My Amaryllis

I got an amaryllis bulb,

Which was a lovely gift.

I knew that when it flowered,

It would give my heart a lift.

 

For weeks, the stalk was growing,

Then some buds came into view.

Now there’s one amazing flower;

Soon, it seems, there will be two.

 

When I looked for information

About amaryllis care,

I discovered they can bloom each year

And it’s not even rare

 

For an amaryllis bulb to last

For 40 years, but still,

I don’t plan (as per my husband)

To include it in our will.

Oh, Snap!

I bought a winter coat today;

It didn’t have a tag,

But when I asked the price, it was

A bargain I could snag.

 

It fit me to a T, although

Another coat in black

Is something that I do not need,

Though I could take it back.

 

I tried it on again at home;

My husband gave the nod,

Yet in the pocket was a snap,

Which I found rather odd.

 

My fingers followed all the snaps

To see if one was gone.

Alas, the collar just had half;

No snapping could go on.

 

Instead, there was a little hole

Where once that snap was sewn,

A defect that decided that

This coat I would not own.

 

Most likely she who ripped it

Did return it on the sly,

Where it remained for someone

Unsuspecting (me!) to buy.

 

The next time there’s that little voice

That tells me, “You don’t need it!”

Instead of just ignoring it,

I think I might just heed it.

Amelia Earhart's Plane

They found Amelia Earhart’s plane!

An under-water drone,

Using sonar, sent an image

Of the Lockheed she did own.

 

In 1937,

Out to circumvent the globe,

Earhart disappeared and searchers

Had no clues with which to probe.

 

She’d planned a fuel stop on an island

Out in the Pacific

But never made it; rumors

Of a crash were not specific.

 

Yet the years have not diminished

People’s interest in her case

And a current exploration’s

Given hope we can embrace.

 

Though confirmation’s yet to come

And will take pricey gear,

This news, unlike the usual,

Is wonderful to hear.

Balls

In quilting class, we’re making balls;

We cut and sew and stuff

And stitch and stuff some more until

The ball is firm enough.

 

The pieces start as pentagons

In fabrics that we choose,

So all the projects look unique

When we are sharing views.

 

I’ve made one for each grandchild,

For these quilted balls are fun,

Which I proudly showed my husband

Just as soon as they were done.

 

As I go to post this poem, though,

I do wonder, when it’s read,

If the Poet Police will change my balls

To asterisks instead.

Holocaust Remembrance Day

A siren sounds and movement stops –

Pedestrians stand still

While cars and buses hit the brakes

And silence reigns until

 

Another siren breaks the spell;

Two minutes to reflect

On the gates of Auschwitz, opened

To what no one would expect.

 

As antisemitism flares

And rears its ugly head,

We look back and remember

The survivors and the dead.

My Mother

My mother didn’t cook too well

And neither did she bake.

If you’d assume she loved to clean,

That would be a mistake.

She didn’t drive, she didn’t work

But she was always there.

If comfort was required, well,

She had the time to spare.  

If something needed fixing,

She’s the one who’d man the tools

And raising us, it’s she who made us

Follow all the rules.

She was athletic, playing tennis

When she had the chance

And at a party, she would be

The first to start to dance.

She loved her games and puzzles,

Playing mah jongg every week

And did crosswords in the paper,

With an always-finish streak.

My mom’s been gone for years, yet on

Her birthday I recall 

That, despite her flaws, without her

I would not be here at all.

Pretzels

Pretzels come in many shapes,

Like rods and twists and sticks,

Some with salt and some without,

Depending on your fix.

I’ve tasted some with honey

Or with onion or with cheese

Or those peanut-butter filled ones,

Which some fans will surely please.

There are jalapeño pretzels 

For the snackers who like spice

And now mini pretzels line the shelves,

But here is my advice -

If you think too many pretzels 

Might just end up on your hips,

Do not worry, for they are 

A lot less fattening than chips!

I've Never

I’ve never climbed a mountain

Or gone up in a balloon

And if I never scuba dive,

Well, that will be too soon.

 

I’ve never rafted rapids,

Para-sailed or water-skied

And as for jumping off a cliff,

I just don’t see the need.

 

I’ve not trekked in the arctic

Or safaried with a guide

And if I said I wasn’t scared

Of all these things, I lied.

 

I marvel at adventurers;

They’re made of stronger stuff.

To read about or watch their exploits

Is, to me, enough.

Other People's Problems

Everyone has problems,

Some with which we can relate

And others which we do not think

That we could navigate.

 

If we learn of situations

Way outside of what we know,

Then we hope our shock or

Overwhelming sadness doesn’t show.

 

Yet for problems more familiar,

How we handle them’s unique,

For one person’s best solution

May not be the one we seek.

 

It makes sense with people’s problems

Not to argue or condone

Since we each must struggle mightily

With problems of our own.

