Modern Trick-or-Treating

My grandkids’ trick-or-treating,

In the suburbs, with their friends,

Will be in or near their houses,

Where the average neighbor tends

To be well-equipped with candy -

Only treats, no need for tricks,

And their haul will yield a varied

Gummy - chocolate type mix.

In the city, many buildings,

Just like ours, produced a list

We would sign so trick-or-treaters

Would not let our door be missed.

When the children rang the doorbell,

We could greet them if we’d wish

Or just leave the candy in the hall,

Which filled a bowl or dish.

Things are different now; no strangers,

Even kids, can come upstairs.

People donate to a giant box

A lobby table bears.

The spirit’s somehow missing 

When the doorman acts as host,

Stopping both a would-be robber 

Or a kindergarten ghost.

The Art of Voting

Today I voted early

In my early polling place

Which, because of where I live,

Is in a very special space.

 

Through a side door in the Met,

A prime museum in the city,

Is a room set up for voting

By a government committee.

 

In the days before elections,

There is rarely any crowd,

So I quickly fill my ballot,

Then get ready to be wowed.

 

Since as long as I’ve walked over,

I will stay to see some art.

Once my membership is checked, then I

Decide where I should start.

 

This morning, with my spouse,

We saw the Krasner/Pollock show,

In addition to some galleries

With paintings we both know.

 

Also, we took in the drawings

Of Si Lewen; his “Parade”

Has amazing sketches of the War,*

Among the finest made.

 

I’m lucky when I vote, I have

This opportunity

To do my civic duty in the spot

Where treasures wait for me.

 

*World War II

Not a Small-Town Person

I am not a small-town person,

Though I realize its appeal

Must attract a lot of people

Who see life there as ideal.

 

All the neighbors are acquainted

And they frequent the cafes

And the shops and other venues

To fill up the passing days.

 

People mosey on the sidewalks

And they chat out in the yards.

Things seem safe so no one worries

About letting down their guards.

 

In the city, things are bustling;

We don’t know each other’s names.

Learning everybody’s business

Wouldn’t be one of our claims.

 

On the streets, most like to scurry,

Passing tourists who don’t know

That to wait for lights at corners

Isn’t how things ought to go.

 

There are crowds and noise and hustle,

But there’s so much one can do

That however long you live here,

You will still find something new.

 

Now I know there are exceptions.

But in general, it’s so.

Neither lifestyle is for everyone;

Deep down, though, we all know

 

Which will work to make us happy.

Small-town visits bring delight

But it takes the city’s clamor

To make all my cells ignite.

Edith Wharton’s House

At Edith Wharton’s house, we learned,

She wrote each day in bed.

It would have made more sense, to me,

To choose a chair instead.

Her bedroom had a lovely view 

Of mountains filled with trees,

So a comfy chair with desk, I’d think,

Would more than likely please.

Of course, I’m not a novelist,

But when I am at home,

I have a favorite chair to sit in

When I write a poem.

My view is of the buildings 

On York Avenue and yes,

The traffic’s very noisy,

Though I notice it much less

Than a writer with a mansion 

Would allow to fill her head.

Still, at least when I start writing,

I get up and out of bed.

In the Berkshires

We’re in the Berkshire Mountains

And it’s glorious for fall - 

The foliage and sunny skies

Have heeded Nature’s call.

We’re doing all the tourist stuff -

Museums, gardens, trails,

And strolling through some towns and stores,

Which every trip entails.

Our photos capture some of it -

The beauty and the art,

But the timing is, to me,

What really sets this one apart.

For coming down from what were 

Quite emotional events,

We needed such a getaway,

Since what this represents

Is a celebration of the fact

That everything we’d planned

Worked out beautifully despite the stress

I barely could withstand.

It’s wonderful to have the chance

To sigh with great relief

And reward ourselves with travel,

Even though the visit’s brief.

Making a Broom

At Hancock Shaker Village,

We signed up to make a broom,

A skill the Shakers practiced

And perfected, we’d assume.

Our trusty teachers* guided us

With broomcorn, sticks and thread,

Their patience and their knowledge 

Helping us to get ahead.

The actual construction

Was a challenge, I’ll admit,

But some caught on rather quickly;

We did not, but didn’t quit.

The instructors buoyed our spirits,

Guaranteeing we’d succeed

And when trying something new,

That’s really all that people need.

At the end, we left the workshop,

Both our brooms held up with pride.

Though they’re not the most aesthetic,

We felt happy that we tried.

