I Finally Saw the Debate

I finally saw the debate,

My spirits prepared to deflate,

For I’d heard it was rough

(Lies are hard to rebuff)

But I needed to get it all straight.

 

I agree that Joe Biden looked weak

And he fumfers when trying to speak,

Yet the bully he faced

With his falsehoods disgraced

Every viewer while raising my pique.

 

Why Bash/Tapper allowed him to rant

While ignoring their questions, I grant

Made him look like a fool,

Though, despite ridicule,

To his fans it will not disenchant.

 

Both debaters most likely rehearsed

And in private, each other they’ve cursed.

Still, to watch made me mad

For, though one came off bad,

It’s the other I’m dreading the worst.

Creeping Up

Age creeps up in subtle ways,

Beyond the wrinkles or the grays,

A loss of tolerance and spark

And choosing to stay in the dark

 

When new technology appears,

Which would require switching gears.

A mind, once sharp, now letting go

Of things it always used to know.

 

A tiredness which settles in

Where second winds would once begin.

But mostly knowing, like a curse,

That things will just keep getting worse.

The Day Camp Bus

It makes a stop; the kids climb on

And poof! The day camp bus is gone.

The parents wave; the kids, strapped in,

Are off to let their day begin.

Some campers smile, while others fret,

Not certain of their prospects yet.

Still, most of them (not everyone)

Will spend some hours having fun.

The afternoon will come at last,

Their camping session over fast.

The day camp bus will bring them back,

Their parents waiting with a snack.

In Between

There might be those who sail through life

And never hit a snag,

While others plod along or fight,

Each day another drag.

 

For most of us, it’s in between,

A balance, I suppose,

With lovely highs in opposition

To the awful lows.

 

So much is out of our control

And we can never guess

What ups or downs tomorrow holds

To bring us joy or stress.

 

No matter how we plan our days,

We’ll come to realize

The only certainty in life

Is that it mystifies.

A Woodpecker Pecked

A woodpecker pecked on our siding

And likely, won’t listen to chiding.

He left a few holes 

Beyond our controls

In a place where we’re partly residing.

An expert came by for assessing

The damage where Woody’d been messing.

He spritzed with a spray 

But could not really say

Why he’d pecked there, without simply guessing.

Our house by huge trees is surrounded,

So I am completely confounded

As to why all that wood

Wouldn’t seem just as good 

As the siding on which he had pounded.

Thou Shalt Not

In Louisiana, there’s a law

That people ought to hate,

About the 10 Commandments,

Which defies church versus state.

For every public classroom

Must, in giant font, display

These rules, where courts already ruled

That students need not pray.

Of course, no one should kill or steal

Or covet, but for all,

The Lord and Sabbath references 

Should not be on the wall.

In private or religious settings, 

Thou shalt save a spot

For the 10 Commandments, but in public

Buildings, thou shalt not!

Buying a Couch

Nowadays, to buy a couch, 

You make your choice online,

By picking out a fabric, color,

Size, price and design.

You do not have a way to tell,

When shove comes after push,

How it will feel once it arrives

And you plop down your tush.

So yes, you can return it

If you don’t like what you see,

But be prepared to pay

A rather large restocking fee.

I know there still are stores around

But few and far-between,

So I will roll the dice

To buy a couch I’ve never seen.

Becoming a Mother

When I became a mother,

On this date some years ago,

I understood how many things

I simply did not know.

 

But learning on the job is how

Most new moms figure out

That even when they get it right,

They’ll still be filled with doubt.

 

For every mother makes mistakes,

Though she may do her best

And if her child grows up okay,

What might be manifest

 

Is that, along the way, she somehow

Managed to provide

Her birthday boy with proof enough

Of just how hard she tried.

The Yearbook

With the cover designed by a student

(In a contest where everyone tried),

The yearbook impressed

And, as you might have guessed,

Pumped 5^th graders and parents with pride.

 

Filled with photos, including class pictures

From their very first year up ‘til now,

Every child’s beaming face

Showed in every place

That the layouts would neatly allow.

 

There were pages for each of the seniors,

With some photos and maybe a quote,

Plus their hopes and their goals

For their future-self roles

Which, one day, they’ll be shocked that they wrote.

The Wrong Story

At my grandson’s graduation,

(Onto middle school, he’ll go!)

An official told a story

I found not quite apropos.

‘Twas the ancient tale of Icarus,

Who flew, with wings of wax,

But, ignoring good advice,

He took his journey to the max.

Though his father gave a warning 

Not to fly too near the sun,

Icarus could not resist and soon

The melting had begun.

In his plummet to his death, perhaps

He pondered his mistake. 

