Seedlings

We all start out like seedlings

Just emerging from the earth,

Alike in that we’re each of us

A product of a birth.

 

Depending on our genus,

We may grow up tall and straight

Or be scraggly or bristly,

Rooted down by luck or fate.

 

We’ll be nurtured and be nourished

Or be totally ignored,

Grow in gardens gently tended

Or be trampled and abhorred.

 

Some of us will sport some flowers

To embellish and adorn,

While for others there’s deception

Waiting in a hidden thorn.

 

Though there’s sun and rain and shelter,

Nature doesn’t really care

If each seedling has an equal shot,

For life just isn’t fair.

This Morning's Sun

This morning’s sun was neon

As it hung there in the sky,

Not quite pink and not quite orange,

Bringing smiles to passersby.

 

When you catch it as it’s rising,

You have minutes, at the most,

To enjoy that crazy color,

Which demands you be engrossed.

 

Once that magic moment passes

And there’s daylight on the wing,

Only those who caught that brilliance

Know they didn’t miss a thing.

If Life Did Not Have Glitches

If life did not have glitches,

Then of what would we complain?

There’d be endless founts of riches

And no one would be in pain.

 

All our nervous tics and twitches,

Since they all would be in vain,

Would just vanish, as would itches

And from kvetching we’d refrain.

 

Though this fantasy bewitches,

In our lives it’s very plain,

We must cope with all the pitches

Hurled, which no one can explain.

A Little Basketball

I watched a little basketball

To cheer the U.S.A.,

Though it’s a sport I’d never follow

Any other day.

 

I also caught some swimmers

Wit their strokes in perfect form,

Racing in their lanes in record time,

As if that were the norm.

 

Now I’m waiting for the gymnasts,

With their super-human feats,

Hoping when the golds are given,

There might be a few repeats.

 

The Olympics gives us glimpses

Into how, when one’s obsessed,

That results in a performance

Leaving everyone impressed.

Senior Living

Brochures arrive quite often

And they beckon with a deal –

It’s time for senior living –

You don’t know how good you’ll feel!

 

There’s a pool, a gym, a clubhouse

With so much that you can do

And you’ll make new friends, for everyone’s

A senior just like you!

 

I know folks who have transitioned,

Others soon to take the plunge,

Eager for a fresh new start,

Their former lives set to expunge.

 

Though I envy their excitement

And the purging of the past,

I don’t see that in my future,

For I think the die’s been cast.

The Perfect Place

Paris was the perfect place

To start these summer games,

From the opening flotilla

To the lighting of the flames.

 

Instead of an arena,

Athletes floated down the Seine,

Waving flags and wearing smiles we’d see

Again and yet again.

 

There was spectacle and music,

Very quintessential French

And the rain harmed no one’s spirits,

Though their clothing it did drench.

 

With the city as the backdrop,

Charm and beauty set the stage,

Introducing all the magic

The Olympics will engage.

 

What a wonderful distraction

And we owe it all to France.

For the next two weeks, I needn’t think

Of You-know-who and Vance.

A Quarter Short

I rarely pay for things in cash,

Although some stores prefer it.

They charge more for a credit card,

So customers deter it.

 

But at the local bagel shop,

I placed my morning order

And realized that, when tallied,

I’d be somehow short a quarter.

 

I asked the counterman to please

Remove one single bagel,

To prove I wasn’t out to,

By some method, well, finagle.

 

He smiled and said, ‘You’ll bring to me

The quarter when you’re able,”

Not wanting to deprive me of

A bagel at my table.

 

I walked back home and quickly grabbed

A quarter from the pile

And at the shop, I plunked it down,

Which earned a startled smile.

 

The whole exchange reminded me

Of childhood; before supper,

To hit the grocer’s for some bread,

I was the picker-upper.

 

I carried change and worried that

I might be short some money.

The fact it happened now, not then,

Is really kind of funny.

Friday in France

How lucky we are the Olympics

Will be starting, this Friday, in France!

After all this political trauma,

We can wake from this terrible trance.

 

We can focus on swimming and tennis,

Gymnastics and polo and track.

Cheer for volleyball, diving and cricket

And not listen to pols talking smack.

 

There’ll be fencing and judo and hockey

And sailing and golf and lacrosse.

