Beaches

Adult Children, All Poems, Beaches, Family, Food, Humor, Spring Lake 2024, Stories, Trips and Places

Breakfast in Spring Lake

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Roseanne determined she had to catch a mid-afternoon train.

To get back to Manhattan.

On time to meet her children.

So, I suggested a light breakfast, late lunch.

For our Father’s Day celebration.

First going for savory croissants.

Which the bakery was out of.

Substituting an Irish soda bread.

Packed with plump dark raisins.

Grabbing drinks, finding a shady spot to picnic.

Each pulling off corners of the bread.

Savoring it between swigs of coffee.

This would be even better with jam, said Roseanne.

Then after another bite or two, or butter.

Well, I countered, this way it’s au naturel. You taste the bread exactly the way it is.

Like seeing a woman without make-up, coif.

Without latest fashion design.

Standing before you just how she is,

original state, divine.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 16, 2024

All Poems, Beaches, Family, Spouses, Stories

To the Beach

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We finally made it to the beach, said Bob.

After getting waylaid by an Irish festival.

We didn’t know was happening in Spring Lake.

Then walking the town seeking sun hats, cards, a baby gift.

Even a container of almonds.

Having forgotten to bring some from home.

But we did, finally, make it to the sand.

After the afternoon tide rolled in.

Crowds of revelers already planted with their umbrellas.

This Father’s Day weekend.

Bathers, surfers, kayakers, paddle ballers.

Piles of empty mussel shells upon the shore.

Crunching under bare feet.

As we meandered along.

Listening to the steady rhythm of the surf.

Smelling briny breezes.

Taking in the annual scene.

For the first time this season.

Always glad for ocean zephyrs

to blow away the stress.

Ancient balm for body, soul,

rejuvenating process.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 15, 2024

 

All Poems, Beaches, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Santa Monica 3/24, Stories, Trips and Places

The Beach is the Place to Go

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The beach is the place to go.

On Saturday afternoons in Santa Monica.

For singles, couples, families.

Pigeons, seagulls.

So, that’s where we set out.

In the family’s Lincoln Aviator.

Two parents, three boys, two grandparents.

The sun shone, but breezes chilled.

The children, in bathing wear, seemed not to mind at all.

Jumping on play equipment first.

Then zipping to the broad, long beach.

The toddler running to the ocean.

The two older ones toward driftwood.

That other bathers organized into a round fence.

I love it here, said Arthur, three.

Romping with his older brother.

Inside wooden walls.

Picking up long sticks.

Holding them like weapons.

Finding stones of every shape, size.

Multiplying joys of being outdoors.

Free to run in all directions,

move to the beat of waves.

Turn driftwood, stones into castles,

dig holes as big as caves.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 20, 2024

All Poems, Beaches, Gandía, Spain, Trips and Places

Gandía

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Gandía is a beach city.

South of Valencia.

Known for its ducal palace.

Which we didn’t visit.

For it wasn’t a day to be indoors.

Lured outside by sand and sea.

A promenade along the beach.

To catch Mediterranean rays.

On faces, hands.

Observe palms along the path.

Note a few bathers traipsing by the water.

Even fewer on the walkway.

Stop briefly for ice cream and coffee.

At an empty heladería.

We opened our senses to January warmth.

To store it for when back home.

When winter winds assault our mood.

Unleash bad weather syndrome.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 25, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Beaches, Spain, Trips and Places, Valencia

Sagunto (Two)

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Sagunto is a Spanish city.

Not far from Valencia.

Known for its castle, its beach.

We finished the castle.

Sought the sea walk.

Catching the last rays of sun.

Sitting on rocks.

Along a jetty.

Listening to pounding waves.

Hitting a stony shore.

Watching light ebb across the path.

Turn grasses shades of strawberry blonde.

For a moment, I fancied Sorolla.

His easel, set upright.

Capturing on canvas

moments before twilight.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 22, 2024

All Poems, Beaches, Farewell, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Santa Barbara, Trips and Places

Two Beaches and Farewell to Santa Barbara

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What would you do on your last day in a coastal beach city?

Take a boat ride?

Explore underwater flora, fauna?

Ride the waves?

All good choices.

For me, it’s enough to walk paths along the beach.

