My Windsocks

My windsocks flutter in the breeze,

Their streamers catching in the trees.

I love the way they bop and dance

When given even half a chance.

And even when the winds don’t blow,

I like the way they look, although

Their rainbow hues don’t represent

Much more than what is evident -

A subtle sign of light and cheer

To show that people living here

Delight in letting windsocks fly,

Which city living must deny.

Missing Parts

A friend sent me a spinner

Which turns gently in a breeze.

It needed some assembly,

So I got down on my knees,

Removing all the pieces

From the box where they were packed.

I looked at the instructions 

And then noticed that I lacked 

Part D, which had connectors,

So I couldn’t quite begin. 

Without those parts, the spinner 

Wouldn’t even get to spin.

Although it came from China,

It’s through Amazon and so

Returns are pretty easy,

Which I’ve lately come to know.

My friend got me the code

And I will head to UPS,

If my cramming-in-the-carton skills

Are met with some success.

My Kitchen Clock

We have a kitchen clock that hangs

Way high up on the wall.

I bought it many years ago, 

But where, I can’t recall.

I take it down two times each year

To spring ahead or back,

Then it returns to where it hangs 

To keep us all on track.

Today, the clock stopped working 

So we checked the battery

And were in for quite a shock -

The date said 1993!

My husband had a stash of C’s

But none would do the trick.

A new one from the store, though,

Got the clock to start to tick.

I’d worried that this clock of mine

Was not long for this earth,

But like its battery, I’d say

I got my money’s worth!

Dilated

The doctor dilated my eyes;

My pupils are three times their size.

Since the time this occurred

What I’m seeing is blurred,

But I know things will soon stabilize.

 

Still, I’m fortunate I can still read

Since my near-sight is quite up to speed.

I can write and can sew

And do most things, although

Distance vision is not guaranteed.

 

I am lucky I don’t have to drive

For I don’t think that I would survive

Without seeing the road;

Yet here in my abode,

I’ll just wait for my eyes to revive.

Up in Smoke

Our ceiling fan went up in smoke

But didn’t catch on fire.

It seemed okay before it broke;

The culprit was a wire.

 

It happened fast and we got scared;

My husband flipped the fuses.

I guess we’re never quite prepared

When we’re whom bad luck chooses.

 

The burning smell took hours to fade;

A new fan will replace it

With safer bulbs, yet I’m afraid

I might not quite embrace it.

On the Way

My son and my grandson are up in the air

On the way to a tropical isle.

In an hour or so, they’ll be at their hotel,

Where the family has been for a while.

 

Sickness caused a delay, so they missed a short time,

But the rest of the week should be fun,

Though like many vacations, the ending will come

When it seems like the trip’s just begun.

 

Yet right now, I’m aware, as I’m usually not,

Of my son and my grandson’s locale,

Though there’s no way to know, as I usually don’t,

Of the state of their current morale.

 

Still, I’m happy to know they’re together and safe,

Since the start of their week’s overdue,

But whatever they see and wherever they go

Once they land, I will not have a clue.

Smells

I do not like the smell of any

Perfume or cologne.

Unscented are the lotions

And deodorants I own.

 

Yet certain flowers’ scents can help

To brighten up a mood

And lovely food aromas

Can improve one’s attitude.

 

We all have favorite smells

And though our senses are unique,

Agreement can be reached when odors

Absolutely reek.

Child-Proof

There’s a child-proof cap

That’s beyond my strength,

Though I’ve tried my best

To get it off, at length.

First I push, then twist 

But it’s staying stuck 

And my grandson would

Thus be out of luck

But his dad will soon

Be back home and then

There’ll be medicine

‘Til the next time when

His new dose is due;

Then there’ll be no goof 

For a dad can open

What’s Nana-proof.

The Kind of Rain

Today’s the kind of rain that causes

Rivers in the street

And when you cross, you’re bound to

Wet your toesies and your feet.

 

The puddles quickly turn to lakes,

Perhaps to raise a flood

And every garden’s sure to find

Its dirt bed turned to mud.

 

Windshield wipers can’t keep up;

Umbrellas funnel drips

And back at home, with sopping clothes,

Most everybody strips.

 

Today’s a day to cozy up,

If you’ve no pressing chores,

And remind yourself you’re lucky

That you get to stay indoors.

Third Grade Flamenco

In a long red skirt, with a great big smile,

Our young senorita danced,

Doing all the moves in Flamenco style,

For third graders, quite advanced.

Though we watched on screen, it was pure delight

As they clapped and stomped and moved.

That six lessons (wow!) led to such a night,

To my mind (and others) proved

That when those in charge have the kind of smarts

And the funding to expose

Kids in school to various types of arts,

The results are too joyful for prose.

Chug-Chug-Chugging

A little Coast Guard boat just now

Went chug-chug-chugging by.

It left behind a wake, above which

Seagulls like to fly.

 

Aside from that, the river’s calm

With not a tug in sight,

Although a ferry might come soon,

Their schedule kept tight.

 

It’s chilly so the benches are

Unoccupied as well,

But since the sun is shining,

I’ve been captured by its spell.

