All Poems

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Art/Arts, Beaches, Natural Beauty

Wellfleet’s Bounty

Posted on

 

Oysters, clams, lobsters.

Seals, sand, shells.

Oceans, bays, ponds.

Swamps, salt grass, crabs.

Goldfinches, seagulls, plovers.

Boats, trucks, traps.

Gardens bursting hydrangeas.

Day lilies, daisies, Echinacea blossoms.

Black-eyed Susans, roses.

Queen Anne’s lace, ivy.

Galleries galore.

Waving us in to sample images of the Cape.

Captured on canvas.

Price tags carrying hours, days, love sweat.

Twenty-four hundred dollars, four thousand.

Six thousand, eight thousand.

Though beauties all, I learned something along the way.

When I choose to change décor, swap out a painting on the wall.

I cannot recoup the cost.

And I do not have the heart to discard it.

So, for right now, I eschew the art.

Guarding the natural beauty of Wellfleet.

In eyes, ears, tongue, fingertips, mind.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 18, 2019

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Farewell, Gardens, Loss, Seasons

Blue Mist Spirea Blooms

Posted on

Tree leaves dry and fall.

Hydrangeas, zinnias, impaciens

brown around the edges.

While blue mist spirea blooms thrive.

Attracting bees, butterflies by dozens

to soft, fragrant blossoms.

Taking chilly air in stride.

Rejoicing the changing seasons.

An attitude I’d like to don,

along with jacket, scarf, gloves,

on crisp late September mornings.

So now, each day as I stroll by,

I pinch a bud, a leaf.

Sniff aromas heavenly

to postpone transition grief.

Though Winter hides, teases

behind perfect autumn days,

I refuse servile submission

to her dark and cold charades.

Instead, like hungry honey bees,

I’ll find my favorite flowers.

Frolic, play, and hover,

scatter pollinator powers.

Lynn Benjamin

September 29, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Farewell, Humor, Panic, St. Croix, 2022, Stories, Time, Trips and Places, Worry

Was it Merely Luck or a Freudian Slip?

Posted on

Our trip to St. Croix was winding down.

News of a snowstorm blew from the north.

Boarding pass advising arrival at least an hour before the flight.

We followed instructions.

Only to be barred from checking in.

By an American clerk, standing firm.

Pointing to the sign.

Check-in at least ninety minutes prior to departure.

We beseeched.

Begged.

Panicked.

No dice.

No entry.

No re-booking till tomorrow at 6pm.

What about the connection in Miami?

That would have to wait three days.

Then, photos on the phone flashed by.

Snow blanketing streets, lawns, roofs in Philadelphia.

Where it was obscenely cold.

So, maybe, just maybe, though appointments

would have to be rearranged,

this was lucky happenstance.

Or was it more Freudian?

Unconscious wish to remain in paradise.

With lizards.

Pelicans.

Terns.

Engineered just slightly by mistiming to materialize?

Lynn Benjamin

January 29, 2022

All Poems, Gardens, Seasons

October’s Raspberries

Posted on

 

October’s raspberries are plump and full of juice.

They hide in clusters under rows of leaves.

Chewed into lace legacies by August beetles.

 

Loosen just one berry and six fall in your hand.

Staining your fingers red and sweet.

Tempting you to pop one on your tongue.

 

Savor the nectar as you slowly suck the inside out.

Seeds and all.

 

Sustain the moment.

The harvest looks limitless.

But, the first frost will abruptly ambush you.

Pluck away this pulpy pleasure.

Coerce it into distant dreams.

 

Lynn Benjamin

 

October 13, 2006

All Poems, Seasons, Time

If I Could Pick a Time

Posted on

 

If I could pick my birth time, it would be spring.

For the promise of buds about to bloom.

 

If I could choose a play date, it would be spring.

I would chase two bunnies and a squirrel.

Till I could no longer catch my breath.

 

If I could wed in a season, it would be spring.

For the bouquets of aphrodisiacs that abound.

 

If I could conceive and carry young any time,

it would be spring.

For my inspiration would be ripening fruits.

 

If I could birth my babies anytime, I would in spring.

For the aroma of honeysuckle flowers.

The low lullabies of breezes.

 

If I could rear my children in one season only,

it would be spring.

For romps in the meadow.

To seek four leaf clovers.

Disseminate dandelion parachutes.

Jump puddles from irreverent squalls.

