Poetry Here (Mostly)

Other Views

Even though lacking for attention,

my enthusiastic garden grows

from seeds of optimism.

There, spider rhythm and design create

tapestries of patterned beauty,

like sonnets composed from gossamer.

How much happier might I feel, if

instead of staring at electronic screens

I observed the news in my backyard.

Christmastime in New York

Lumberjacks trolling Oneonta 
chose a mighty Norwegian spruce,
serrated, metal teeth sheared
trunk from its aged earthy roots.

Despite the horrendous buzz
and thrum of tottering vibration, 
a timid, tiny owl stayed hidden
inside needled ramification.

Scared, secluded bird, a saw-whet,
swaying like a silver feathered bell
through Timber thundered crash
and transport in conifer that fell.

She and tree traveled together 
to Rockefeller Center; one got
decorated, other, discovered;
both were soon photographed a lot. 

Media posted “Rocky” staring,
pupils ringed by narrow iris gold. 
Cute little owl in turtle-neck wrap,
inspired ornament now being sold.  

Dehydrated, hungry and afraid, 
arrived unfit and unable to try.
In rehab, owl recuperated,
set loose, she decided to fly.

At dusk, caregivers let bird go, 
saw her take off from Saugerties,
200 miles from owl’s old home,
and Manhattan’s famous tree.

Will the owl head to Oneonta, 
I wonder if mate or mother care;
is it possible they miss and seek
her in a tree no longer there?

Taking Its Course

Every day more sick, more dead
corroborate corona dread.

Proactively we separate,
then passive and alone we wait.

Staying home protects all people,
not just old or somewhat feeble.

As the sun rises right on cue,
through window view a spread of blue.

Nary a cloud floats in the sky,
hope silver lining soon stops by.

Such is life as quintessential
member of the non-essential.

Social Distancing


Another photo from my window. Even the clouds seem to be socially distant. Of course, gazing out is not all I accomplished today. Had a sudden urge to rearrange my linen closet. How many towels and sheets do a couple actually need? Some go back 30 years. A few raggedy towels set aside for wet dogs, but most of the rest are now back on shelves neatly folded and piled one upon the other. I still haven’t got the hang of folding elasticized bottom sheets, even after video lessons.

Last night, I cooked up that pack of pork chops left behind by the hoarders. A bit thicker than I usually fry, but not bad. Sprinkled with some Mrs. Dash original seasoning and dabbed with soy sauce they baked up well on my cast iron pizza pan. Leftovers tonight.

By the way, I have always loved bleach and nowadays even more. Two tablespoons in a quart of water, a disposable glove and a rag rubs out you know what on door knobs, and other items that might possibly be contaminated.

Staying Home


Partly cloudy with the threat of a shower. Took a photo from my window, and probably that’s a far as I’ll go out today. Every news outlet and health organization warn the elderly to socially distance, especially when there are underlying conditions. Haven’t noticed any myself, but if I do, I hope that, like sleeping dogs, they continue to lie and not bother me.

Yesterday, I didn’t feel like 72 (or maybe, paraphrasing Gloria Steinem’s words when she turned 50, this is what 72 feels like) when I courageously ventured out into the viral world, while pulling my trusty shopping cart. At Ralph’s grocery, it was interesting to see which items were not being hoarded.I found no fresh or frozen chicken, but plenty of beef liver, and in the pasta aisle, there were mostly empty shelves except for the healthful types of wholewheat spaghetti. Yes, they had no bananas, but plenty of cabbage. And, it’s lucky we like lima beans because there weren’t many other choices among the frozen vegetables. I also grabbed some edame (soy pods), spinach, and corn cobs.

I felt little personal concern regarding the lack of toilet paper, as the day before (Friday) I’d found three rolls at CVS, and another 3 at Rite Aid, so added to the four at home, we can “go” for quite a while.

I can’t purchase more than my cart can hold, but loaded down with canned goods (beans and soups) and other stay-at-home-if-I-have-to supplies, it’s likely I dragged home 30 pounds. A good workout, especially when climbing a steep hill. I don’t drive so I am used to such challenges, and it was really no big deal, not even for someone classified as “elderly.”


Green, red-headed parrots
wildly party downtown.
Their sociable squawk-talk
an unrestrained clamor.
But they do remain mum,
about where they came from.


And I Called It A Day

The sun was out
when I got up
but it went in
when I went out
so I went in
to do some chores
and after I had washed the floors
the sun came out
while I was in
so once again I ventured out
a breeze was playing with a kite
but soon sun was a setting sight,
then as the sun gave in to night
I went inside and switched on light.

October lemons green as limes
merry yellow by Christmas time.
Tree unfazed by sizzles or storms,
by wintertime it stands adorned.

When garden ornaments turn ripe,
juicy bulbs hang heavy and bright.
Leaves fasten stems like angel wings,
fragrant spheroids dangle and swing.

Shear Disaster


I woke to aromatic scent

still scolding my garden clothes,

a dress-up outfit I had worn

like a kid who pretends to be

a doctor, a sailor, a pilot,

a firefighter, or just grownup.


Yesterday, I clipped the rosemary

that looked to be related

to Rapunzel and Diana Ross.

At first I styled with caution,

then, crazily, I cut random stalks,

piles of fragrant fringes fell.


An over-zealous barber,

I felt compelled to keep cropping.

Bush parted in an Alfalfa do.

Poor topiary Little Rascal,

its stubborn points of cowlick

still try to stand up to my mischief.


Blameless bush do not despair,

for folklore prizes your memory.

You can repair if you recall

that grand old-style impression,

so symmetrical and profuse,

like a Jackie Kennedy bouffant.




Pink Monkey-1

Chimps should give poetry a go,
for, no doubt, they’d know how to toe
a rhyme and make a stanza screech.

Their poetry would bare sharp teeth,
fling coconuts and just for fun,
smack lips and stick out tongues.

From their creative exhibitions,
we might overcome our inhibitions,
and on our own simian lines we’d swing.

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