*Robin and Donna

Renewing a Passport

We have no plans to go abroad

And who knows if we will,

But our passports need renewing

And we thought we knew the drill

 

Though applying now is possible

Online, which sounded great.

The problem was the picture,

Quite a challenge to create.

 

We’d answered all the questions –

Names, addresses and the like

And we’d read about the photos,

With the poses we should strike.

 

So we found a plain white wall and smiled,

Without a toothy grin,

And we took each other’s pictures –

That’s when problems did begin.

 

First, the lighting wasn’t bright enough

Or a head was at a tilt.

We’d repeat with the corrections

As our energy did wilt.

 

When we thought we had it perfect,

One last puzzle had us stumped –

Fitting faces in a circle –

Each attempt kept getting bumped.

 

I am glad to say that finally

Perseverance saved the day

And my husband’s efforts got the nod –

Our photos were okay.

 

Now our forms have been submitted,

Which is wonderful, although

It would really be much better

If we had a place to go.

Orange-Leaved Trees

Oh, when I see an orange tree,

(I’m talkin’ ‘bout the leaves),

It brings a dose of joy to me

That not much else achieves.

Combined with yellow trees and reds,

The offerings of fall,

That happy feeling quickly spreads 

And I am in their thrall

Until the season fades away

Or I’m not in a place

Where I can see them every day,

Such beauty to embrace.

I know that others will defend

Their willows or their palms

And they are lovely, I’ll contend,

But I have zero qualms 

Declaring maples, gums and beech,

Whose oranges just glow,

As those which do their best to teach

The lessons they bestow.

A Pigeon Poem

Toss a smidgen to a pigeon;

He’ll proceed to pit-a-pat

On skinny feet to find the treat

Wherever it is hiding at.

 

Pigeon chums may join, for crumbs

Attract those finely feathered friends

And as they peck, each glossy neck

Glows purplish as it descends.

 

A sudden noise disturbs the poise

Of pigeons packed into a group.

As if on cue, they’ll rise and do

What they know best, which is to swoop.

 

A circled flight, though quite a sight,

Last only for the slightest beat,

For once they land, they understand

There are more smidgens left to eat.

My Old Thesaurus

My old thesaurus split in two,

A “treasure house” when it was new.

That’s what it means in Latin, too;

I’ve used it many years.

 

I thought it was from school, but no.

It’s dated 1990, so

I guess I’d hoped my words would flow

If I were switching gears.

 

When writing poems, it’s at my side,

For synonyms, it does provide.

Yet, lately, it can’t be denied,

To the phone my searching steers.

 

The split’s on page 170 –

From “gentleman” to “give,” which, see,

Is on the next page; you’d agree

That, like most of your peers,

 

It’s easier to use the phone,

Which everybody seems to own.

Thesauruses that we have known

Are retro souvenirs.

River Gazing

I do not swim or water ski

And boating’s also not for me,

Including kayak or canoe

Or rowboat, just to name a few.

 

Yet watching water from the land,

It might be hard to understand,

Is soothing like a special balm

Which makes me feel relaxed and calm.

 

I like the way the river ripples

As the sunlight gently stipples,

Picking up the waves of white

That chase each other with delight.

 

I never need to dunk one toe

To love the river’s ebb and flow.

A swimmer I will never be

But river gazing’s fine for me.

When Out-of-Towners Visit

When out-of-towners visit,

You should offer them a taste

Of the city or the neighborhood

You’ve chosen and embraced.

 

A walk along the river,

A museum or a park

Or most anyplace that you enjoy,

To light a little spark.

 

For a home base seen through local eyes

Conveys the pleasure felt

And allows some misconceptions

(It they’re negative) to melt.

 

It’s delightful when, with visitors,

You get to roam and share

Certain places filled with magic,

Which is why you’re living there.

The Post-Event Dinner

At the post-bar mitzvah dinner,

At a table with my son,

Husband, daughter, sibs and spouses,

Tales from memories were spun.

There were certain disagreements 

‘Bout the way that things occurred,

But we laughed at all the tellings, 

Every version getting heard.

When the meal was nearly over,

We were joined, and what a joy!

By the star attraction of the day -

The proud bar mitzvah boy.

(By the way, he’s still a boy to me,

Though passing me in height.

I know he’s technically a man,

But nanas have that right.)

He joined in our camaraderie,

Each anecdote a peek

At the younger selves of relatives

He’d never thought to seek.

