Breakfast Out

I rarely eat my breakfast out

But, as a special treat,

We took our guests to Effy’s,*

Hoping that we’d get a seat.

 

It’s half a block from where we live

And breakfast gets a crowd.

We took a chance, though, and lucked out.

(Reserving’s not allowed.)

 

Surprisingly, the outdoor spots

Were filled, despite the heat,

But in the room inside, we found

A cool and calm retreat.

 

A varied menu let us choose

From middle eastern meals

To pancakes, wraps and sandwiches,

All with their own appeals.

 

We ate, we drank, we chatted

In a pleasant atmosphere,

The buzz of fellow diners

Adding to the Sunday cheer.

 

A break from a routine

Can often bring about a smile

And a state of satisfaction,

Even if once in a while.

 

*Effy’s Café on the upper east side of Manhattan

On a Birthday

It’s nice on a birthday

To hear from your friends

And celebrate where

A warm feeling transcends

 

All the stress you might feel

On an average day.

Just a few special people

Can make it that way.

 

A meal that you share

With a candle and cake

And a car ride with singing –

That joy you can’t fake.

 

The space to spread out,

Watch a movie, relax

In a place where the elements

Cease their attacks.

 

Though this birthday’s not mine,

So far I can thank heaven

It’s going so well –

And the reason? Six seven!

Snack Food

Whatever people eat for snacks, 

At home, when they can just relax,

Depends on what their diet lacks

Or what they love to taste.

The salty types, like nuts or chips,

Or pretzels, maybe paired with dips, 

Will often find their way to lips 

Which end up greasy-laced.

While candies, chocolatey and sweet

Or gummies, quite a different treat,

Might help a craving feel complete 

And will not go to waste.

Of course, some snacks are healthy kinds,

Like fruits with pits or citrus rinds,

Or veggies, to convince our minds

Good habits we have chased.

It’s personal what you prefer 

And, though my choices may concur

With what you have a craving fer,

My hopes might be misplaced.

For I would rather choke down soil 

Than eat the seaweed made with oil,

With sea salt so it will not spoil,

My grandkids have embraced.

Sad and Numb

Temperatures are sizzling;

Fires burn and spread.

Salad sales are fizzling.

(Eat grass-fed beef instead!)

 

Immigrants are terrified;

Deportations rise.

Flat-out lies are verified.

Drones invade the skies.

 

News reporters get the boot.

Algae grows and blooms.

Secret deals to prosecute

Are made in private rooms.

 

Institutions once revered

Are shuttered or debased.

Everything we’ve always feared

Has happened, in such haste

 

It’s almost inconceivable,

Yet somehow it is real.

We know that it’s believable,

For nothing can conceal

 

The way the world is crumbling

And only those in charge,

Despite their shameful bumbling

And greed are living large.

 

I do not see a way to fix

How bad things have become,

For nature’s tricks and politics

Have made me sad and numb.

The Writing

A poem about the seasons

Or a pet gets people reading,

Though only on occasion

Is that what the poet’s needing.

 

Thus, many verses go unread,

The price of being selfish,

Preventing possibilities

Or writing going shelf-ish.

 

A journalist strings words on topics

Given on assignment,

With facts and research intertwined

For print or e-alignment.

 

But poets have a great big world

From which to choose a topic,

Their vision open to it all

Or sometimes plain myopic

 

And if those other subjects

May prove somewhat less inviting,

They may not find a readership,

Yet still enjoy the writing.

"Alice of Wonderland Visiting New York"

In the children’s ward of a hospital,

Through the W.P.A.*

A 16-panel mural

Was, for patients, on display.

 

The artist, Abram Champanier,

In 1938,

Took the Lewis Carroll characters

From “Alice” to create

 

A tale of Wonderland’s whole cast

As they visited each site

Of the city of New York

To fill the children with delight.

 

So there on Lady Liberty,

The subway and the zoo,

The Empire State and Steeplechase,

Are Alice and her crew.

 

The building was abandoned

After years and it was marked

For a renovation, so a group

Of volunteers embarked

 

On a plan to save the murals,

Which they managed to preserve.

Our gratitude is not enough

To give what they deserve.

 

The restoration took some years

And now they are on view.

A museum** in New York is where

I saw them; so can you.

 

How wonderful to have a chance

To see each vibrant scene

And to reinforce the joy of art

And how much it can mean.

 

*Works Progress Administration

**Museum of the City of New York

Missed!

His dog was on a grassy field

That clearly said, “No Pets!”

Entitlement in every way,

As awful as it gets.

 

For adding to his flagrant

Disregard of that one sign,

He puffed on a cigar, when smoking’s

Also out of line.

 

What really got to me, though,

Was his bag of doggy poo,

Which he clutched and looked around,

Unsure of what he next would do.