Toast at Last

I use my toaster oven almost

Every single day.

A toasted bagel starts me off

In just the perfect way.

 

But lately, it’s been taking

Way too long to get things hot

And to close the door, you have to

Give it everything you’ve got.

 

This morning signaled its demise;

The door is stuck ajar,

The final culmination proving

It’s not up to par.

 

But there’s no need to wallow

In a crumb tray filled with sorrow,

For Amazon will send a new

Replacement by tomorrow!

Never Been

I’ve never been patient or calm.

If someone were reading my palm,

The lines there to see

Would give clues about me

Indicating the need for a balm.

 

Just the slightest thing tests my restraint

And it’s not a nice picture I paint.

Yet that’s how my brain works;

It’s just one of my quirks.

Mellow, chill or laid-back I sure ain’t!

Baby Pigeons

I’ve never seen a baby pigeon

And I’d be impressed

If anyone could show me one,

All cozy in its nest.

 

Their homes are likely hidden

In locations out of sight,

Perhaps unreachable to all

Who cannot manage flight.

 

The same applies to squirrels.

When we see them, they’re full-grown

And scampering from tree to tree

Without a chaperon.

 

When visiting a farm or zoo

Or pet store we might see

A creature in its youngest days,

But it occurs to me…

 

That in the city, we do not

Have access, like we should,

To the fauna we’re familiar with

In youth or babyhood.

Winter Precip

First the snow resembled dust,

A gentle rain of mist,

Falling slowly, with the trust 

Of wind to help assist.

Then the little droplets grew

And turned to larger flakes

Covering the windshield’s view;

An hour’s all it takes.

The softness of its fall belies

The dangers that might hide,

For winter precip from the skies 

Makes slipperiness outside.

Then and Now

After college graduation,

Oh, so many years ago,

I traveled throughout Europe,

All my youthful seeds to sow.

 

With my friends, I took a ferry

To a popular Greek isle

Which had very few hotels,

A hostel being more our style.

 

But instead, some local women

Met the ferries at the dock,

Where they beckoned so we’d follow

As they eyed us, taking stock.

 

We were ushered to a bedroom,

Passing family looking on,

Where we dropped our knapsacks, surely

A tradition that’s long gone.

 

Handing drachmas to a stranger,

Much less sleeping in her bed,

Is a far, far cry from Greece today,

From articles I’ve read.

 

There are hotels by the hundreds

Being built on isles in Greece

And, despite the locals’ protests,

This construction will not cease.

 

How much cooler to be greeted,

From a dark and choppy sea,

By a smiling native grandma

Speaking what was Greek to me!

Covered in Ice

The windshield was covered in ice

And warming it wouldn’t suffice,

So my husband and I,

With the scrapers, did try

To remove it, attacking it twice.

 

With the engine turned on for some heat,

We made progress, out there in the street.

As the melting ice dripped

I knew we were equipped

With the tools for the job to complete.

 

I got cold so my husband said Go!

He continued to scrape like a pro

‘Til the car was so clean

We need not intervene

Until Nature delivers more snow.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, we know,

Is how most stories start,

But from that moment, lives diverge

To endings far apart.

 

For circumstances change the course

Of how one might get raised,

Including whether actions

May be criticized or praised.

 

And whether one’s existence

Has more sorrow or more laughter

May determine if the outcome

Will be happy ever after.

Perspective

To me, today felt very cold,

Though I was dressed to take it.

A film I’d seen kept popping

In my thoughts; I couldn’t shake it.

 

It told the story of a plane

That crashed in frigid weather

And how survivors lasted,

Somehow keeping it together.

 

The cold that they experienced

I’ve never felt in person,

Where freezing temps in daylight,

Once the night falls, only worsen.

 

Complaining when we’re cold, of course,

Is something quite subjective,

But certain situations put things

Clearly in perspective.

Preaching to the Choir

I get my updates on the news

From certain magazines

And papers, which are quite in sync

With how my mindset leans.

 

Of course, their editorials

Make so much sense to me

That I can’t understand

How anyone could disagree.

 

However, there are outlets

For the news which do not jibe

With my beliefs, endorsing those

To whom I don’t subscribe.

 

I neither read nor listen to

These views, which I oppose

And likewise, they’ve no interest

In what my side might propose.

 

All those preaching to the choir

Know that time and time again,

They would trade the chance of open minds

To hear one more “Amen!”

New Clothes

Here’s a question – when you buy

An item of new clothes,

How long until you wear it?

Not too long, I would suppose.

 

Do you take the tags off quickly,

Sporting it next time you dress

Or does it go in the closet

With the wardrobe you possess?

 

Or perhaps it’s folded neatly,

Nestled in a chest of drawers,

Waiting with the others to be worn

Since now it’s rightly yours?

 

For some reason I can’t fathom,

Any new clothes that I buy

Have to wait before I wear them –

There’s no explanation why.

