My New Old Poster

An old-time poster caught my eye 

In an antiques shop where I like to browse.

On seeing it, you might ask why,

So I’ll tell you, long as rhyme allows.

First, the colors pop and its retro look,

With a smiling man in an old-style hat,

Made me grin and that was all it took

To think, “Gee, I’d like to purchase that.”

It’s a transit ad from a dry-clean place

Where, for sixty-nine cents (don’t be shocked!),

You could bring in your hat and within that space,

It would be not just cleaned, but also blocked.

There’s a come-on, too, with a jaunty phrase:

“Perk and pep-up that old Fedora.”

Now, perhaps you will get all the many ways 

That I love it - need I say more, uh?

Between the Rivers

The Hudson River stretches wide

From Jersey to the far west side.

The east, though, is where I reside

So I don’t see it much.

It’s quite majestic, driving past

And on the highway, going fast,

I try to conjure up the past

When locals spoke in Dutch.

‘Cross town, another river flows,

Much narrower and, I suppose,

Some Germans came because that shows 

In restaurants and such.

Between the rivers, New York grew

And other cultures added to

The melting pot, which no one knew

Would suffer Ice’s clutch.

Visiting a Mansion

When visiting a mansion

That’s become a restoration,

It’s cool to see a property

That’s way above your station.

 

The verdant lawns with giant trees,

The gardens all in bloom,

The stained glass in the windows

Of each river-facing room…

 

The made-to-order furniture,

The statues and the art,

The butler’s pantry where the fancy

Dinners get their start…

 

The books in leather bindings

Lined up neatly on the shelves,

The lamps and fixtures next to chairs

Where folks relaxed themselves.

 

It’s fun to fantasize about

The life styles of the rich.

I wonder, though, how they would fare

In my house, for a switch.

Lost or Misplaced

When things are lost or just misplaced,

It’s more than just annoying,

For time spent looking’s such a waste

While good moods face destroying.

 

Since even in a smallish space

There’s lots of room for hiding,

So when you’ve searched most every place,

Frustration’s not subsiding.

 

If giving up is not a choice,

You’re stuck without direction

And even if your inner voice

Is battling dejection

 

There has to be a point at which

The chances shrink to slender

Of finding what you lost, so switch

Your goal and just surrender.

Puzzles

They say puzzles are good for your brain,

So to bolster those cells that remain

I do crosswords each day 

And on weekends, I may

Do acrostics or more in that vein.

All my challenges center, you’ll note,

Not on numbers, which might get my goat,

But on clues filled with words

Which, like grandkids and birds,

Are among those on whom I do dote.

It makes sense, since I really delight

In the words that I read and I write,

So if I can involve,

In each puzzle I solve,

All my brain cells, dementia won’t bite.

The Start and Finish

A mama turkey and her brood

Were pecking by the road,

Not far from where I passed a squashed

And bloody mid-leap toad.

It isn’t often that you see

The circle Nature’s made -

The start and finish points of life

So vividly displayed.

Yet hopefully we humans have

More time for in-between,

Though sometimes, like that toad,

We exit early from the scene.

Handy Randy

It’s nice to know a handyman 

To help when things go wrong,

Who fixes things around the house

And you don’t wait too long.

A pipe that drips, a door that sticks,

A light to be replaced

And any of a hundred other

Problems you have faced.

When someone with both time and tools

Can luckily be found,

Be grateful for his expertise

And hope he sticks around.

Nesting

There’s a faded blue tarp

On an old pile of wood 

For a fireplace no longer used. 

Though my hearing’s not sharp, 

I thought maybe I could 

Hear a strange sound that got me confused.

So I opened the door,

Seeing if I could find

If a creature was making that scritch 

And before I looked more,

There to pay me no mind,

Was a squirrel, his jaws all a’twitch.

He was ripping at holes 

In the tarp that he’d made

And from out of his mouth dangled blue.

Seemed that one of his goals,

If attention was paid,

Was a nest of that very same hue.

