Showing Off Your City

Showing off your city

Guarantees a sense of pride

Will come bubbling to the surface

From where it is tucked inside.

 

For by sharing all the reasons

You have picked this place to stay,

You will reinforce, to you and others,

Why you feel that way.

 

We all have different needs

We hope our homes will help fulfill

And by showing off the highlights,

We know it’s all working, still.

People in the Park

Every age and shape and size,

Dressed in jeans or dresses,

Wearing varied baseball caps

Or showing off their tresses.

 

Sporting shades or complex tats,

Earrings all a’dangle,

Backpacks, bags of straw or skin,

Kids they need to wrangle.

 

Speaking tongues I do not know

With accents not quite local,

Conversation mingling with

Some jazzy sounds, sans vocal.

 

We sit on benches near a band,

The music cool and gentle,

With melodies familiar and

A little sentimental

 

And watch the people passing by,

The weather adding pleasure

To such a perfect New York day

And one that I will treasure.

Up on the Top

Sat on the ferryboat, up on the top,

Soaking the sun and the breeze.

Seeing the city a different way,

Like a tourist, there’s so much to please.

 

Cool buildings to spot and New Yorkers about,

On foot or on bikes or on skates,

With gardens and trees, dogs on leashes, as well

As the seagulls aloft with their mates.

 

The palpable buzz of a sweet sunny day

As the ferry skips over the waves

Casts a magical spell on the riders, which I

Would imagine most everyone craves.

Birds by the River

I think it’s a cormorant

Spreading its wings,

Just waiting to see what

This afternoon brings.

 

It sits on a log on

The riverbed’s bank,

Its beak poking into

Its chest, neck and flank.

 

I’m on a bench watching

The bird do its thing

And wond’ring how long

It will wait to take wing.

 

It has no awareness

That I’m even here

And doesn’t display

Any interest or fear.

 

A pigeon, however,

Just strutted right by

And stopped for a snack,

But I couldn’t comply.

Black-Eyed Susans

I’m ordering a pack of seeds

For planting near my house.

Some flowers near a home is

An idea that I espouse.

 

If I plant black-eyed Susans

And, with luck, they really sprout,

I’ll surely smile each time

I’m coming home or going out.

 

Their color pops with happiness

And with their middle dot,

Or so-called “eye,” they paint a picture

I like quite a lot.

 

My thumb’s the opposite of green

So I won’t be surprised

If the seeds I plant don’t give me

Blooms the packets advertised.

 

Still, it’s not a big investment

To procure and plant some seeds,

For a dash or rain and sun and hope

Is all somebody needs.

The Country Fair

A Ferris wheel, a magic show

And lots of games of skill,

Food trucks filled with fried or frozen

Fare were on the bill.

Exhibit halls with quilts and varied

Goods, all made by hand 

And huge zucchinis shown 

With other veggies from the land.

The rides and games and food, to me,

Held little in appeal,

But animals from local farms

Made it a worthwhile deal.

The cows and goats and pigs and sheep,

With every barnyard sound,

Were stretched out in their pens, relaxed

Or nibbling around.

They all looked clean and healthy 

And quite fat (except the goats),

With ribbons on display they earned

By gaining judges’ votes.

As a New York City gal 

I wasn’t dazzled by the fair,

But the chance to see those critters

Made me glad that I was there.

Gutters

What I would call the street today,

As kids, we’d say the gutter.

It was a place to play for some

And moms would often mutter,

“If you’re not home on time, then I

Will see you, in my mind,

Lying dead out in the gutter

And your body they will find.”

The gutter also was the place

You took your dog to go,

For pooping on the sidewalk

Definitely was a no!

I never knew about the gutters

Meant to channel rain.

I have those on my roof right now

And cleaning them’s a pain.

But yesterday, I did just that 

And as I scooped out goop,

I heard my mother’s voice call out,

Like she was on the stoop:

“Be careful near the gutter!”

Yet this time, my fear instead,

Was that I’d fall down while cleaning them

And crack my foolish head.