“Listen to your elders” was one point

The speaker tried to make.

But he also warned the graduates

They shouldn’t reach too high,

Not a message for commencement.

(Plus, by doing so, you’ll die!)

Though I know it’s unrealistic 

That all future dreams come true, 

Still, to crush those possibilities

Was not the thing to do.

My Sister and I

My sister and I are as different

As spinach and blueberry pie,

Yet together we laugh,

Which reduces, by half,

All the ways our distinctions apply.

 

Even now, in New York for a visit,

Where the weather is brutally hot,

She, a Florida gal

From a schvitzy* locale,

Will insist that, to her, it is not.

 

Still, our blood and our family connect us,

Plus our faces wear similar smiles,

So our sisterly bond

Cuts through white hair and blond

And our spinach and blueberry styles.

 

*to schvitz means to sweat in Yiddish

Births and Deaths

Every day has births and deaths,

Not one of them routine,

While most of us are dealing with

The stuff that comes between.

 

The entries and the exits

To and from our varied lives

Give no clue to an observer

Of who struggles or who thrives.

 

The baby, just emerging,

Is a blank, unblemished slate,

While the dying must accept that

Any change will be too late.

 

For the rest of us, we’re kind of like

The filling in the bread,

Our days the sustenance between

The newborn and the dead.

Into Someone's Head

You can't get into someone's head

So there's no need to try,

For every action or opinion

Has a reason why.

It may not be what you would do

So you might not relate,

But people have their reasons,

Which are not up for debate.

We should respect one's choices

Though you may not understand 'em

For our brains are all unique, not meant

To operate in tandem.

 

Preparing

The city is preparing 

For the overwhelming heat

Which, combined with the humidity,

Will knock us off our feet.

There are warnings on the news

About the water we should drink

And the steps that we should take

If somehow power’s on the blink.

It’s predicted that tomorrow

Is when Nature will deliver,

But for now there is some shade

And a breeze down by the river.

Within Your Comfort Zone

It's easy to do nothing,

For the effort that's required

To get off your butt and go somewhere

Is bound to make you tired.

If you factor in the traffic

And the weather, if it's hot,

Any travel's bound to get your insides

Tied into a knot.

People might not understand it

When a meeting you decline,

But in life you have to trust your gut

And sometimes draw the line.

Though it makes the world much smaller,

Spending so much time alone,

It's a lot less stressful passing time

Within your comfort zone.

Skateboards

They fly on skateboards down the steps 

That head straight to the river, 

A camera person hoping that

Some magic they’ll deliver.

Yet these same stairs are used by all

For coming and for going

And skateboards aren’t made with brakes,

So there’s no way of slowing.

I sit and watch as older folk

And kids these steps are taking,

Convinced I may be witness to

Disaster in the making.

It’s Flag Day

It’s Flag Day, so Justice Alito,

Your flag pole can’t be incognito,

So try to be true 

To the red, white and blue;

Keep it upright, or you’ll feel the heat-o.

If your wife sets that banner to flying,

There really can be no denying 

That its upside-down stance

Means there isn’t a chance 

That your ignorance claim isn’t lying.

For a judge who presides on the court 

Should be able, with ease, to abort

Plans that fly in the face

Of decorum, in place 

So his rulings won’t somehow fall short.

If You Find Shade

You've got it made if you find shade

When it is hot and sunny,

For boiling rays can spoil your days

In ways that aren't funny.

Aside from sweat, you might just get

A dose of melanoma

Or lethargy, to some degree

Resembling a coma.

Yet with some luck, you won't be stuck

And you can find a bower

To keep you cool, or, like a fool,

Burn up within the hour.

A Mound

Today I found, right on the ground,

A giant pile of dirt - a mound - 

Right where I walk, but did I balk?

No, since I still could walk around.

I was surprised, but I surmised

That gardeners had been apprised

Of lack of soil with which to toil

So it was left, as they'd advised.

This afternoon was opportune

To pass that spot and there was strewn

A tiny trace of what took place

This early morning, 12th of June.

The mound I'd passed had vanished fast,

Perhaps onto the gardens cast,

Its mystery now history

And certainly far from the last. 

The Blinds

My window blinds are very old

And all should be replaced.

I don't like change but finally

Gave in, so I was braced

For brand-new working ones

That could go up and down, as well

As shut to block the sun.

(My old ones didn't - can't you tell?)

The windows had been measured,

Orders made and soon arrived.

Today installers came, but of

New blinds I've been deprived.

Seems the measurements were off

And so the new ones wouldn't fit.

My old ones still can do the job

And I'm just fine with it.

Six Faces on the Screen

We are six faces on the screen.