Now I’m searching the trees,

Gazing up through the leaves,

Trying hard to discover that nest.

So if anyone sees

Something that he perceives

As bizarre, he can let his mind rest.

Wiring

Inside us all, we look the same,

Or similar, at least,

With blood and bones and organs

Working ‘til we are deceased.

Yet there are subtle differences

In how we each are wired 

And that explains the varied ways

Our quirks have been acquired.

Though how we’re raised helps shape us,

Personalities remain 

Subject to the messages they get

From deep within the brain.

So if we’re calm or quick to snap

Or anxious, loud or shy

Or paranoid or always up

Or down, the reason why

Is wiring that’s been with us

From when we were conceived,

Controlling how we get through life

And how we are perceived.

Worm on the Berm

There’s a worm on the berm

But I cannot confirm,

Without seeing it squirm,

If it’s dead.

Or perhaps it’s infirm

From a rare type of germ

Which affects it long-term

And will spread.

Either way, it’s absurd

To think twice, for a bird,

With its appetite spurred,

Will be led

To the place this occurred

And to which I referred

Where that bird, undeterred,

Will be fed.

I won’t mention the slug 

Or the slow-moving bug

That I saw, ‘cause you’ll shrug -

‘Nuff’s been said!

Excluded

Have you ever been excluded 

From a party or event?

Maybe, you might have concluded,

Snubbing wasn’t the intent.

Still, to hear that folks will gather,

For a dinner, I’d presume,

And the hostess said she’d rather,

For a lack of food and room,

That there’d be no invitation

To include us on the list,

I am filled with indignation

And appropriately pissed.

At the moment I’m just chilling

In my cozy little house

And my time here I’ll be filling

By myself or with my spouse.

Guess it’s better I’m not going

To a place where it’s now clear

I would spend the evening knowing 

I’ve been bumped to second tier.

A Fly

The windows have been shut for days

So I cannot begin

To comprehend exactly how

A fly has gotten in.

 

The A/C’s working overtime

To counteract the heat

And though we’ve ventured out at times,

We beat a fast retreat.

 

It’s possible, I guess, that fly

Did hitchhike on our clothes

Or maybe in a shopping bag

Or someplace no one knows.

 

No matter how he made it in,

The next time he is sighted,

The swatter will be on the move,

‘Cause he was not invited!

The Hand That I've Been Dealt

The mirror used to be my friend;

Alas, those days have reached the end.

I see my face and can’t pretend

I’m anything but old.

 

I guess it’s me beneath the skin

That wrinkles somehow settled in

And make-up couldn’t quite begin

To spin this straw to gold.

 

My earrings still remain in place

And, just like always, frame my face,

But time will not let me erase

Its firm, relentless hold.

 

Yet I’m still in the living game.

The hand that I’ve been dealt I’ll claim

And, though I don’t look quite the same,

I’m not prepared to fold.

The Mystery Bench

In the city, there are benches

Placed where people might

Relax and take a load off,

Which is everybody’s right.

 

They’re either made of metal

Or old-fashioned painted wood,

Found in parks and promenades or where

They’d do the utmost good.

 

Most bus stops with a shelter

Have a bench for those who wait

And in playgrounds, there are benches

Where the nannies congregate.

 

My apartment building spans a block

On quite an average street,

Without a bus stop or a park;

It’s nice, but not elite.

 

Yet recently, a metal bench,

Three seats’ worth, with a back,

Was placed to give my home address

What other buildings lack –

 

A place to sit, but no one knows

Who ordered such a thing.

It sounds real good, but there are several

Problems it could bring –

 

The detritus of strangers,

Which is quite a common sight

And perhaps some noisy revelers

To party through the night.

 

My street is pretty quiet

And I hope a monkey wrench

Hasn’t landed on it with the

Sudden placement of this bench.