 

So they hang or lie there, marking time,

Until that special morn

When their tags are cut and they’re put on

To finally be worn.

 

My husband’s just the opposite.

When clothes come from the store,

He puts them on at once and then

He’s headed out the door.

Getting to School

Though I remember school days,

One thing I can’t recall

Is getting to and from each day;

My brain has hit a wall.

My mother didn’t drive and so

She must have walked me there,

My dad already gone for work,

His daytime presence rare.

I try to picture rainy days -

Umbrellas, raincoats, boots -

Yet somehow what I’m seeing

Is a scene my mind refutes.

When I was slightly older

And my brothers came along,

Did we all walk together

With my mom? That’s feeling wrong.

I guess our memories consist

Of more important things, 

The details not worth keeping

In our past rememberings.

So likely in the future,

My two grandkids will not know

That they walked to school with Nana

And she loved those Fridays so.

Swatting

When swatting a mosquito,

What you’re trying to prevent

Is an itchy bite and no one

Would object to your intent.

 

Yet swatting’s definition

Has evolved into a threat,

Whereby false reports made to the police

Are sent without regret.

 

The judges now presiding

In Trump’s trials, it appears,

Have been targets of such swatting –

Something new in their careers.

 

Just how low these swat fanatics

Seem to go should bring us pause,

Since there’s utter disregard

For all our well-established laws.

 

We should shudder when we think of

Those who, under MAGA’s sway,

Will bring anarchy upon us

Which we cannot swat away.

Though in the City

The water in the river

Rose as high as it could go,

For just another inch of rain

Would cause an overflow.

 

Aside from that, there wasn’t much

To show there was a storm,

Except for puddles I’d expect

And weather way too warm.

 

In other places, trees were down

And power had been cut.

With flooded roads and markets closed,

Some folks were in a rut.

 

Though in the city, all was calm,

The rain a fickle threat.

Another storm’s predicted;

We may have some worries yet.

Talent

Talent rarely leads to fame

Though many play the waiting game,

Thinking if they just believe,

The things they want, they will achieve.

 

But luck’s a factor we can’t trust;

Expecting it turns dreams to dust.

It’s best to take defeat in stride

While never letting hope subside.

 

The irony, as you may guess,

Is that, for many, their success

Won’t bring the joy and peace of mind

That those with less success may find.

This Morning's Sky

This morning’s sky held such a treat –

A waning crescent moon.

I followed it while walking

But it disappeared too soon.

 

At first it hid behind some clouds

But then, as daylight came,

It disappeared from view, like when

An art thief leaves the frame.

 

When luck and circumstance combine

To bring before my eyes

A perfect crescent moon, it is

The loveliest surprise.

Rain and Snow

A snowstorm was predicted

But the city just got rain,

Although, at first, some snowflakes

Landed on each window pane.

 

They disappeared in seconds

But just thirty miles away,

My son had several inches,

Perfect for some snowball play.

 

My grandkids did some sledding

And were thrilled to have the chance

To coast down hills within their park’s

Fresh snow-covered expanse.

 

I didn’t miss the hassles –

Digging out the car and such,

But I’m glad the suburbs had a taste

Of Jack Frost’s snowy touch.

The Capitol Attack

Three years ago today we watched

The Capitol attack

And what it made me understand

Is there’s no going back.

 

For though there always have been lies

In government, I saw

That there are many people who

Think they’re above the law.

 

And going forward, I’m afraid

That things will get much worse,

For anarchists have now have years

To gather and rehearse.

 

The lies of January 6^th,

Which many still believe,

Are reinforced by those who yearn

To damage and deceive.

Bridge Chairs

If you have bridge chairs, playing bridge

Is not their only use.

Try mah jongg or canasta -

Any game needs no excuse.

Or set them up for extra guests

So everyone can sit,

Especially if there’s

A fold-up table where they’ll fit.

The same goes for a coffee cup,

For cocoa or some tea

Can fill it up as well as java -

Wouldn’t you agree?

Of course, that coffee cup may rest

Upon a coffee table,

Which may hold books or magazines,

Despite its coffee label.

And yet, if you’ve a bookcase,

You may get some eye-roll looks

If the shelves have only knickknacks,

When it’s meant for holding books.

Farina

When I was young, on winter days

If it was really cold,

My mother made farina

(Which is healthy, I am told).

 

The bowl, when placed in front of me,

Was steaming hot and full

And likely many people

Would be tempted by its pull.

 

But I was not among them,

For each spoonful was a chore.

I ate until I hit a lump

And then would eat no more.

 

I still won’t try farina,

Oatmeal, porridge or the like.

If those were all my choices,

I’d begin a hunger strike.

 

My breakfast needs a bagel

Or a muffin or some cake.

A bowl of something mushy

Served to me? A huge mistake!