To mark a big occasion
There
should be a special meal,
Most
often in a restaurant;
(At
least that’s how I feel).
Today’s
the anniversary
Of
when I met my mate,
So
therefore we will dine somewhere
Outside
to celebrate.
Without
a reservation
We’ll
just stroll around the ‘hood
And
peek at menus, noting
If
the food and drink sound good.
It’s
not our usual routine,
But
after all these years,
Most
anyplace will do to eat
And
toast this date with beers.
It’s magic walking in the dark,
The
sidewalks empty, shadows stark
And
dogs have not begun to bark;
There’s
promise in the air.
The
birds are waking in the park,
Each
chirp a beak-to-beak remark
And
on the river, tugboats hark,
En
route to who-knows-where.
When
daylight breaks I disembark
From
reveries the pre-dawns spark
As
I confront the question mark
Of
how the day will fare.
When words are running rampant
You
just have to rein them in.
By
lassoing a few of them,
At
least you can begin.
They’ll
buck and kick and race around,
Defiantly
at first,
Especially
the adjectives –
You
know that they’re the worst.
But
once you calm them down and let
The
verbs and adverbs mix,
The
nouns and pronouns may decide
To
use their bag of tricks…
Releasing
prepositions
And
conjunctions by the score.
You
want some interjections?
Hey!
You couldn’t ask for more.
If
all the parts of speech are caught
You
don’t have an excuse.
Without
a poem resulting,
You
should go and let them loose.
So
string them all together
And
you’ll possibly succeed
In
creating, from these random words,
Some
poetry to read.
Everybody’s life is very
Different from our own,
For preferences and habits
Are just ours and ours alone.
It’s strange, but even family
And yes, our closest friends,
Will make choices not in sync
With what our being recommends.
Of course, there are no rights or wrongs -
Each person is unique
And finding what works best for us
Is what we all do seek.
I marvel at the ways in which
We choose from life’s buffet,
Our meals so varied though we face
The same exact display.
The temperature is 21 -
Though cold, it fits the season,
But that does not explain why,
While out walkin’ I was freezin.’
For when you factor wind chill in,
It feels like single digits
And teeth that chatter from the cold
Have naught to do with fidgets.
The streets are strewn with boxes
Left out for the garbage truck,
Which, when hit with gale-force blastings,
Couldn’t help but fly amok.
To those who aren’t used to
Cold that chills you to the bone,
Blame it mainly on that wintry wind
That won’t leave us alone.
It’s strange to have a memory
That
no one else can share.
I
asked my brother but he was
Too
young, though he was there.
My
bedroom lamp, with two glass globes
Was
missing one and so
I
placed my doll’s straw hat right where
That
globe was meant to go.
Of
course, it rested on the bulb
And
soon began to smell
As
smoke began to fill the air
And
I began to yell.
My
mother ran into the room
And
fixed things as I cringed.
I
never saw that lamp again;
The
hat was slightly singed.
I
wonder, were my mom alive,
If
hearing this would spark
A
recollection of that day
Which
left, on me, a mark.
When driving, if your speed is slow,
It’s
always recommended
That
to the right’s where you should go,
As
road rules have intended.
The
left lane is for passing or
If
maybe you are speeding
And
middle lanes may help ensure
That
traffic flow’s succeeding.
Among
most drivers, there exists
A
tacit understanding
That
anyone who thus resists
Will
face some reprimanding.
So
driving slowly on the left
May
earn some bright lights flashing
Or
someone on your tail whose heft
May
threaten rear-end bashing.
It
isn’t nice, but most of us
Would
actually expect it
And
those affected rarely fuss
But
grudgingly accept it.
Yet
lately some aggressive fools
Are
tailing right lane drivers
In
violation of the rules,
Which
may leave no survivors.
The
attitude I see today,
Which
seems to be contagious,
Is
“Me, me, me – don’t block my way!”
On
roads, it is outrageous!