Uber Easy

We love to visit cities;

Urban blood runs through my veins

And now that we are older,

We’ve no tolerance for trains,

 

So instead of checking listings

For the local train or bus,

We just call an Uber and it comes

Real fast, without a fuss.

 

We aren’t on vacation now,

But wanted to go out.

I read of an exhibit

And liked what it was about.

 

Since the schedule on Sunday

Says the subways will be slow,

We decided that an Uber

Was the only way to go.

 

It felt like we were on a trip

And not in our backyard.

My husband loved the ease of it

And yes, in that regard

 

It made a lot of sense because

Convenience, truth be told,

Counts a lot, but even more so

When you’re (I’ll admit it) old!

My Brother's Book

My brother’s book deserves a look

And not just for the time it took,

But for the family tree he shook

To show the need to strive.

 

His characters are loosely based

On relatives whose lives he traced

From foreign lands ‘til they embraced

New homes when they’d arrive.

 

The story’s universal, though,

For as they settle and they grow,

We realize how much we don’t know

Of how they did survive.

 

Most families who did emigrate

Shared hardships and the hand of fate

And often, we learn much too late

What pushed or helped them thrive.

 

My brother’s book may bring acclaim

And might or might not garner fame,

But if you read From Where We Came*,

His story stays alive.

 

by Burt Rashbaum

The Morning Paper

When I’m away, I hang a bag

Or two from my front door.

The guy who brings the morning paper

Knows just what it’s for.

 

He neatly folds The New York Times

And places it inside,

Where it will stay and wait until

My home’s reoccupied.

 

Today, nine papers filled the bag

And that’s exactly right.

Tomorrow I’ll start reading them,

In order, and I might

 

Get through at least a couple

(And the crossword puzzles, too)

For, although I know the basic news,

With much, I’m overdue.

 

I love to read the paper

And in print’s the only way,

So I’m grateful that where I reside,

I’ll never miss a day.

The White Pages

Before technology, to find

A number, you would look

In a pretty big directory 

Of names bound in a book.

There were two types - the yellow pages 

Listed business phones

And the white-paged paperback contained

Your personal unknowns.

The names were alphabetical 

And had a home address,

Plus the number for the telephone

To dial (not to press!)

We have a copy from the past;

Our grandson found our page,

Though whether he could picture

Using it was hard to gauge.

Of course, most people used these books

As booster seats for tots.

Suggesting that today, though,

Would make most young parents plotz.

Hearing a Hum

It sounds more like a motor 

Than what I would call a hum,

Though a motorbird’s not fitting

As the name that it’s become.

I first heard it at the flowerpot

Before I saw it there,

Dipping in the purple blossoms

Near my green wrought iron chair.

I’m aware that red attracts them,

Like a bull on the attack,

So the visit was surprising 

Since true red my flowers lack.

Yet perhaps they can’t be choosy

As they dart and flit and dip

And a bloom that’s pink or purple

Might provide a tasty sip.

All I know is I was happy

That a hummingbird stopped by

And it doesn’t really matter

If there was a reason why.

Close Encounter

I had a close encounter 

Just this morning, on my walk,

When a bird of prey came swooping down -

A falcon or a hawk.

Either way, it flew right at me;

I saw feathers and a face

And it could have quickly grabbed my hat

And left without a trace.

Instead, it made it to a branch

And sat and looked around,

While a single startled turkey 

Strutted, anxious, on the ground.

The hawk (or falcon - still not sure)

Did not stay very long.

It made it to another tree

And, though I could be wrong,

It likely found a tasty treat

And zoomed in for the kill.

I’m glad I didn’t see that part

(And hope I never will!)

A Glimpse

We see our kids or grandkids

In our home’s familiar setting

Or at gatherings of kith and kin

Within that safety netting.

Yet when somehow there’s a glimpse 

Beyond where we’re supposed to go,

We might be surprised to find

A person we don’t really know.

Perhaps in a performance

In the arts or in a sport,

A confidence might sparkle

Which will find us caught up short. 

