A Mountain of Snow

Next to our car is a mountain of snow,

Which has frozen as hard as a rock.

Ours isn’t the only one locked in, although

It’s the worst one around the whole block.

 

We’re parked on the side where the plows seemed to push

All the snow that was blocking the street

And because of the freeze, what should turn into mush

Has instead made our blockade complete.

 

We have nowhere to go and can get to the train

When we need to help out with the grands,

So on 89^th Street, our poor car will remain

For as long as the weather demands.

 

We’ve been through this before, but it’s been a few years

Since we’ve dealt with both snow and such cold

And my husband and I, plus our car, it appears,

Feel the mileage we’ve gained taking hold.

The Ferry Suspension

They suspended the ferry

And blamed it on ice.

With weather so frigid, 

Those grounds should suffice.

The notice described 

The East River, which goes

North or south, both directions

Obstructed by floes.

The fleet is aluminum,

Making it tough 

To navigate safely

With waters so rough.

I don’t take it often,

But those who commute 

Must be wishing this ice

Will be given the boot.

Which is just like the hope

Minnesotans possess,

For both versions of ICE

Cause incredible stress.

Everybody’s Taste

 A pretzel goes with mustard

Like a bagel goes with cheese

And meals must end with something sweet

In order to appease.

French fries should not have ketchup,

But for burgers, it’s a must

And ice cream filled with chocolate chunks

Leaves others in the dust.

My choices might not mesh with yours,

For everybody’s taste

Depends on how and where we’re raised

And foods we have embraced.

Yet each of us has favorites

And that sets us all apart.

Let’s unite with some strong coffee

And a well-made Linzer tart!

Extremes

I’m watching the Australian Open;

The players are battling heat.

With temps running high,

No one needs to ask why

Many athletes just wilt in defeat.

 

Yet outside my well-heated apartment,

It’s way below freezing this week.

To venture out there

Every item I wear

Has been chosen for weather this bleak.

 

I’d rather be colder than warmer,

Though I don’t like either extreme;

But in Melbourne, I’d bet,

While competitors sweat,

They must also be losing some steam.

Nu det Nuuk!

In Denmark and Greenland,

Red baseball caps say,

“Nu det Nuuk!” which is roughly

“Make America Go ‘Way!”

 

They’re sported at protests

And modeled on those

Worn by MAGA supporters,

Most normal folks’ foes.

 

The Danish translation,

“Enough is enough”

Is intended to be

A gigantic rebuff.

 

For America’s “leader”

Has crassly announced

That Greenland should be his

‘Cause his Nobel was trounced.

 

Since this overwrought bully,

Who violates rules,

Has his tantrums in public,

We all look like fools.

 

But in Greenland and Denmark,

The message is clear:

“Take your bluster and swagger

And get out of here!”

A Snowy Hill

Kids can never have their fill

Of sledding down a snowy hill

And naturally, our local place

Was packed with families who embrace

 

The city life and came prepared

To romp in spaces to be shared.

Their bright toboggans let them slide,

Enjoying extra time outside,

 

When normally, they’d be in class

Until the school day hours would pass.

Today, though, lessons would be taught

On Zoom, so every student ought

 

To be home staring at a screen

Which isn’t part of their routine.

So many bailed, I’d have to guess,

Based on the joy none could suppress.

 

These snowy days are very rare

And therefore, it is only fair

That every child who has the chance

Grabs all the fun that Nature grants.

Looking Out

Each air conditioner is topped

With its own mound of snow,

As well as all the window sills

I see, lined in a row.

 

I hear the blowing snow machines

From down there on the street,

A background noise to the more pleasant

Pinging of the sleet.

 

The cars are covered, clad in white,

And won’t be moved for days,

Though buses and some SUV’s

Plow through the wintry glaze.

 

It’s comfy in my city home;

There’s tennis on TV.

With food to eat and beer to drink,

We’ll get by cozily.

 

Tomorrow will be time to start

To venture from the nest,

But while the snow keeps swirling,

Looking out from in is best.

A Farewell to Raimond

We gathered in the basement,

The tenants and the staff,

To bid farewell and have a drink

And maybe share a laugh.

 

A doorman is retiring

With 30 years behind,

A presence whose familiar face

Provided peace of mind.