The Cat

A cat that’s tawny beige and white

And very fluffy fat

Appears from nowhere, just like

We’ve rolled out a welcome mat.

Either plopped down in the driveway

Or stretched out upon the deck,

The cat seems right at home

Although the collar on its neck 

Tells me it belongs to someone; 

It is not a random stray,

Yet I cannot understand why

It keeps wandering this way.

If I approach, it saunters off,

Quite haughty, like it knows

That there are better stops to make,

Or that’s what I suppose.

Shifting

I never drove a stick shift 

Although once, I tried to learn.

I think they’re mostly gone now

And I don’t see their return.

A manual transmission

In some sports cars can be found,

Yet there aren’t many models

For the purists still around.  

It’s kinda like a TV set

With knobs you have to turn 

Instead of a remote or

An Alexa you can spurn.

Improvements make life easier,

But some wish they’d revive

The older methods that were used

To watch TV or drive.

One Step Forward

One step forward, two steps back –

That’s the way I function.

There is something that I lack

When I am at the junction

 

Of making a decision

Which will finalize a plan,

No matter the precision

Since my research first began.

 

It’s like I’m on a diving board,

Afraid to take the plunge,

My hesitancy like a cord

My body can’t expunge.

 

And yet I search and plan and hope

My M.O. might just change

And I can shed that binding rope

And step-wise, rearrange.

Passing People

In New York City, passing people 

Do not say hello,

Unless you see them often -

Then a nod’s the way to go.

If lots of time goes by, this just might

Segue to a smile,

But even that might happen only

Once in a great while.

A newbie or a tourist sometimes 

Gives a great big shout -

“Good morning!” - that’s at least until

They’ve figured it all out.

Today I’m in the suburbs, though,

To visit with the grands.

I took an early walk and

Maybe someone understands

Why all the people I passed by

Ignored my smile or nod.

Considering location, well,

I found it kind of odd.

My age might be a factor,

Which would really be a pity,

Or perhaps, they’re brand-new neighbors

Relocated from the city.

Summer’s End

The summer’s end’s approaching;

The sun will later rise.

A darker morn’s encroaching

On those lovely early skies.

With most classrooms getting ready,

Parents stock up on supplies,

As the days march, slow and steady,

Towards where autumn’s in disguise.

Soon the leaves will lose their greening

And the temps will start to dip.

Oh, to fall my soul is leaning,

As my slog becomes a skip.

Serendipity

At a nature-type center,

We looked at displays

Of the wildlife that’s local,

Describing their ways.

 

From a room that said, “Meetings,”

A woman came out

And approached with a smile

And nary a doubt.

 

“You look like a quilter,”

She said, just to me.

“I am!” I replied,

So she said, “Come and see!”

 

At twelve or so tables,

With sewing machines,

Were fabrics and projects

And twelve quilting queens.

 

They all come together

Four times every year

Just to kibitz and sew,

Schlepping all of their gear.

 

Their work was amazing

And thrilling to see

And then they extended

An invite to me.

 

“Come join us!” I couldn’t,

But what a delight

To encounter these women

At such a strange site.

I Wish I Knew

I wish I knew how acorns grew

Into a mighty oak,

But I’ve no clue and nor do you

Nor any other folk.

For certain seeds fulfill their needs

Yet take so long to grow

That, unlike weeds, our human speeds 

Of life are much too slow.

We might take heart and see how smart

Are seedlings as they sprout,

But we’ll depart before they start

Their skyward branching out.

Today is Hot

Today is hot; tomorrow, not.

This summer’s been like this a lot.

It’s tough to know which way to go

When making outdoor plans and so,

You must choose twice, that’s my advice,

For just one thought will not suffice.

A lovely hike, which you might like,

Won’t work if temps begin to spike 

And pouring rain would be a pain

And cause all parties to complain.

An indoor spot when it is hot

Might be the best choice you have got.

A place to start is where there’s art

Or dinosaurs to tell apart

Or go to eat on any street,

For that can always be a treat.