It is fascinating watching

As that talent is unfurled 

And we witness as our loved ones 

Make their way out in the world.

Now, not everybody gets the chance

To catch this in the works.

I am lucky, seeing one of

Watching children’s greatest perks. 

After Camp

We’d not seen our grandson in weeks,

Unless you count photo-type peeks,

But today, like a champ,

When we met him at camp,

He was grinning right up to his cheeks.

We were thrilled we could thus reconnect,

Though we hadn’t known what to expect,

But our mutual hugs

(So much better than shrugs!)

Had a perfect, delightful effect.

Now we’ll spend a few days hanging out

And I know, with no shred of a doubt,

We’ll enjoy what we do

And before we are through,

We’ll forget we’d a Henry-less drought.

If You Believe

If you believe in Santa Claus

And fairies taking teeth

Or leprechauns or other tales 

That parents do bequeath…

If you’re convinced vaccines are bad

And immigrants must go 

And that our country’s doing fine,

Then naturally, you’ll know

“The Late Show “ cancellation was

A money-based decision. 

The rest of us, though, view it

With both horror and derision.

Fixable

Some things are fixable;

Others are not.

If it’s the first,

Give it all that you’ve got.

If it’s the latter,

It’s better to ditch it.

Purchase a new one

And then you can switch it. 

Certain relationships 

Might be the same.

Some can’t be fixed

Even if you are game.

There’s only so much,

When things break, you can do.

Then it’s time to give up

And move on to the new. 

The Cashier

The bridge above her nose was pierced,

Her nostrils were, as well,

With several silver bars laced through,

As far as I could tell.

Her upper ears both sported studs

And wrapped around her neck

A studded leather choker served,

With others, to bedeck.

I couldn’t count how many more

(I didn’t want to stare)

And on her wrists, assorted bracelets 

Brightly dangled there.

She was a very friendly soul 

And so I had to ask

If she slept with all her piercings;

She did not take me to task.

She simply laughed and said she did,

Not what I thought I’d hear,

Since I take my earrings out each night,

Just one in either ear.

Childhood Summers

I loved my childhood summers

In the mountains, where we stayed

In a small, one-bedroom bungalow 

Where memories were made.

We didn’t mind the lack of space;

Outside were fields of grass

With lots of friends to hang with -

Oh, how quickly time did pass!

In day camp we had arts and crafts;

We swam and ran around

And played on teams in every sport 

Where balls or nets were found.

Specifics now have vanished 

From the cells inside my brain,

But the happy feelings overall 

Still powerfully remain.

We had such freedom then as kids;

Our days belonged to us.

So when our moms yelled, “Suppertime!”

We bounded home, no fuss.

The youth today, on hearing this,

Would not know what I mean,

For summers now are supervised 

Or spent before a screen.

Reunited

I never knew exactly how

They went their separate ways

And somehow months accumulated

Since their coupled days.

 

It made me sad to know how much

I missed those moments where

They’d spend their time entangled,

Such a cozy, comfy pair.

 

Yet just this morning, I was in

For quite a big surprise

When, in a folded t-shirt, there was,

Right before my eyes…

 

The missing partner to the sock

That’s waiting in my drawer –

The best reunion ever

From all garments I once wore!

Sufficient

Before there’s an auction,

I visit the site

To check out the artwork

For my own delight.

 

I don’t plan on bidding,

With prices so high,

But look to see what,

In my dreams, I might buy.

 

Today, saw a sculpture

By someone whose art

Is familiar and always

Brings joy to my heart.

 

He’s Tom Otterness – please

Google him for a peek

At the various people

He sculpts – so unique!

 

For a mere $20,000

The bidding will start.

Well-worth it, for anyone

Savvy ‘bout art.

 

Yet I’ll be content with

The chance that I got

To get close enough so that

I got a great shot.

 

The photo’s sufficient,

Right there in my phone; it

Provides the same smile

As if I did own it.

A Waiting Game

Life between the highs and lows

Is stable, or one would suppose,

Yet that might not be true at all –

When high, you’re waiting for the fall.