 

Beyond the fence and out of reach,

A trashcan on the street

Sat waiting for deposits

So the sidewalks would stay neat.

 

Too lazy to walk over,

He reached back and made a toss,

Knowing that, most likely, he could get

That doggy bag across.

 

I watched it sail and with a plop,

Land, not inside the can,

But on the ground right next to it,

Not following his plan.

 

I stopped myself from yelling out

A simple message: “Missed!’

Since those entitled might be

Unpredictable when pissed.

 

The way the world is nowadays,

You have to watch your back,

For those who get away with things

Are likely to attack.

The Thing About a Leash

In the park was a man

With a stroller, as well

As a dog on a leash,

Which he tried to compel

 

To begin the trip home,

But the dog wouldn’t budge.

Having neither at hand,

I guess I shouldn’t judge.

 

First the man gave a tug

In a joking-type way

As the dog flopped down flat,

Showing he meant to stay.

 

Then he flipped on his back

With his paws in the air,

Which is when I moved on,

So though I’m unaware

 

Of the outcome, I’d bet

Not a minute more passed

‘Til the leash got a yank

And they went home at last.

Energy Levels

Your energy level’s

Related to age,

Though not everybody

Is on the same page.

 

Most babies and toddlers

Need hours of sleep

And after some playtime,

Fall down in a heap.

 

Yet others run circles

Around those routines

And when sent for a nap

Make the loudest of scenes.

 

Often as you grow up,

Those proclivities stay

And the sleep you require

Will keep holding sway.

 

However, when reaching

Those senior-type years,

Your energy lessens

Or plain disappears.

 

So, just like a baby,

Your pep seems to sap

And, although you may fight it,

You’re needing a nap.

 

The circle of life

Brings us back to the start

Where the young and the old

Aren’t too far apart.

The End of July

The end of July

Means the summer’s half gone, 

Though the season’s activities

Keep going on.

Yet with camps winding down,

School supplies on the shelves,

We must face what’s ahead -

No deceiving ourselves.

I, for one, will not miss

The hot weather and sweat

And, as autumn approaches,

I surely won’t fret.

I look forward to jackets 

And crisp chilly air,

Back to all those routines 

For which we must prepare.

Though I’m jumping the gun -

There’s still August ahead,

Which I fear will not match

How July’s somehow fled.

Closed!

A historical museum

Was the goal we’d set today.

It was open in the afternoon

And nineteen miles away.

Among its artifacts there is

A flag of which it’s said

There is blood from the assassination,

Straight from Lincoln’s head.

The building, called “The Columns”

Is as grand as you’d expect,

With a trove of local treasures 

It’s been set up to protect.

So we climbed the stairs and tried the doors 

But both were tightly locked.

No one answered when we rang the bell,

Our entrance truly blocked.

The website gave no reason

For the building to be closed.

The one in charge had better things

To do, we all supposed.

Instead, we had a lovely lunch;

The Water Wheel Cafe,

With its giant working water wheel,

Came through to save the day.

Rural Roads

Although I’m a city person,

There’s a place I get to stay 

In a lovely rural setting

When I want to get away.

And at times, we’ll head out somewhere

Where a highway doesn’t go,

So we’ll drive along for miles,

Seeing nothing that I know.

There’ll be lots of trees and pastures 

And occasionally farms,

All that emptiness of people

Setting off, in me, alarms.

Yes, the vistas all are pretty

And it’s natural and serene,

Yet I picture something going wrong

With no one on the scene.

I know urban driving’s awful -

Traffic makes your nerves explode,

But you never will get stranded,

Unlike on a rural road.

The Odyssey

It’s rated R, but still we took

Our grandson to the show.

He isn’t quite 13, but he 

Was hankering to go.

He’s up on his mythology

And smarter than a whip,

Plus his dad gave his approval,

Which allowed the scales to tip.

The movie was amazing 

And the violence I’d feared 

Wasn’t more than he could handle,

So my worries disappeared.

What a wonderful experience!

Not much can quite compare 

With a cinematic wonder

Which, with Henry, we can share.

Claws N Paws

There’s an animal park

A half-hour away

Where we went, for the first time,

With Henry today.

I was skeptical, but

It was worth what we paid,

For meandering paths

Lined with trees giving shade,

Led to animals you’d 

Not expect to be there.

There were lions and tigers

And more than one bear.

We saw tortoises, emus

And gators and skinks,

Ponies, monkeys, giraffes 

And chinchillas (no minks).

Varied tropical birds,

Porcupines, foxes, sheep,

Pumas, jaguars and vultures,

With many asleep.

Still, we strolled and enjoyed

Creatures far from each lair,

Likely wondering how

They had ended up there.

A Treat for a Week

 Picked our grandson up from camp,

A month without a visit.