 

If I could meander into middle age, I’d do it in spring.

For stirring bulbs awaken hope.

Opportunities to weed gardens.

Tend those of others more overgrown than our own.

 

If I could choose a time to comb my silver hair,

it would be spring.

For the sensory festivities would sharpen poetic wit.

 

If I could plan my time to say farewell,

it would be spring.

I would assign my soul to a raft of forsythia branches.

Thick with yellow flowers.

Crickets and doves would serenade the bier.

As it floated past pink cherry blossomed trees, magnolias.

 

Finally, if I could pick a time for you to remember me,

it would be spring.

For the energy of the earth to reinvent itself.

In vibrant colors, smells, and songs.

 

Lynn Benjamin

 

April 9, 2004

Aging, All Poems, Family, Fear, Love, Mother Love, Parents, Sleep, Time

Don’t Be Frightened, To My Mother

Posted on

 

Don’t be frightened on your journey through time.

I offer you my arms to lean on.

My eyes to see.

My ears to hear.

My mouth to chew.

 

Let me be your guide.

As you have been mine.

I promise you constancy of seasonal cycles.

Alternation of night and day.

The lub dub of my heart.

Whose turn it is to soothe you to sleep.

 

By Lynn Benjamin

July 25, 2004

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Death, Seasons

‘Tis the Season for Funerals

Posted on

‘Tis the Season for Funerals

‘Tis the season for funerals.
Daily summons:
Young, old, famous, poor.
A girlfriend’s mother.
A brother’s sister.
Singly, sick.
In groups, quick.
In trains or planes.
War, protest, earthquake, fire.
Every message delivered, dire.

How’s it possible that green time June
could find this season opportune?
Swallow whole so many souls?

I wish I knew,
but I am small.
Cannot fathom
Earth’s pruning pall.

Lynn Benjamin

June 30, 2009

All Poems, For Children, Stories, Wisdom

A Grounds Man Removes Litter

Posted on

 

This morning I heard a grounds man from the nearby
university before I saw him.
I couldn’t imagine what the racket was.
Approaching each other from converging
bends, I noted the enormous can on wheels he pushed
with a gloved left hand.
A long grabber in the right.
What a din he made pushing the cart through the parking lot.
Picking up random trash, debris.
Well, I thought, how wonderful so much attention
is paid to removing litter.
But only an hour later, traversing the same
trajectory, I noticed coffee cups, tissues, cigarette boxes,
masks, plastic bags strewn about.
At first, I rated his work less than adequate.
Lacking.
But I caught myself.
I am not in a place to judge another.
Not kind.
Rather, I turned my lens inward.
Wondering just how much I fail to notice.
How much noise I unwittingly make.
Probably too much, on both counts.
Suddenly, the message, clear.
Every story teaches.
Adds wisdom to our core.
If we’re open to it, enlightens.
Prods to perceive, explore.

Lynn Benjamin
December 17, 2021

Aging, All Poems, Time

A Race

Posted on

A Race

An athlete I have never been.
Nor ever aspired to be.

Pitching, hitting, tackling, sprinting, jumping.
Even scoring held little interest.
Instead, I ensconced myself.
In the pursuit of knowledge.
Complex, yet simple.

To my chagrin, at sixty, I see a finish line of sorts.

I realize I’ve been procrastinating.
Unawares, I’m registered in a universal race.
The one against time.

Lynn Benjamin

July 5, 2009

All Poems, Homages, Thank-You

A Tribute to Ivan Boszormenyi-Nagy

Posted on

 

It is fitting, Ivan, to honor you in spring.
A time of optimism and renewal.
You, like Johnny Appleseed, are a pioneer.
Transforming your seeds to orchards.
Each tree heavy with ideas, observations, principles.
So willingly you shared your fruits.
Nourishing my mind, my soul, my eyes..
Opening them to a broader vision of family connections.
Your wisdom is a lens to view the world.
Deciphering its often unbalanced happenings.

Farewells are never easy.
This one, more difficult than most.
But if I could say a few words of thanks
for all that you have given me, they’d be:

I am grateful, Ivan, for your presence in my life.
Your gentle spirit.
Generous teaching,
Daily inspiration.
Encouraging me to appreciate fairness in reciprocity.
Wealth in human resources.
Beauty in ethical behavior.
Meaning  in disseminating a legacy of trust.
To each person whose life I touch.

Lynn Benjamin
March 2007