our moves.

Away from the Familiar

Away from the familiar

There are things to stop and see

That the locals take for granted,

Not worth uttering a “Gee!”

Honking geese above the water

Where a pair of swans float by,

Sprawling high schools, fields of football,

Nothing built to block the sky.

Singer in the supermarket,

Shops with fresh, exotic wares,

People going ‘bout their business

At their parks and trails and fairs.

It’s a treat to visit someplace 

Where you haven’t been before

And the ordinary somehow

Strikes you as a whole lot more.