 

The space was tight and lacking

Any festive frills or fluff,

Yet people ate and schmoozed and that

Appeared to be enough.

 

Another chapter ending

So we wish him all the best.

He will certainly be missed by me,

As surely you have guessed.

On a Snowy Morn

Years ago, on a snowy morn,

Before my kids were even born,

I left super early to start my drive

So in plenty of time I would surely arrive.

I taught in a school 20 miles away

And, although lots of snow was predicted that day,

The radio had no announcement I heard 

That schools would be closed, which I should have inferred.

By the time I pulled up, it was quite a storm

But inside of my car I was nice and warm.

There were no other cars, one lone person about;

The custodian, shoveling, gave me a shout.

“I just got the word - we’re officially closed.

Go on home!” which I did, as you might have supposed.

Though the roads were much worse and some curses I flung,

I made it home fine, but of course, I was young.

And each year when a blizzard’s predicted, my mind

Flashes back to that morning, when I was still blind

To the fact that in snowstorms, by using your head,

You’re much better off home, staying cozy in bed.

The Food Court

Grand Central should be welcoming,

For travelers do flock,

To come and go, from near and far

And all around the clock.

 

A hub of transportation,

Both for subway and for rail,

It’s a place where first impressions

Of the city should prevail.

 

Yet the food court is dispiriting.

The choices are okay,

But there’s a problem if you want

To take some time and stay.

 

Ther’s very little seating, so

When purchasing some food –

A meal or snack or drink, unless

You might be in the mood

 

To stand around and eat it,

You are simply out of luck.

There are some scattered tables

For those early birds with pluck.

 

Perhaps it’s to discourage

Homeless people who might sit

Without spending any money

And, when challenged, throw a fit.

 

Still, it isn’t very pleasant

For those visitors who might

Like to stop and get their bearings

And to grab a little bite.

 

As a local, I’m embarrassed

That this very poor excuse

For a food court in Grand Central

Is the best we can produce.

The Answers Dangle

When we are young, we do not know

Exactly how our lives will go.

The answers dangle out of reach,

A barrier we cannot breach.

 

Yet as we grow, we grasp at clues

Enticing us to avenues

Which might just lead us to unwind

The skills by which we’ll be defined.

 

It might be music, sports or art

To set a spark to help us start,

Or maybe books or food or math

To lure us down a certain path.

 

Perhaps it’s just the urge to care

For those in need that takes us where

Our nurturing can make a dent

In those whose lacks are evident.

 

Some gravitate to entertain

Or build or mend or drive a train,

While others search but are resigned

To leave their unformed dreams behind.

 

Still, there is always hope that we,

At least to just a small degree,

Will match what DNA’s supplied

To something we can own with pride.

Extreme

I don’t mind the cold

If it isn’t extreme,

But since I am old,

Freezing temps sometimes seem

 

Like they’re too much to take

When I’m walking outside,

So for sanity’s sake,

I let age be my guide.

 

Just like Covid’s first weeks,

At a nice rapid pace,

I perfect my techniques

For an in-my-home race.

 

No opponents compete

So the win will be mine.

In 900 square feet,

I am certain to shine.

 

Friends have moved to a clime

Where the cold doesn’t go.

They may find it sublime

But for me, it’s a NO!

 

For the freeze will not last;

It will lose its steel grip

And the iciest blast

Beats humidity’s drip.

Ignoring Your Own Advice

A word to the wise should suffice

And shouldn’t need spouting it twice.

It really makes sense

Unless you are dense

To follow your own good advice.

 

In my case, it’s all about ears,

For an earring, at times, disappears.

So I purchased some backs

Which lets me then relax,

Since to lose one is one of my fears.

 

In my home, though, I sometimes forget,

For a lost one’s not much of a threat.

I’d not planned to go out

But I did and, no doubt,

You can guess why I’m feeling regret.

 

Yes, one half of the pair that I wore

Slipped away on the street or the floor.

Though I searched where I’d been

With no luck, my chagrin

Is about that advice even more.

Plato

A philosophy student in Texas

Was struggling to understand

Why parts of the writings of Plato

Were suddenly, foolishly banned.

 

It seems the Symposium mentioned

Sexuality, gender and such,

Which professors were told was a no-no

That a 10-foot pole can’t even touch.

