One of the regulars down at the courts,
Larry, is eighty now famous for coifed
Hair, and immune to our mild, teasing snorts.
Educated children, grandchildren, waft

About his soul. He and his family
Have shared both mazel and tsouris enough—
Proud emotion, piqued by the awesome glee
Of birth and joy, darkened by the rebuff

Of illness and bone crushing accident.
Yet, through it all, he has remained unique—
Quietly dependable, provident,
He watches over us, cares for the bleak,

Helps even the drunk thieves who hang about,
Picks up the tab. We watch him from our bench—
He represents (we know and want to shout)
The very definition of a mensch.
(10/20/13)
Mazel = luck; Tsouris = trouble; Mensch = human in the highest sense.

They’ve been there before,
Several times.

Why, I ask myself,
Are they submitting
(First class notwithstanding),
To the anguish
Of international flights—
The searches,
The suspect shoes,
Forbidden fluids,
Interminable hours
Locked in a plane?

In my heart I know
They would prefer
The simple pleasure
Of serene routine:
A movie, a play,
A pleasant dinner out
At that amiable
Nearby restaurant.

In my heart I know
The reason.
They sublimate
Their real desires,
Submit to discomfort,
Painful foreign holidays.

The women they’re attached to
Are too young.
(10/3/13)

Take a step forward, turn, and then look back—
Expelled, helpless, into mammalian life,
Parental goads and education’s wrack—
We learned desire, envy, endured strife.

We’ve seen it all—wives, kids, divorces, death—
Our noble species seared by ceaseless wars—
Survived it all, arthritic, drawing breath,
Amazed at modern hist’ry’s vile uproars,

And wonder, as death looms, since die we must,
Just why in hell we suffered all that fuss.
(1/25/13)

In olden times, the laureate was forced
To celebrate occasions—that new birth,
A coronation, perhaps the grim course
Of recent history. To prove my worth,

(Though no laureate), I’ll accept the task
Because this event’s a true occasion—
The birthday of a neighbor, who, unmasked,
Amazing—requires no persuasion.

Her gleaming virtues are unique—she gives,
And gives, and gives without a need to take—
Love for her large family—the motives
That drive her midwife life for infants’ sake.

She’s forty-eight today—and we are blessed—
Her beauty argues for two decades less!
(10/27/12)

Down at the paddle tennis courts, a girl
Joined me on my favorite bench and asked,
“Written any poems this week?” Her pearly
Skin, flushed with youth, left me bemused and tasked.

Though pride’s a famous sin, I must confess
I swelled a bit, declaimed my latest wit.
That earned a pout—“You write of Nat’lie’s flesh,
Andrea’s ass, and Lisa’s depth and tits,

For pity’s sake, ‘midst all your sassy glee,
Why can’t you write some verses about me?”
(8/12/12)

It’s strange. Human peculiarities
Often direct self-deserved invective
Outward, a hundred and eighty degrees,
Wounding gracious friends with sharp verbal shivs.

I blame it on advanced technology.
(The bane of all decrepit older folks)
New advances deepen pathology,
And hidden cyber waves cause mental pokes.

But still, ungratefulness is an abuse.
To shout at him, to denigrate his taste—
That foolishness was simply an excuse
To hide my worn out wit, my mind abased.

I went for comic—uttered duds and crud—
Sincere apologies, perhaps, staunch blood!
Truth told? I love these quiet, wholesome hooks:
Reclining chair, dish of nuts, toothsome books.
(6/15/12)

Thereafter, each time we met, snarkily
They teased. “So, did you get that TV yet?
C’mon Marv, do it!” Increasingly shrill—
Then the old TV gasped itself to death.

We did it—47 inches wide!
It took three days and two apt technicians
To get it home and up—perhaps the snide
Remarks would now pause, morph to contrition

For a moment, until they came to know
It’s not a Sony, just a Vizio.
(7/30/11)

Face it! Life’s a mash—dark, bright, sweet and sour.
Next week, Jim’s daughter arrives at his flat—
One bedroom, a bit tight—he’ll have to scour
The place to make it right. She brings three cats,

And a grandchild (two years plus). Family,
Of course, delights, expels flat emptiness
That swells the dark, provides epiphanies
That feed his life with spirited largess.

Still, three indoor cats trapped in that small space
Create experience that leads to drink.
Jim’s searching now to find the means (with grace)
To minimize cat excremental stink.

Scoop Away’s what you need: deodorant,
And clumping sand: a not unpleasant scent!
                       (5/25/10)

Haven’t seen her for a month. I asked Jim—
Her close friend—where’s our sprightly goddess been?
His eyes dimmed; stone-faced, lips white, taut, and grim,
He told me she was ill. Our shining jinn

Was ill! Clearly no vagrant flu explained
Jim’s desolation. I could not ask more—
Silently, I shrieked, bitterly complained—
Counted dispensable boors—then implored:

Mon dieu, tu sais, ce n’est pas juste—
Alors, ce n’est pas juste, mon dieu!
                                (3/18/10)

Watched everything attentively,
And Cousin Jordan lent his hands
To keep the party filled with glee.
The names, those tangled twisted strands,

Resonate historically.
The youngest, Cyrus, freed the Jews
(Thrashed Babylon), because he needs
Strategic buffers to defuse

Egypt’s aspirations—foretold
By Isaiah (that loud organ).
This to and fro-ing all unfolds
Right there on old river Jordan!

Which leaves Jason and Poppy—dad
And mom. Now, Jason’s tale’s too long,
Too bloody, too complex, too sad
To retell here. You’d best not wrong

Your wife as Jay did Medea,
Lest your fate mirror his tragic
Fall from grace—look it up and see
The price imposed by Dee’s magic!

Poppy’s a lovely flower—strong
And beautiful—the source of peace,
Addiction also. But no wrong
Ensues when poppy decreases

Pain medicinally. These names—
Rich with awe-filled myth, mystery—
Endow this family with claims
Embedded in fierce history.
                    (3/12/10)