He ran to us, his “Nana!” shout,

To my ears, most exquisite.

A week with him will be a treat

And even if the weather 

Is rainy as predicted, we’ll

Enjoy our time together.

I’ve researched possibilities -

Museums, train rides, boats,

A working farm, a jail, a hike -

We’ll tally up the votes.

But even if we stay at home

With board games and TV,

(Plus iPad time, of course) it will

Be magical to me.

In the Middle of the Road

Smack in the middle

Of the road was a hawk.

Once the brakes were applied,

We just sat there to gawk.

It was standing astride

A dead squirrel, a meal

Which I guess to a hawk

Has a certain appeal.

Perhaps what it planned

Was to dig in and start,

But a bird of prey’s certainly

Cunning and smart.

So on seeing our car,

Talons did what they must 

And that hawk flew away,

Leaving us in the dust.

We drove on to the store

To stock up on some food,

Glad that roadkill was not

On our list to include.

Front Yards

 In people’s front yards

(That is, if they’re allowed), 

They can have a display

Which will make them feel proud.

Some have flowers and banners

Or bushes and hedges 

Or humorous statues

Lined up on the edges.

A spinner or whirligig 

Might add some fun

Or a sculpture or wind sock

When not overdone.

Now, my personal taste

May be different from yours,

But some people have yards

No one ever ignores

For they’re filled with such tchotchkes 

They make my head swim;

Yet although my opinion

Of this might be dim

To those owners, such plenty

Brings joy and such pride

It’s a wonder they ever

Come in from outside.

3 Stops on the Q

I can walk to some museums

From my home and often do,

But when MOMA* is the one I want,

It’s 3 stops on the Q.

 

The Q train’s fast and cuts across

From east side to the west

And mostly it works well enough

For all to be impressed.

 

I had a lovely visit

Seeing art both old and new,

With my day made so much easier –

Just 3 stops on the Q!

 

*Museum of Modern Art

Archie Bunker's Rants

Yesterday, we sat and watched

A sitcom on TV

From early in the 70’s,

But what was strange to me

 

Was hearing Archie Bunker’s rants

About the U.S.A.

And things that he was saying

Echoed words I hear today.

 

He argued with his son-in-law

About the government,

Defending Richard Nixon

To his daughter’s discontent.

 

That show reflects some current themes

But somehow in the past,

It made us laugh; those same thoughts

Uttered now leave us aghast.

The Wedding Couple

The smiling bride, the handsome groom –

A happy couple, you’d assume –

Arranged before a camera’s click,

A moment captured, swift and slick.

 

The tension not apparent there –

Instead, a calm and lovely pair,

Which no observer would suspect

Was, from the stresses, close to wrecked.

 

Beneath their unsuspecting gaze,

Their married life, in every phase,

Awaits the pleasures and the pain

That newlyweds can’t ascertain.

 

Within its frame, on shelf or wall,

(Unless removed with break-up’s call)

The handsome groom and smiling bride

Stare at the future, side by side.

Seen On My Walk

Seen on my walk – a delivery truck

Was being unloaded. One box

Was plunked on the ground; some may be out of luck

For its eggs might have suffered some shocks.

 

Another block on, there was parked on the street,

With a fender that suffered a wham!

A new pick-up truck named, just to make it complete,

In big letters, you guessed it – a RAM!

 

Saw three pickleball games and a guy with green hair –

Just a typical 6 a.m. sight.

In the city, no matter the time, you’ll be where

Something’s sure to surprise or delight.

Cocktail Hour

My aunt complained at “cocktail hour,”

All they served was juice,

The definition of this drink,

Sans alcohol, too loose.

 

She’s in assisted living now,

At almost 98;

With many neighbors wheelchair-bound,

She simply can’t relate.

 

Her balance is an issue, though,

And even with her phone,

It’s clear that, though she disagrees,

She shouldn’t be alone.

 

I can’t imagine being told

That others can decide

That where you’ve lived no longer is

The place where you’ll reside.

 

It may be necessary; still,

Though safety’s a concern,

The loss of one’s autonomy

Is something I would spurn. 

The AQI

The AQI* has me obsessed.

I check it every hour

And rising numbers get me stressed;

It’s not within our power

 

To change what all the wildfires wrought.

The smoky haze that’s drifting,

Despite how first responders fought,

Is growing and keeps shifting.

 

So miles away, our air is filled

With particles unhealthy

And, though the fighting crews are skilled,

Pollutants are quite stealthy.

 

While venturing outside, we might

Breathe ozone and some oxides,

Invisible to normal sight

But felt inside as toxides.

 

The AQI goes up and down,

With warnings – if you’re older,

Don’t venture out around the town

While fires burn or smolder.

 

*Air Quality Index

Tick Tick Tick

Just read two different articles 

About a certain tick -

The lone star - which can make

A person very, very sick.