Once the athletes march in, all that fanfare

Will remind us there’s life after loss.

Not Really Very Much

What do people really need

To live a life that’s guaranteed

To let them blossom and succeed?

Not really very much.

 

A home they like and clothes to wear,

Some friends and family who care,

A job or craft with time to spare

And Nature’s gentle touch.

 

If all the basic needs are met,

With war or sickness not a threat,

There shouldn’t be a cause to fret,

Yet most require a crutch.

The Upside

On vacations you tend to gain weight,

Finding luscious, rich foods on your plate.

Add to that, extra drinks,

Plus desserts and methinks

Many people with this can relate.

 

And, though meals were a source of delight,

Coming home, all your clothing feels tight.

Buttons pop, seams may rip,

Zippers struggle to zip

Since you couldn’t resist one more bite.

 

Yet if somehow you’ve given a ride

To a sickness like Covid inside,

You’ll feel woozy and spent

And, though not your intent,

You’ll discover your appetite’s died.

 

So the upside to being infirm,

Which, experience lets me confirm,

Is that nothing remains

Of the pounds someone gains

On vacation, all thanks to a germ!

Better Late Than Never

On March the 5^th I wrote a poem –

The title was “Dear Jill,”

Which was a plea that maybe

The First Lady would help fill.

 

Of course, she never saw it

And my quest was not unique,

But had she followed common sense,

We’d not be up the creek.

 

The paddles now must be controlled

By a dynamic team

Which maybe, just 4 months ago,

Would’ve had a bit more steam.

 

Yet there’s a chance the tide will turn

And folks will recognize

This country needs a leader

Spreading dignity, not lies.

Two Saturdays

Last Saturday we were in France;

To go abroad, we took a chance.

We got to sightsee, dine and dance

And stroll through charming streets.

 

We had some laughs and made some friends,

Which oft are travel’s dividends

As from real life, a trip transcends

With unexpected treats.

 

This Saturday I’m stuck at home

With Covid, not about to roam

But able, still, to write my poem,

With which this line completes.

Everybody's Covid

Some may cough while others sneeze;

Some are brought right to their knees.

Some run fever, others chills;

Some ingest the latest pills.

 

Some can’t sleep at all at night;

Others have no appetite.

Some test positive for days;

Others just don’t think it pays.

 

Some go out but wear a mask

While others take those folks to task.

Some have booster shots, and yet

Sick is what they sometimes get.

 

In our bodies Covid sneaks,

Lasting days or even weeks.

We can hope we’ll be immune,

Unlike me, this afternoon.

Trade-Off

Is it worth it when you travel

But you wind up getting sick?

Seems like Covid and vacations,

In conjunction, somehow click.

 

After flying home from Paris,

People sneezing on the plane,

I felt tired, but the reason

Could have choices to explain.

 

Is it jet lag? Is it Covid?

Well, I took a swab-type test

And in fifteen minutes – Voila!

Just confirming what I’d guessed.

 

So I’m stuck at home with Covid,

But I really do not know,

If this outcome was for certain,

Would I’ve chosen then to go?

Flagged

I couldn’t print my boarding pass-

See Agent’s what it said.

When I got it at the airport,

In the corner was, instead

Of the TSA Pre-check in print

Upon my husband’s form, 

A mysterious S-S-S-S,

Not certainly the norm.

Our first flight late, we barely did

Connect to JFK.

At boarding, though, we both got flagged -

Bad things pile up that way.

My spouse got cleared but as for me,

I needed one more search

And wondered what would happen

If they left me in the lurch.

It’s awful feeling challenged 

Like you’ve somehow done some wrong 

And you aren’t welcome in the place

You know that you belong.

I’m writing this while in the air 

But wonder, when I land, 

If I’ll go through this twice

For reasons I don’t understand.

A Little Dance Floor

We rarely do events at night

But dinner went ‘til after 9,

So new-found friends convinced us

To join in and we could not decline.

A trio played - most songs we knew -

And people boogied to the beat,

Yet even when our friends got up,

I watched them, comfy in my seat.

Until one song demanded that

I get my butt up off the chair

And, drawn by my new buddies,

Hit the dance floor, shy at being there.

But, caught up in the energy

And faces lit with pure delight,

I found forgotten moves I had

And let the rhythm lead me right.