Some logic puzzles followed 

And his sister joined the crowd,

Intrigued by all the laughter

And where cursing was allowed.

A perfect ending to a day

Of magic, unsurpassed -

A circle joining ancient rites,

The future and the past.

Henry’s Big Day

The family was gathered

To be there and show support,

And now it’s almost over

So I’ll turn in my report.

To watch a child you’ve known since birth 

Take center stage and shine 

Is more than one can hope for,

Yet this grandson’s really mine.

Though he was nervous (so he claimed),

There was no way to tell,

For he handled every aspect of

The services so well.

His readings, most in Hebrew,

Were delivered loud and strong,

His confidence apparent

When his voice was raised in song.

And then his speech! Amazing!

Filled with thoughts reflective of

The expansive mind and sense of humor

Everyone must love.

Emotions bubbled up inside 

In ways I can’t convey,

But I’m oh, so grateful I was part

Of Henry’s special day.

Given the Chance

When a distance of hundreds of miles 

Keeps you far from some kith and kin smiles,

If you’re given the chance 

To reduce that expanse,

Take advantage whatever your styles.

Take a plane or a train or a car 

(Guess depending on how far you are)

And don’t try to complain

If on memory lane

You find all doors and windows ajar.

You may laugh ‘til you think you might pee

And be shocked at how much you agree.

Take it in and enjoy,

Letting nothing annoy,

For who knows when the next time will be.

A Minor Gripe

With all the worries people have

About A.I., so scary,

I have a gripe against it, too,

But mine’s quite ordinary.

 

When I am texting or online

With email or just writing,

I’ll start a sentence, then some words

Appear, my wrath igniting.

 

For mostly, they are not the ones

That I would have selected,

Although they are the ones A.I.

Had obviously expected.

 

At first, it just annoyed me;

Now it’s filling me with rage,

For I deserve control of thoughts

I transfer to the page.

 

Of all there is to moan about

In how we live today,

I realize this is minor,

But at least I’ve had my say.

 

If politics won’t bring you down

(If not, I wonder why),

Then maybe we can all unite

And kvetch about A.I.

When a Big Event Approaches

When a big event approaches

That you’ve worked towards and awaited,

The kind that needs your loved ones near

As it is celebrated,

 

It’s natural to feel anxious,

Hoping all will go as planned,

As anyone who’s been there

Will be sure to understand.

 

There must be some who smoothly

Take preparing in their stride,

Who do what needs their input,

Cool and calm personified.

 

That’s not me, however, as

The opposite’s more fitting,

With stress and pure anxiety

The foes I’m not outwitting.

 

Yet as the day gets closer,

I know all my preparation

Will allow me to let go and

Revel in the celebration.

Grossed Out

Living in the city,

I’m aware of where I walk.

If surroundings raise my hackles,

All my senses start to balk.

 

So I really was astounded

When I glanced down at my shoe

And I realized that I’d somehow

Stepped into a pile of poo.

 

It’s been years since this has happened

And I’m grossed out to the max,

Knowing that until I’ve cleaned it off,

I really can’t relax.

 

I’ll accept the blame for missing

What an owner didn’t scoop,

But I’m angry that so many dogs

Are free to leave their poop

 

Anywhere they feel like squatting

So the sidewalks reek of it

And when owners are too lazy,

You, like me, can step in #*&!

East River Fish

The fisherman was tugging

On the line; he had a bite.

And just as I was passing him,

He pulled with all his might.

 

A good-sized fish was hooked

And flopped around where it was dropped,

Its life in the East River,

In that sudden motion, stopped.

 

I caught the eye of someone

With her dog, who saw the catch.

I asked if she would eat it;

Our opinions clearly matched.

 

Despite what’s in the river, though,

I knew, for sure, that fish

Would be proudly served for supper

On that fisherman’s best dish.

Ditching the Maps

When cleaning out our car, we found

At least a dozen maps,

The paper kind you have to fold

And not the ones on apps.

 

The New York state one sat on top,

With Jersey right below

And then a Northeast version

With some places we would go.

 

Assorted other versions, based

On driving trips, were there –

Vermont and Pennsylvania, Maine

And more of who knows where.

 

Sometimes we’d plan the routes before

We started on the drive

And highlight all the highways

We would travel to arrive.

 

Once maps were opened, it was quite

A challenge just to hold ‘em,

But even worse was trying,

Single-handed, to refold ‘em.

 

We tossed them all; technology

Has made them obsolete.

With WAZE at hand, the memory

Of maps is bittersweet.