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Connubial Afterthoughts

When I'd been married long enough To have perfumes and gifts collected, A diamond ring, a golden bracelet, And faux that couldn't be detected, I found that when the gifts increase, The husband gives to cover a lack; And knew, of course, a wife is never Foolish enough to give them back. I sold the diamond ring to a dealer. I lost the bracelet years ago. The Shalimar evaporated. I guess it went where marriages go.

Just Desserts

(written in the former century)

In the year Twenty-o-five
when gone are the days of gusto,
If we are here and still alive
and not down among the dust, oh
If we prettily curl our hair
and try to gird up our bust, oh
If we rise up out of our chair
to look at the day with trust, oh
Then can we have our Just Desserts?

"Jolly well damn betcha.
But you'll be stuck with 'em till it hurts."
Knew that one would getcha.

The Lines from If to Then

If all the world, as written, is a stage and if, as most assorted sayers of sooth agree, we turn the same pre-printed page and fail to change the dialogue, then truth is really set in granite as we feared, and all of our illusions perish faster. When for this cause our ship has not been steered, our fate has been a thing without a master, or just a box of fortune cookies, broken, or fear of flying calmed within a cage. But if we change the lines we haven't spoken, Then all the world, as written, is a stage.

The Listener

When we are young, great are the choices; Hear every tongue, hark to the voices, The hurry-up sound, the rushing of years, The unsteady ground to add to our fears. As life goes by, we listen and heed To sort out the lie, and satisfy need. At least may we find the quietness of A satisfied mind, a memory of love, And hope for the part we always heard best: An occupied heart makes up for the rest. Soon getting old untroubles the choice; Truth can be told by only one voice.

Standing Room Only (a Metrical)

When Life becomes a jelly bag and you just hang there, draining, And Life becomes a colander and you just sit there, straining, And Life becomes a garlic press from which your tears are raining, It's time to move your theater from the kitchen to the hall, Where Life is more an open door in which the wind is blowing, And Life is more a sturdy floor on which the dirt is showing, And let the more familiar features tell you what you're knowing: At least the room is larger when you live against the wall.

Of the Rich and Famous

The rich are always with us.
They're so easy to despise
With their ostentatious houses
And their cold, voracious eyes.
Their manner is evasive
And their opulence persuasive.
Though I envy much about them,
I would rather live without them.

The famous rise and linger.
There are just the basic kinds
With their understated costumes
And their addlepated minds.
Their gestures are offensive
And their habits are expensive.
Though I do deride and doubt them,
I could surely live without them.

The common folk are legion.
That we have an equal right
Doesn't make us rich and famous,
Or alleviate our plight.
You may think the words I say are
The result of jealousy,
But they wouldn't be what they are
If it weren't for those like me.

Let me punctuate my diction
With a firmly held conviction:
This would not apply to me
If I won the lottery.

The Midlife Pride of All Be Dear

(A very old poem, one of my first. Of course, I didn't start poeting in earnest until I was a grandmother)

Listen, my child, and you shall hear
All the words of wisdom you ignored
When I spoke them. You repeat them clear
And true to your own child, who is bored,
And know at last. My wish for you is
That you'll be there to witness nearly
The same words spoken again to his
By him, and rejected just as clearly.

---

A Man's Chair

My father had a favorite chair
From which he ruled his small domain
Until his last days, sitting there
With eyes that twinkled through his pain.
And when he passed away this year,
I knew I'd miss him quite a while
And yet, when sadness comes too near,
I see him in his chair and smile.

My husband had a favorite chair
In which he sat and lied to me,
And all the years I had him there
Were ruined by chicanery.
And when he left, I had some doubt
That I could carry on, for then
I only wished to throw it out
And never see that chair again.

My son, as you complete each test
And come to wisdom in your ways,
A family man, please do your best
To live a life that earns you praise,
And cause your loved ones no despair,
That when your time on earth is through,
They look upon your favorite chair
And smile when they remember you.

The Wildebanty Wiles

They raise a lot of dust, you
are breathing shifting sands.
They have to learn to trust you,
their lives are in your hands.
When they get a chill, you
must worry through the night.
Their little battles kill you,
so young they learn to fight.
Their habits often try you,
and quickly they're so tall,
Their youth has gone right by you,
it took no time at all.
Then none can ever match them -
free spirits they will be,
But you can only catch them
long enough to see.
Is this our life's elixer
or just a lot of noise?
And are they baby chicks or
are they little boys?

Then if we ever give them
the status that they crave,
It's only to outlive them
and put them in their grave.
So living by the hour
depletes their season's length,
But they must feel the power
and make a show of strength,
And once they have a chance to
be boss, they'll be a Czar,
And learn to preen and dance to
show how tough they are.
They pick and choose their mates then,
and seldom are they true,
But failure demonstrates: then
the problem must be you.
The ego needs a boost or
the fire needs a fan.
And do I mean a rooster
or do I mean a man?

The Night I Waited for Winter

I lived for years where the balmy seas       Swallowed up every hint of a frigid breeze,     And it felt like living in the Florida Keys,   And I kept my longings hid. But December came, and I whispered, Please, I'm sick of hot winter days like these,     Let me see once more the one-digit degrees That I knew before as a kid. It got so late, I was on my knees And the sun was shining on the bottom of the trees,       And it still took years for the ground to freeze,       And I died before it did.

Perfection at Last

I never cared much for little humans Unless they were related to me, And this reduced the number of kiddies That I could abide substantially. So excepting mine, I kept my distance From midget folks just the way I planned, But suddenly mine got old enough That my very own child produced a grand. So I make a point of observation Of all the new, improved young today, But only one gives some indication..... I'm sure you know what I'm going to say.