A little dance floor on the ship 

Provided the most perfect stage 

To reach inside and free some joy

I’d hidden from a prior age.

Don’t Cry Over…

The waitress spilled a beer last night

Right on my husband’s clothes.

He was upset, but these things happen,

Sometimes, I suppose.

He went back to our room to change

And rinse his threads of beer,

But everything still reeked

And thus, so smiles would reappear 

A laundry bag was filled up with

His shirts, his shirt and tee,

Which would be cleaned without a fuss 

And naturally, for free.

We left this morning for a tour

But after we returned,

The clothes were hanging, fresh and clean,

The lesson to be learned:

It’s better to have something spilled

On you, like beer or booze,

Not in a restaurant or home,

But rather on a cruise.

Steam Train Ride

The whistle blows, the chugging starts -

A steam train ride in France -

For those who like to try things 

From the past, this is your chance.

Since when it’s time to turn around,

The leading car’s unlatched

And driven to a turntable

Before it’s reattached.

The locomotive then gets cranked,

By hand! one circle ‘round.

The engineer next drives to where

The once-caboose is found.

The train is reconnected

And goes back the way it came,

Passing trees and giant rock formations,

Looking all the same.

An aqueduct appears and there’s 

An eagle in the sky,

But what impresses most on board

As we go zipping by 

Is a trio by the river,

Down below and quickly viewed,

Being very French, relaxing 

Near the water, in the nude.

My Favorite Part

The walking tours are lovely

On the streets of cobblestone,

With monuments and little shops

And gardens we’ve been shown.

The people we have met are cool;

It’s fun to socialize

And learn how different we all are,

Which comes as no surprise.

The food, more than I’m used to,

Varies with each sit-down meal,

With many dishes offered,

All with some unique appeal.

But still, my favorite part must be

Just sitting on the chairs

Of the balcony outside our room,

As if I had no cares.

The river churns, the swans glide by,

The scenery rolls past,

More special since I’m well aware

How short this trip will last.

Tuckered Out

My older self gets tuckered out

Before the night has started.

The energy I used to have

Has quietly departed.

And toss some jet lag in the mix,

Plus days a’broil and sunny,

Add extra-rich vacation food

And I’ll bet lots of money…

That I won’t make it through the day

(Since I’m opposed to napping),

Without a few espresso shots 

To boost my pep that’s sapping.

My Suitcase

It took a week for me to pack, 

For, wracked with indecision,

I wanted to be sure each day

I’d have the right provision.

The pants, the skirts, Capris and tops,

The sandals, dresses, make-up,

The jewelry and lotions,

All prepared for every wake-up.

I’d zipped it up, ensuring that

I’d covered all the bases

And checked it in where it was stacked

With all the other cases.

Alas, it never made it through

And, though the airline tracked it,

It’s in another place, despite

The care with which I’d packed it.

I’m making do with what I wore,

With just a nightly rinsing.

To never check a bag again?

I do not need convincing.

To the Rescue

Connecting flight canceled -

What are we to do?

Rebooked - 10 hours waiting 

Instead of just 2.

While I wasted time

On the plane with our tour,

My husband found someone

(He’s hard to ignore)

Who then came to our rescue 

And found us a flight

Very close to our first one

To make things all right.

An Air France employee

Named Cheftzi,* she knew

How to briskly take charge

And to calm us down, too.

She did what she did

With her own special style 

And as proof of her power,

She got me to smile.

So thank you, dear Cheftzi!

I was a bit crazed

But by working some magic,

My spirits were raised.

*pronounced Hefty

The Kind of Calm

I wish I had the kind of calm

To take things in my stride,

But I am made of different stuff,

Which shakes me up inside.

 

Anxiety is always there

Just waiting to appear

And it does not take very much

To get it into gear.

 

I do my best to bat it off,

But I’m not very strong

And when I think it’s slunk away,

I find out I was wrong.

 

Some people don’t get ruffled or

They keep their stress at bay,

But some of us (including me!)

Are not designed that way.

Engagement Pics

Sometimes on my morning walk,

When no one is around,

I’ll pass by a photographer

And know that I am bound

 

To see a dressed-up couple,

Posed and smiling, thinking of

The lovely pics to show to all

To prove their new-found love.