Once plans are made, don’t be afraid

To change them if your mind’s been swayed

By Nature’s kinks or sidewise winks,

Since that won’t help at all, methinks.

Applying for a Visa

Watch two older people

Struggle with technology 

When applying for a visa -

Yes, I mean my spouse and me.

You will laugh at their ineptitude 

When working on the app 

As they try to scan a passport page

And each repeated tap

Is rejected, so they try once more

To find the blasted chip,

Wond’ring if it’s really worth it

To be going on this trip.

If you stick around, you’ll get to see

When they are almost done,

That a message will pop up to say,

As if it’s all been fun,

That there seems to be a problem

So they’ll have to start again.

An emoji for frustration 

Might describe what happens then.

Yet, despite their stress, they manage,

Only screaming just a bit,

To complete the forms requested

And successfully submit.

Waiting for the Show

Our grandson’s in a show today - 

We are his greatest fans -

So being in the audience 

Is foremost in our plans.

The theater hosts some famous stars

So it will be a thrill

For Henry to be on that stage;

He’s tense, but knows the drill.

We’ll sit and watch and burst with pride.

(In Yiddish, that’s to kvell.)

Our grandson brings us so much joy -

As if you couldn’t tell!

At the Beacon Theater

Went to a concert last night, across town,

To see an old favorite of mine, Jackson Browne.

We slogged through a downpour of thunder and rain,

Where the opening song had a “deluge” refrain.*

 

The show was amazing; the singing so fine

That years fell away with each lyrical line.

The fans were enamored; we clapped and we cheered

As our younger selves, as if by magic, appeared.

 

For more than three hours, the music fulfilled

The crowd’s expectations, with most of us thrilled.

Yet still, there was texting on cell phones a’light

From various seats, which just didn’t seem right.

 

It put a slight damper on what was, to me,

An evening as special as any could be,

For certain performers tap into the past

With a power that, over the years, seems to last.

 

*”Before the Deluge” by Jackson Browne

Reading the Fine Print

In younger days we booked a trip

And never gave a thought

To reasons we might cancel

And what refunds would be sought.

 

We rarely took insurance,

Health was not a big concern

And we never worried ‘bout the need

To suddenly return.

 

But age has made us cautious;

Carefree travel makes no sense

And by reading all the fine print,

Suddenly I’m on the fence.

 

Do we take a chance and go

Because our time is ticking fast

Or get stuck in the minutiae

‘Til the options have all passed?

How I Am With Clothes

This is how I am with clothes:

(Most won’t relate’s, what I suppose)

I purchase something that I like

(If it’s on sale, a lucky strike).

If in a store, I try it on,

Or if it comes from Amazon,

I grapple with the box or bag

To check the fit. (Return’s a drag.)

Then in my closet or a drawer,

I neatly place it, waiting for

The perfect time for me to wear it.

(Might be weeks or months - I swear it!)

Once it’s worn, it joins the crowd

With which my wardrobe’s been endowed

And rotates, as each day I see

Which outfit most appeals to me.

For years, most items I will wear,

But when they’re old or need repair,

They transfer to my country place 

Where, in my drawers, I find some space.

To do that, other things must go.

I fill a bag of items, so

I have enough to donate to

Collection boxes (which I do).

Of course, some things I have to toss

And doing so is no one’s loss,

But maybe someone I don’t know

Wears something I bought long ago.

The way I am, I know is strange,

But at this point, I’ll never change,

Although, in logic that’s reversed,

I’ll wear the clothes I least like first.

Routines

People live by their routines 

And some will never bend ‘em,

While others are more flexible,

Not minding an addendum.

Yet it presents a challenge

When those sticklers will not budge;

Instead of going with the flow,

They mire themselves in sludge.

By losing opportunities,

It seems they’re missing out,

But maybe doing what they do

Is what they’re all about.

We follow rules that work for us

And everyone’s unique,

Since what feels good for others

May not be the path we seek.

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!