 

And naturally, when you are low,

There is no way for you to know

How long until your saddened state

Will vanish, so again you wait.

 

So life becomes a waiting game.

If being stable is your aim,

When on a high, I’d answer hah!

When low, more likely, I’d say bah!

Regional Theater

Living in New York, I see

A lot of Broadway shows

And most of them have stars on stage

That everybody knows.

 

Yet often in the lesser roles

Are actors out to make

The audience acknowledge them –

To earn that hoped-for break.

 

In local theaters, all the cast

Performs from that same place,

While dreaming that the world will know

Their name or voice or face.

 

And thanks to that, they try their best

And give it all they’ve got,

Providing all who watch them

With a show they’ll like a lot.

Sudden

With a snap of the fingers,

The drop of a hat,

A life can be altered

And that will be that.

 

Though positive changes

May happen that way,

It’s mostly the bad things

That heavily weigh.

 

For something that’s sudden

That no one expected

Casts ripples of grief

To each person affected.

 

Yet life must go on

In an alternate way,

Though survivors remember

The terrible day

 

That divides all their lives

Into two equal parts –

The before and the after,

When sufferance starts.

Consequences

Some events throughout our lives

Have consequences that

Reverberate for years and years,

No matter where we’re at.

 

A childhood trauma or a jab

That cut us to the quick,

Emotional or physical;

A hurt that seemed to stick.

 

Or else an injury incurred

To leave a lasting scar

Or the remnants of an illness

Which hangs on in ways bizarre.

 

There’s not way to know just what

Will have a permanent effect

And at times we may react to what

We never would suspect.

 

The only thing that we can do

When looking to the past

Is to realize we are stuck for good

With what the die has cast.

Meeting Old Friends

When you meet with old friends

After months, even years,

There is comfort in having

No need to switch gears.

 

For the groundwork’s been set

And the basics are known,

So there’s just catching up –

How the grandkids have grown!

 

But most likely you’ll talk

About health or its lack

And the surgeries done

On the hips, knees or back.

 

There’ll be notes to compare

About travel and shows

And each exercise class

And acquaintances’ woes.

 

Still, it’s lovely to spend

Time together again.

There should be a repeat,

But who knows where or when.

I Couldn't Live

I couldn’t live without A/C

Though people all through history

Made do with fans or else before,

They sweated through the clothes they wore.

 

I’d hate to live without my phone;

Attached to it I’ve somehow grown

Though I’ve survived, let’s not forget,

When it was not invented yet.

 

I wouldn’t want to live without

The wheels that take me all about,

For without car or bus or train,

I’d feel so stuck I’d just complain.

 

I’m glad I never had to live

Without appliances that give

The means to keep us clean and fed,

Allowing us to get ahead.

 

I’m grateful that these things exist

Though we can’t know what we’ll have missed

By living in this current age

Before the future turns the page.

When to Replace

When to replace something 

Which will expire

Is a question all homeowners face.

Is it better to wait 

‘Til a problem comes up

In the item you need to replace…

Or perhaps it makes sense,

When that item is old,

To just ditch it and buy something new.

If it works but you’ve had it

A really long time, then

You know what’s the right thing to do.

It’s a gamble to hope that 

Your item will last 

For if suddenly, it starts to break,

You must deal with the consequence

And chalk it up

To a classic homeowner’s mistake.

Buying Clothes

When choosing clothes, some people buy

Whatever seems to catch their eye.

They always pay the asking price 

No matter what, and don’t think twice.

That isn’t me, for without fail 

I’ll check to find out what’s on sale

And if it’s pricey, I might splurge 

If on that day, I get the urge.

As far as stores, the upscale shops

Will not be on my frequent stops,

But nor will be a tacky store,

With schlocky clothes you can’t ignore.

I guess I like the middle range

When I decide I need a change,

So when I feel it’s time to go,

I’ll check out clothing stores I know.