Two kids, two grands and four balloons,
The
older kid in charge,
Morphed
into a balloon class
With
the merriment writ large.
Instructions
varied: “Use your wrists”
Or
“Alternate your hands,”
As
three of us all did our best,
Obeying
the commands.
Balloons
were tapped or lightly punched
And
floated through the air,
The
outside world inconsequential
While
we four were there.
The
“teacher” gave his course a name
And
set it to a tune.
We
“watched, we practiced and we learned”
This
Sunday afternoon.
Way back when, at mankind’s dawn,
Before most known inventions,
Humans gave in to a yawn
Despite their best intentions.
Yawning never disappeared;
It’s lasted through the ages
And to a yawn a face is geared
When thinking disengages.
Tiredness could be the cause
From lack of sleep or illness
Or when somebody needs a pause
From boredom’s awful stillness.
One more reason mouths give in
To open is the spawning
Of the contagion which will win
When other folks are yawning.
Lovely feedback, makes me glow,
Taking time to let me know
That my efforts hit the mark
And even caused some smiles to spark.
A job well done feels great inside
But emails, texts and calls provide
An extra boost that’s guaranteed
To let me know some folks agreed.
Of course, some feedback might report
The opposite of true support
Although, for now, I’m all abeam,
Ensconced within a thumbs-up dream.
Sometimes even happy things
Can
fill your life with stress,
Which
makes room for anxiety,
Not
easy to repress.
It
bubbles up from deep within,
Affecting
all it strikes
In
many different forms, but none
That
anybody likes.
From
sleepless nights to biting nails
To
loss of appetite
Or
drinking way too much
Or
maybe raring for a fight…
The
thoughts that race across the mind
Of
all that can go wrong
Get
pulled into your gut as if
That’s
where they do belong.
If
luck is on your side, that worry
Will
have been for naught
But
sadly, in its web we often
Find
that we are caught.
Every day at 10 or so,
And
yes, I’m keeping track,
The
time has come, my insides know,
For
my mid-morning snack.
Since
breakfast ends by 8 a.m.
And
lunch begins past 12,
A
little treat will hunger stem
So
into one I’ll delve.
Iced
coffee is my chosen drink
And
as for what I’ll eat,
A
mini-muffin’s what I think
Will
make my morn complete.
If
not a muffin, then a slice
Of
loaf cake, cut real thin
Or
else a cookie would be nice,
As
it has always been.
Occasionally,
I’m beset
By
other things at 10,
But
rest assured, I’ll always get
My
snack in later, then.
A news reporter used the word,
And
ended it with “keys,”
But
I have always said it
With
a schwa sound, if you please.
Derived from Yiddish, tchotchkes are
Small
knickknacks you can buy,
Like
trinkets bought as souvenirs.
(You’ll
later wonder why.)
Some
homes are filled, on shelves and sills
With
tchotchkes overflowing.
The
word’s pronunciation, though,
Not
everyone is knowing.
Transliterations
rarely do
Agree
on sound or spelling,
So
if it’s “chotchkas” or “chotchkeys”
Is
your choice for the telling.
If you’re a woman, whoop-dee-doo!
Today’s
the day that’s just for you
To
celebrate the role you play
In
life, despite unequal pay.
There’s
surely been some progress made,
Perhaps
deserving a parade,
For
you can go to school and vote,
Run
for office – win and gloat.
You
can own a home or store –
They
can’t stop you anymore.
Join
the army, lead a band
Wed
your girlfriend, buy some land.
Host
a talk show, get real rich;
Run
a business, make a pitch.
Write
a memoir, practice law,
Protest
‘til your throat is raw.
Still,
you aren’t equal yet
For
some still see you as a threat
And
if your rights held equal sway,
You
wouldn’t need this special day!