 

In the realm of our government’s horrors,

The shootings, abductions and ICE,

Vaccines and the Kennedy Center,

You’d think Plato’s a small sacrifice.

 

But each loss should be noted and added

To the outrage that’s building within

And perhaps when that tipping point happens,

Some real changes might even begin.

As Long As...

My husband and I are retired;

Our car is an old Subaru.

Our lifestyle has never required

A trade-in for cars that are new.

 

As long as the engine is running,

To get from Point A to Point B,

A late model we will be shunning,

No fobs for my husband or me.

 

Yet circumstance somehow conspired,

With mileage and tread in the mix,

That our car will, like us, be re-tired,

So together, we’ll have our last licks!

The Lincoln Savings Bank

Every other Friday,

With my paycheck in my hand,

I headed to the savings bank,

Exactly like I’d planned.

I’d cash the check, depositing

A bit so it would grow,

Reflected in my passbook

Where the interest would show.

That Lincoln Savings Bank is now

An upscale toddler gym,

Survival rates for local banks

Now, sadly, kind of slim.

Direct deposit also changed

The way most folks get paid

And I’m not sure that passbooks,

Nowadays, are even made.

Yet I remember feeling

So grown-up with that fresh check,

Never thinking it would be replaced

By banking done by tech.

Locking Up the Phones

“You must shut off your phone;

Place it into this case

Which we’ll lock up, until

You will exit this place.”

 

This was outside the theater

And, lo and behold,

No one griped, but all did

Just what they had been told.

 

It was strange, but real nice

Seeing not one lit screen

In the audience, members

Thrown off their routine.

 

No distractions from texters

Or people so bored

They must Google the news,

With politeness ignored.

 

So instead, all were focused,

The whole multitude,

On the actors, with some scenes

Performed in the nude.

 

That was likely the reason

No phones were allowed,

But I loved being part

Of an old no-tech crowd.

People in the Morning

Watching people in the morning

Always makes me wonder,

Will their days be sunshine-kissed

Or thwacked with hail or thunder?

 

Sometimes faces might reveal

A look of such frustration

You know their day’s first hours

Have been filled with aggravation.

 

Yet others wear a glowing smile,

Their confidence so striking

That anyone observing may feel

Their own self-doubt spiking.

 

Of course, the day may then unfold

In ways we can’t envision,

Resulting in an unexpected

‘Fore and aft collision.

 

The early hours, though, provide

A glimpse of the beginning

Of the time stretched out before us,

As our world is slowly spinning.

My Upstairs Neighbors

My building has ten stories,

Sixteen homes on every floor,

And most of them have strangers

Who reside behind each door.

 

My ninth floor neighbors smile and we

May chat while waiting for

An elevator to arrive;

We have a nice rapport.

 

Yet I have no true friendships

Where I live, but on that score,

That’s very common in New York,

Both for the rich and poor.

 

Some tenants have their little quirks

I try hard to ignore,

Though nothing really serious

I haven’t seen before.

 

My upstairs neighbors may exceed

What tolerance I store

Within my hands-off self

And make me just a little sore.

 

For noises that I can’t explain

And hammering galore

Disturb the peace I once enjoyed

And don’t have anymore.

 

Of course, it’s New York City,

Which has clamor at its core,

But I wish my upstairs neighbors

Lived on any other floor.

Chapter 6

I made it into Chapter 6

Before a tiny glint

Of recognition told me,

Through that itty bitty hint

 

That I’d read that novel once before

And praised it first time ‘round.

I even checked a list I keep

Where, yes, that book was found.

 

I started keeping track of all

The reading that I do.

A star next to a title means

I loved it through and through.

 

You’d think that I’d remember,

If I liked a book a lot,

All the characters and settings

And, most naturally, the plot. 

 

But brain cells die off every day

And often just a week

Is all it takes for what I’ve read

To hide where I can’t seek.

 

So what to do now in the midst

Of this once-finished text?

I’ll start on Chapter 7;

I’ve no clue what happens next.

Cawfee and a Bagel

There’s a gingerbread contest each year

Where iconic New York scenes appear.

It’s impressive to see,

With each prize nominee,

How creative folks are around here.