 

I’m happy to be out here

As I sit and write this poem,

Knowing when I’m cold or hungry,

In five minutes I’ll be home.

No Naps

If I let my eyes close for a second,

Then, really, it isn’t a nap,

But the problem, you see

Is, in terms of degree,

It’s quite easy to fall in a trap.

 

For a second may turn to a minute

And that minute can change to a few,

So I try to resist

With a slap on the wrist

Or whatever wake-ups! I can do.

 

You may wonder at all my resistance,

Since a nap’s not a terrible thing,

But my reasons go deep

And, to me, proper sleep

Is the type only nighttime can bring.

A Challenge

Dealing with people you don’t really like

Is a challenge, like walking on eggs.

You can’t simply tell them to go take a hike

Or do likewise with your own two legs.

 

For sometimes you just don’t have much of a choice

And for various reasons, you’re stuck,

So you must keep quiet or lower your voice

Or you’ll bear the results of your pluck.

 

Avoidance is best, but at times you cannot;

Then it’s wise to take care what you say,

For if negative vibes are the ones you have got,

Likely your vibes are seen the same way.

So Lucky

I’m so lucky to live near the Met,*

Where the art is as good as you’ll get

Anyplace you may go

And with every new show

I am grateful to be in its debt.

 

If I visit along with a friend,

Then it’s certain that I can depend

On whatever we see,

Both for her and for me,

To be worth all the time we will spend.

 

Such an outing just happened today,

Though my friend went way out of her way,

But we so much enjoyed

What we viewed and left buoyed

By such wonderful art on display.

 

*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC

The Leprechaun Trap

The leprechaun trap wasn’t empty;

A toy leprechaun nestled inside

With a nice thank you note

That the leprechaun wrote,

So my granddaughter took it in stride.

If she’d caught one, she wanted some wishes,

Like a carousel built in her room

Or to meet Taylor Swift

Or a baby sis gift,

None of which she could get, I’d assume.

Her big brother, who once would have joined her,

Now knows Daddy left Seamus* behind;

He confirmed, with a wink.

Childhood ends in a blink,

With these memories etched in the mind.

*the toy leprechaun’s name, according to the note

Peek-a-Boo

The sun is playing peek-a-boo.

It warms me when it’s out,

But when it hides behind the clouds,

A chill shows off its clout.

I much prefer the sunshine’s rays,

Which sink into my skin,

Reminding me that spring’s the season

We will soon be in.

Between the cotton puffs of cloud,

The sky’s a lovely blue,

Which darkens just a bit each time

The sun plays peek-a-boo.

Bee Invasion

The playing had to be delayed,

(It happens, in a sport)

Though not because of rain, but bees

Around the tennis court.

It seemed a bee invasion

Caused some havoc in a match.

(There’s some video, which I’d say 

Is a worthwhile clip to catch.)

With play suspended, someone called

A beekeeper, who came

And vacuumed up the hordes of bees

On which to lay the blame.

When, 90 minutes later,

Quarter-final play resumed,

The bees were gone (just captured,

But not dead, as I’d assumed).

The keeper said the swarm was small,

About 3,000 bees,

Yet quite enough to bring 

Some tennis players to their knees.

Different Days

I’m sitting in the sunshine

While my brother shovels snow.

Here the daffodils are blooming;

His still have a ways to go.

 

Many inches of the white stuff

Have been falling in the west.

It’s the norm for Colorado,

As his shovel can attest.

 

Though our days are very different.

On our phones we get to see

Piles of snow outside his window

And a sunny bench for me.

Fast Forward

Though childhood seems so long ago,

Now decades in the past,

My time since having grandkids

Has been flying by too fast.

 

From reading picture books with them

All cozy in my lap,

To building blocks and rocking them

To settle for a nap,

 

Somebody must have hit “fast forward.”

Now the months race by

And they’re so busy with their lives,

But I cannot deny

 

A part of me will always miss

Their younger days, although

I’m lucky that I’m still around

To watch them as they grow.

Losing the Worm

Found the best hotel room

For a little get-away.

Went there once before and knew

That’s where I want to stay.

 

Checked it out last week but didn’t

Click where it said, “Book.”

Now, today, I’m ready but

When going back to look…

 

Of course, the room I want is gone.

The lesson to be learned

Is – do things when you have the chance

Or else, you will get burned.

Someone's Sitting

Someone’s sitting on my bench!

Of course, it isn’t mine

And so the person perching on it

Isn’t out of line.

 

Still, every time I’m out here,

It’s the place I choose to sit

And plunked down someplace else

I’m liking not one little bit.

 

There’s really nothing I can do

But grumble and complain.

(From giving in to baser moves,

I simply must refrain.)

Awakening

This morning I saw daffodils

Unfurl their yellow heads,

Awakening from sleeping

In their cozy winter beds.

 

The weather isn’t very warm

But there’s sufficient sun

To send the message that it won’t

Be long ‘til spring’s begun.

 

The crocuses, already out,

Must now agree to share

Their soil with these emerging bulbs;

Of course, it’s only fair.