For over forty years,

We've shared our children's lives,

Including many hopes and fears.

A class for brand-new mothers

Introduced us at the "Y,"

Though several in our group dropped out

As time went marching by.

Our kids grew up, but once a month

We met to have a meal.

The chance to keep in contact

Had a very strong appeal.

With moves out of the city

And with Covid, things did change.

Our interactions on a screen

At first felt kind of strange.

But now I do look forward,

As do others, I assume,

To our monthly catch-up sessions,

All made possible with Zoom.

A Patio-Like Place

Behind my building, there’s a spot,

A patio-like place,

With iron benches, tables, too -

A lovely outdoor space.

With flow’ring bushes all around,

It’s someplace nice to sit,

Although on sunny days, I’m sure

That I would sweat a bit.

It’s open to the tenants;

From the basement, there’s a door.

The strangest thing is that I haven’t 

Been out here before.

I found it quite by accident,

But learned that it’s been here

For two-plus years and rarely used;

The reason why’s not clear.

It doesn’t have the river’s pull,

But I can sit outside 

And read or write by taking

Just an elevator ride.

Cigar Man

The man sits on a bench and smokes

A not-allowed cigar,

His big brown dog stretched at his feet;

Most mornings - there they are.

I've never seen him crack a smile

Or even have his say

With other people or his dog,

So strangers stay away.

He looks imposing, sending vibes

To simply let him be

And all obey his message,

That's, of course, including me.

The Summer Looms

The summer looms, with days to fill

Since things are not routine.

No school means extra time to kill;

No rules to intervene.

Yet structure helps to pass the time,

So people won’t be bored

And having fun is not a crime;

It is its own reward.

Once plans are made, it’s extra nice

To set some time aside

To laze around and roll the dice,

For life will be the guide.

Heirlooms

Some families have heirlooms

Passed down often through the years

So their legacy will not be one

That somehow disappears.

 

Whether jewelry or furniture

Or curios or art,

Certain object in a family

May play a vital part.

There might even be some squabbles,

For inheritance is rife

With the problems of possessions

Valued in a person's life.

Though my heirlooms weren't many

From the family reservoir,

I am proudly in possession

Of my grandma's cookie jar.

A New Museum

To visit a museum 

Where you’ve never been before

Means you have the opportunity 

To amble and explore.

At the Worcester* Art Museum

Were mosaics on display 

And some special arms and armor

In an orderly array.

There were works by famous artists

And a treasure trove amassed

Just awaiting our perusal

As we slowly moseyed past.

In the gift shop, objects beckoned 

So I bought a little treat

To remind me of my visit 

And to make the day complete.

*pronounced “Wooster,” like “wood”

On the Highway

On the highway, traffic moves

Or not, at varied paces,

Crawling ‘til the road improves

Or fast, as if in races.

If cars and giant trucks may ride,

Then nerves might well be quaking,

For crazy drivers zip beside

With barely any braking.

Construction, oft a road trip bane,

Crops up when things are flowing,

With big equipment in the lane

Where cars must now be slowing.

If you’re lucky, GPS

Can redirect your driving,

Or, if not, you’ll feel the stress 

For hours past arriving.

A City Bus or Train

Ride a city bus or train 

And you will get a sense

Of humankind of every strain - 

Behold the evidence:

The old, the young, the thin, the fat,

The handicapped, the frail,

The homeless, jock or spoiled brat,

The baby set to wail.

The strollers hogging too much space,

The walkers inching past,

The bodies crushed up everyplace

Until your stop - at last!

You exit, glad to be outside

And grateful you can walk,

But that's the price you pay to ride

On transit in New Yawk.

On the Promenade

On the promenade they stroll,

The Hokas and Adidas,

While in between the pigeons squawk

And what they mean is "Feed us!"

Nikes and New Balance add

To Sunday's march of sneakers,

With Saucony's and OC's on

The feet of mileage seekers.

Some Skechers even make the scene

With Brooks and Reeboks showing;

All of them, at varied paces,

Coming here or going.

Growing up, we all had Keds

Or cheaper imitations.

Nowadays, the choice is vast

To match one's inclinations.

       

 

New York Day

Had an old-time New York day -

Took the bus to see a play.

Understudy for the star -

Still, the show was up to par.

Dinner in a lovely place - 

Food and beer we could embrace.

Friendly waitress and, a plus - 

Cool young couple next to us.

Conversation quickly flowed,

Even though we'd not helloed.

She - Jamaican, he, a Swede - 

Classy, hip and fun, indeed!

For dessert, some key lime pie;

Bid our friends a sweet goodbye.

Caught the bus and headed home

To capture it within a poem.