 

First the Statue of Liberty sat

And the Brooklyn Bridge right after that,

Plus the Chelsea Hotel,

Chrysler Building as well,

All within the New York habitat.

 

Still, my favorite creation by far

Had no building, no bridge, boat or car,

But a real breakfast treat

Most New Yorkers might eat

Which, to me, in this show, was the star.

 

‘Twas a take-out container of joe,

Which the locals call “cawfee,” you know,

Plus a cream-cheese filled bagel

Someone did finagle

From gingerbread, just for the show.

 

I don’t know if it won the first prize,

But it brought much delight to my eyes,

So hats off, Juliet,*

For I’m sure, I would bet,

From your project much joy did arise.

 

*Juliet Galea, the artist

Our Homes

Within our homes, what really matters,

Barring the décor,

Is how we feel, despite some tatters

Or an aging floor.

 

For if we’ve made a cozy haven

Where we can unwind,

The stress or tension we’ve been savin’

Can be left behind.

 

Each hand-picked tchotchke, rug or table,

Photograph or lamp

Creates a space where we are able

To imprint our stamp.

 

Our rooms reflect what makes us smile,

Chosen for ourselves.

If others do not like our style

Or what sits on our shelves,

 

It doesn’t matter even slightly.

We just do our best

To please the ones who, day and nightly,

Share our little nest.

Shoeless

In certain homes you can’t wear shoes;

The option isn’t yours to choose.

It doesn’t line up with my views,

But I can understand it.

Though I was just surprised to read

That certain offices took heed

And told employees that they need -

In fact, they did demand it -

To shed their footwear at the door,

No matter what type that they wore.

This order they could not ignore;

The high-ups did command it.

To me, that is a step too far,

For shoes show who you really are

And wearing slippers might just mar

Your rep and how you brand it.

At home, you maybe act the slob,

But when you dress up for your job,

No boss should be allowed to rob

Your look, the way you planned it.

No Mis-steak

A brand-new pyramid’s been built,

Which might give us conniptions,

But this one’s made by just one man

Instead of the Egyptians.

 

Unlike the older version, which

Endorsed a healthy diet,

This time we’re pushed to eat red meat,

Though vegans may not buy it.

 

Aside from steak and burgers,

Whole milk cheese and foods like that,

We’re being told we should indulge

In saturated fat.

 

The Heart Association thinks

This puts us on the track

For many more Americans

To have a heart attack.

 

But hey – this is our country now,

A topsy-turvy land,

With lunatics and blowhards

And their minions in command.

What Makes Me Tick

In early years, we introduce

Our kids to rhymes of Mother Goose

And then move up to Dr. Seuss

In hopes that joy will stick.

 

In school, most teachers reproduce

Some famous poems and then induce

Their students, taking no excuse,

To write their versions, quick.

 

This seems like language arts abuse

And children might just say vamoose

When rhyme and rhythm, like a noose,

Constrain them, tight and thick.

 

To me, though, as you might deduce,

My rhyming helps my thoughts flow loose,

So ‘til my brain runs out of juice,

It’s what will make me tick.

Five Years Ago

Five years ago today, we watched,

In horror, on TV,

As insurrectionists attacked

Our once-democracy.

 

We couldn’t really comprehend

The havoc we were seeing,

As worldwide outrage hit the waves,

Most normal folk agreeing.

 

The government held hostage,

While the president stood by

For many drawn-out hours,

Which was covered with a lie.

 

And all those brought to justice

Sadly pardoned and released,

Our Constitution, once revered,

Now tattered, stained and creased.

 

I thought we’d seen the worst of things,

But that was just the start

For we couldn’t know just how our country

Would be torn apart.

Back to School

Today the kids go back to school;

Employees head to work.

The new year’s not the greatest time

For anyone to shirk.

 

Vacation days are over;

Just the memories remain

And from procrastination,

Everybody must refrain.

 

A span of weeks needs filling up

With classes, chores and such,

Appointments, meetings, homework, tests;

It sometimes seems too much.

 

Yet right around the bend, there’ll be

A holiday or stretch

Of days when school is closed, so now

It doesn’t pay to kvetch.

 

Just buckle down and dive right in

To join this brand-new mix

Of all that you have planned to do

In 2026!