 

The landscape, dressed for winter,

Looking bare and brown and bleak

Will be bursting forth with color

Hopefully, within the week.

The State of the Union

The speech was reassuring,

The delivery was fine

And only one or two real whackos

Seemed to cross the line.

 

The commentators noticed that

Republicans all sat,

With stony faces and no clapping

For the Democrat.

 

In other years, some issues would

Unite the gathered crew,

But here’s my theory – MAGA folk

Are scared of you-know-who.

 

I wouldn’t be surprised to learn

That some were paid to note

If any “traitors” might have clapped,

For that would get his goat.

 

And all who weren’t loyal

Would be punished; so, in fear,

They dare not jeopardize the one

Who might end their career.

A Clear-Cut Line

There used to be a clear-cut line

Between what’s right and wrong.

If someone crossed it, he or she’d

Be caught before too long.

Of course, some bullies, even then,

Caused others to get hurt,

Behavior which put everybody

Else on high alert.

Yet even if they weren’t caught

Or punished, we all knew

Their actions weren’t cool or things

That we would ever do.

But lately now I see or hear of

Bullies everywhere,

Defying former norms in ways

Before, we wouldn’t dare.

So crime is up, decorum down

And harm is being done.

I read the news and feel so sad 

Before the day’s begun.

Vive la France

In France, a woman’s right to choose

Is guaranteed by law,

A freedom one will never lose

And no one can withdraw.

 

The message rings out loud and clear:

Our bodies are our own.

No courts or judge can interfere;

The choice is ours alone.

 

The Constitution plainly states,

Unlike the U.S.A.’s,

That there will be no more debates

Or government delays.

 

Unfortunately, here at home,

We haven’t won this fight

And it will take more than a poem

Or march to make things right.

We Never Know

We never know when life will end

And so each day we just pretend

That we have all the time to spend

On all that we envision.

 

The trips someone would recommend,

The get-togethers with a friend,

The shows and games we should attend -

We plan them with precision.

 

Yet circumstances often bend

And goals or travels we’d intend

To take, we somehow comprehend

Will bow to indecision.

 

Our years on earth, though, won’t extend.

There is no magic dividend

And, like this poem that I have penned,

There’ll be no great revision.

Dear Jill

When people said that Ruth should go,

I argued they were wrong.

Today, of course, we sadly know

She stuck around too long.

 

Unfortunately, now it seems

We’re destined to repeat

Mistakes to ruin all our dreams

And knock us off our feet.

 

Dear Jill, your husband’s done his best

To bring this country back,

But nothing seems to have suppressed

Each worrying attack.

 

No matter if he has the strength

And gumption to go on,

Opponents will seek any length

To guarantee he’s gone.

 

Perception’s power overrules

Reality, and so,

Before democracy unspools,

Let’s save the status quo.

 

Your influence is needed now

For Joe must step aside

And such a move might just allow

The cause to stem the tide.

Flaco's Memorial

From 4 – 5 in Central Park,

Beneath his favorite tree,

So many fans of Flaco* gathered –

Yes, including me.

 

Around the trunk were letters,

Poems and pictures and bouquets

From all of us who knew how Flaco

Brightened up our days.

 

Some people never saw him

But still followed all the writings,

Plus the videos and pictures

That accompanied the sightings.

 

I left my poems in tribute,

Heard the speeches and the songs

And await the hoped-for statue

In the place where it belongs.

 

*a male Eurasian eagle-owl who

escaped from the Central Park Zoo

and survived for a year in the city

My Duck Friends

For years I’ve seen a pair of ducks

In front of a fountain close by.

They swim or sit and those who notice

Likely wonder why.

 

The fount’s in the front of a building;

Pedestrians pass night and day

And the street’s filled with traffic and noises,

Which you’d think would just scare them away.

 

In addition, this year there’s construction,

With drilling and scaffolds and nets.

For some ducks maybe raising a family,

It’s as stressful as city life gets.

 

Yet this morning, my duck friends were waiting,

As indifferent as creatures can be.

Their return was, to them, nothing special,

But it sure brought some smiles to me.

Tried and True

I’ve never heard a podcast,

Which reveals that I am old.

I don’t know how to stream one

(And don’t want to, truth be told).

 

I’ve never paid with Venmo

And the same applies to Zelle.

My credit cards and checks or cash

Have served me very well.

 

My doorbell has no camera

And my house has no alarm

And so far, lacking both,

I haven’t come to any harm.

 

If you stop by for some coffee,

You must wait until it perks

Since I’m happily old-fashioned,

For the tried and true still works.

Tooth Number 17

My husband had his tooth pulled;

It was number 17.

With pain involved, extracting it 

Was easily foreseen.

Our grandson pointed out he missed

By just a single date,

Tooth Fairy Day (the 28th),

But it’s up for debate…

If he would rate a visit 

Since our granddaughter was sure 

The fairy comes for baby teeth;

The rest have no allure.

In any case, the tooth is out;

The pain will not persist

And we found out tooth 17

Won’t even be much missed.