Of course, we’ve heard of Lyme disease

(Which deer ticks often spread),

But lone stars may cause allergies

Which make some people dead.

A syndrome, known as alpha-gal,

Passed on by this tick’s bite,

May trip a strange reaction 

Which the body cannot fight.

So someone eating burgers

Or a lamb chop or a steak 

Might go into shock if prior,

A tick’s bite his skin did break.

It seems ironic that in summer,

Life is lived outside,

The perfect place where all these 

Little buggers like to hide.

Outlier

I go to bed early.

I do not use Zelle.

When changes occur in life,

I don’t do well.

I no longer drive

And, though crowds I’ll avoid,

I like life in the city;

Still, I get annoyed

By unwarranted noise

Sometimes blasting outside

From a scooter or car,

Music I can’t abide.

With no iPad, I type

On a desktop P.C.

And the coffee I perk

On the stove works for me.

Where religion’s concerned,

I’m a Jew, but don’t pray 

And my politics veer

Far from You-Know-Who’s sway.

I’m technology-challenged,

Afraid of A.I.,

So the outlier handle

I will not deny.

Power

Based on delusions,

Some people’s conclusions

Absolve them of guilt or of blame 

And oozing effusions,

At times in profusions,

Make power the name of the game.

And when those wielding power

Cause others to cower,

There’s less of a chance to reclaim

What once bloomed like a flower

But dims by the hour

As democracy withers in shame.

Superman

 Superman was nervous,

Thinking he might have to fight,

For he’d fallen for a service

With financial gain in sight.

He agreed to take a meeting,

Hoping all would be all right,

But his heart was loudly beating 

As he faced a Crypto-night.

A Breeze When It’s Hot

A breeze when it’s hot 

Doesn’t count for a lot

Though we can’t assign blame to the trees,

For their branches that sway

Try to cool off the day

But their efforts can’t really appease.

It looks lovely outside;

Still, the time comes to hide

In the house with a blasting A/C

When the temperatures rise 

And humidity tries

To sap all of the oomph out of me.

My Thanks

For all of those who make a point

To comment on my rhymes,

No matter if it’s only once

Or very many times,

 

I want to let you know how much

I treasure your support,

Since even though in other poems

I’ve managed to purport

 

That all my writing’s just for me

(And mainly, that is true),

It’s such a lovely boost to hear

From readers such as you.

 

Now most of you I’ve never met

And likely never will,

But please accept my thanks and know

The joy you do instill.

Reminder

My phone dinged a reminder,

The subject of this poem,

A simple message and it said:

“9:30 Flying home.”

 

See, I had planned to be away

Upon a river cruise.

My husband, though, had gotten sick

And so, for weeks, my views

 

Were of the buildings I can see

Within my neighborhood

Instead of little charming towns

As I had hoped I would.

 

We canceled all that we had booked –

The flights, the room, the tours

And waited ‘til at last, my husband

Ventured out of doors.

 

He’s better now, but never could have

Done the things we’d planned.

I’ve put it all behind me, but

My phone can’t understand.

The Crazy World of Sports

In the crazy world of sports,

A player’s age reflects,

On varied fields or surfaced courts,

What everyone expects.

 

For athletes in the 40’s range

Or those soon closing in,

Will likely see a subtle change

In what they need to win.

 

Perhaps their bodies just don’t move

As quickly as before

And even if they find their groove,

It’s tougher, now, to score.

 

In much of life, our wisdom grows

And elders, we are told,

Should be revered, but in the pros,

The young ones earn the gold.

My Zip Code

There’s an outbreak of a bad disease

Right in my neighborhood,

My zip code being one they’ve named

And that just isn’t good.

 

It’s spread when there’s bacteria

In cooling towers, where

They infiltrate and form a mist

That’s sent into the air.

 

If places are identified,

Which testing can decide,

A disinfecting protocol

Can peace of mind provide.

 

As numbers of the sick increase

(And treatment seems to work),

I glance at buildings, wondering

If that’s where germs may lurk.

Comparing Craziness

When you’re down in the dumps

And life’s giving you lumps,

It’s so nice to have lunch with a friend;

For occasional slumps,

Like a log’s many bumps,

Make it hard with a smile to pretend

 

All is dandy and fine.

Sometimes problems combine

With the natural ways that you cope

And your pal throws a line,

Which you take as a sign

That you’re not at the end of your rope.

 

So you sit and you eat,

Which itself is a treat,

And compare what’s been driving you nuts.

Though you do not compete,

Each admits to defeat

By not climbing up out of your ruts.

 

Still, a heaviness lifts,

One of friendship’s best gifts,

(Which can also take place on the phone).

Though the stuff that resists

Cheering up still exists,

You, at least, feel a lot less alone.