 

With the river in the background,

It’s a lovely urban scene,

But today had something added,

Not the usual routine.

 

For the couple was instructed

To run straight, as they did do,

To the spot upon the promenade

Where pigeons strut and coo.

 

The startled birds all lifted up

And circled in the air

As the camera person snapped away,

The pigeons everywhere.

 

The happy couple laughed,

Then all the birds flew down to roost,

For some New York flair into those pics

They’d surely introduced.

A Letter from my Grandma

While searching in my closet,

I found a nice surprise –

A box of bags, with some crocheted

In ways I’d recognize.

 

I opened one and there inside,

A letter in the hand

Of Grandma, she who made the bags,

Each stitch at her command.

 

She wrote that she was sending,

In addition to her work,

A dollar for “the baby,”

As an extra little perk.

 

I should put it in the bank, she said,

And more would follow, so

Someday I could buy a gift from her;

The baby then would know.

 

That “baby” now is 43;

My Grandma’s dead and gone,

But the love she sent across the miles,

In stitch or note, lives on.

Stepping Out

It’s easy sticking to routines,

Though some might find it boring,

Yet out beyond your comfort zone

Are risks not worth ignoring.

 

Away from home, your bed and bath,

Especially untested,

Might make you worry that you won’t,

When morning comes, feel rested.

 

And all the unfamiliar foods,

So different and appealing,

May be too tempting to resist

And leave your stomach reeling.

 

And even if you do your best

To get your things together

And pack your suitcase carefully,

There could be freaky weather.

 

Another possibility

Is illness when you travel

And being sick away can cause

Your spirits to unravel.

 

I get why people never leave

Routines which keep them going,

But sometimes stepping out may tap

A part of you worth knowing.

In Under an Hour

A Hopper, three Calders, a Pollack and more

We shared with our grandson today.

Some paintings and sculpture he’d not seen before 

Were just waiting for us, on display.

In under an hour we checked it all out;

He enjoyed quite a bit of the art.

We will take him to other museums, no doubt;

He’ll remember when we are apart.

At the gift shop he picked out two small souvenirs

We were happy he wanted to buy.

As he grows, in his future, if artwork appears,

We might claim to know partially why.

On the 4th

Went for a hike at a nature preserve 

And followed the trail with each lake-hugging curve.

The sun dappled through as it lit up the trees

As we stepped over roots, not once skinning our knees.

We stopped at the Center as we headed out

And met Tin Tin the tortoise, who ambled about.

Then we headed to Ralph’s for some ices to eat;

With so many cool flavors, it sure was a treat.

Though I know it’s the 4th, I don’t need a parade 

Or a barbecue chef with the burgers he’s made

Or the fireworks I’ll be too tired to see

To know this was a day close to perfect for me.

In a Plaza

I’m sitting in a plaza as

I’m waiting for a friend.

There’s a bench and breeze, both things

On which you never can depend.

 

I’ve got the time and also have

My pencil and my pad,

So getting here this early wasn’t

Really all that bad.

 

I hardly get to see this friend

So this is such a treat.

We’re seeing different plays, but still

At least we’ll get to meet.

 

A little conversation then

A very welcome hug,

Which is better for my soul

Than any therapy or drug.

Sonia

I so admire Sonia*;

She brings honor to the Court,

Especially when rules of law

Her colleagues try to thwart.

 

In a blistering dissent, she wrote

This ruling now will bring

So much power to a president,

He might as well be king.

 

Since the founding of our country,

No one’s been above the law,

Yet 6 justices decided

A new plan they’d like to draw.

 

Sonia “fears for our democracy,”

She said in her dissent

And for 29 sharp pages,

She explained just what she meant.

 

Oh, I’m fearful for the future

When a candidate and Court

Can take well-established rules and facts

And twist them to distort.

 

*Sonia Sotomayor, a Supreme Court justice

When Someone Lies

When someone lies and does it well,

It makes it very hard to tell

That in his head, the truth must dwell,

Though very deeply hidden.

 

The stories that he tries to sell,

Repeated like a broken bell,

Affect some people like a spell,

Disturbing and forbidden.

 

If numbers of his fans do swell

And his supporters start to kvell*,

Then we’re all going straight to hell,

Our virtue overridden.

 

*burst with pride and joy