At Chase Palm Park.

Watch pelicans, plovers, godwits romp.

In tide pools the size of lakes.

Memorize the hedges, natal plums and sour figs.

Palms, agaves, aloe veras.

Mountains ringing the shore.

Sailboats on the water.

Take off shoes to glide through sand.

Close to beating surf.

Listen to shrieking gulls.

Past landmarks like the white tree trunk.

Aground upon the sand.

Glaring at you with iron eyes.

Ready to spew fiery dragon breath.

Then drive to Montecito in the afternoon.

Where lush borders of red bougainvilleas line the street.

Across from Butterfly Beach.

A staircase down.

To a private paradise.

Lined with rocks and boulders.

Named for monarch butterflies.

That swarmed in native grasses.

For me, nothing more ideal

than two beach walks in a day.

To bid farewell to Santa Barbara.

Tears mixed with ocean spray.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 24, 2023

Adult Children, All Poems, Beaches, Family, Grandchildren, Natural Beauty

Sunset

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How many times have you watched the sun set?

Where were you?

Alone or with other people?

Likely, no matter where, with whom, it took your breath away.

Waiting only minutes.

As the fiery star sank below the horizon.

Leaving a pink ribbon behind.

Like yesterday at Annenberg Beach.

Two grandparents, three brothers, two parents, an uncle.

All lined up.

Waiting for the ball to drop.

Like the artificial one in Times Square.

Ringing in the new year.

But this, a warm November evening.

Little boys counting down.

Till it dropped out of sight.

When adults exhaled.

Children jumped.

And I broke the quiet.

Should we explain what really happens? I asked.

The earth spinning around the sun?

They all stared at me.

In silence.

With a loud message.

Who would want to break rapture?

With a lesson on celestial rotation?

While all of us fixed on the magic moment

in inspirational meditation.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 16, 2023

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Memories, Trips and Places

What Will I Remember?

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What will I remember from September days in Cape May?

Just Bob and I on a quick get-away.

Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Holding hands, humming melodies?

Long walks to the lighthouse?

Siestas under a beach umbrella?

Snippets of conversations on politics?

Maybe a monarch on goldenrods?

Or a hummingbird on jewelweed?

A bee on a wild sunflower?

A gathering of seagulls?

A trained hawk on the elbow of his trainer?

Harvesting figs?

Which images will stick?

Which fade away?

Recede like waves rolling back?

Or tides going out?

Impossible to know.

But, perhaps the words I jot,

as I meander after dawn,

will jog the feet, the hands, the mind.

Be the perfect liaison.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 26, 2023

 

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Environment/Mother Earth, For Children, Trips and Places

Open Senses in Cape May

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My senses are open.

To what makes a place beautiful.

Dunes, beaches, wildlife, plants.

Smells, sounds, sensations.

But, I cannot miss the infrastructure.

Making it possible.

Sanitary engineers.

Keeping streets, beaches pristine.

Beach machines.

Smoothing sand.

Landscapers.

Planting, watering shrubs.

Parking meter collectors.

Pushing wheeled conveyances.

Emptying meters.

To fund the city.

Even birds.

Trained hawks frightening seagulls.

Away from guest spaces.

So they don’t grab a bite or two.

From a patron’s plate.

Or poop on patios.

So much activity behind the scenes

insuring the production’s grand.

I hope Mother Nature recognizes

the role of a loving hand.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 25, 2023

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Memories, Natural Beauty, Trips and Places

Wetlands

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We saw no people walking through the wetlands.

Only wild sunflowers, asters, marsh mallows gone to seed.

Fir trees, viburnums, shadbushes.

Ducks, swans, egrets.

Monarchs, dragonflies, bees.

A lighthouse in the distance.

Sole sounds, breezes, vibrating cicadas.

And our own voices.

Dredging up memories.

From decades, stacked like blocks.

Places we stayed with children, grandchildren, each other.

Strolling in sand, hunting ghost crabs.

Tracking seagulls, terns, plovers.

Jumping waves, listening at night for beach machines.

Wheeling babies, spotting toads.

As we trekked the salt marsh path,

our feet tapped out a sound.

In synchrony with Mother Earth,

alive and free, unbound.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 24, 2023