Commemorations

All Poems, Commemorations, Death, Family, Humor, In-laws

Unveiling Ethel’s Stone

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Today, Ethel, the unveiling of your stone.

The one marking resting place with Mac.

Ceremony arranged by your children.

On time, as you would like it done.

Though I suspect you dreamed of fanfare.

A bit more pomp.

A grand parade of important people.

Grandchildren, older great grandchildren.

Large family gathering.

Like in days gone by.

To talk about you.

Remember when’s, exhort tell me mores.

Maybe outside among tulips, irises, forget-me-nots.

At big picnic tables.

Under a cloudless blue sky, sun shining.

Roses just beginning to bloom.

Diffuse their perfumes.

Cameras snapping all around.

Guests saying, wouldn’t Ethel love this celebration?

We miss her, wish she were here.

You would sense kavod flowing your way.

But, here we stand today.

A son, a daughter, each mate.

Paying you simple tribute.

Not wanting to complicate.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 13, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Commemorations, Environment/Mother Earth, For Children, Friendship, Natural Beauty, Stories

Solar Eclipse

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For weeks, news outlets announced the solar eclipse.

With maps indicating route.

Places to buy special glasses.

To protect retinas from UV rays.

Places to assemble to watch in groups.

Libraries, arboretums, parks.

Museums, clubs, schools.

I listened to all of it.

Acted on none of it.

Thinking Philadelphia not in the path of totality.

So there would be little to see.

The morning of the occurrence, my daughter called.

Asked me if I had gotten glasses.

Chided me for not preparing.

When will you see another event like this one?

I defended myself, I didn’t see Philly on its course.

Well, it is, she insisted. You’ll see a 90% eclipse.

Then her text barrage began.

Where to procure glasses.

Where to make observation.

Pushed, I called a few places.

All sold out of protective gear.

Even the arboretum at which I had membership, discouraged me.

You’ll never find parking, said the receptionist.

My distress was infectious.

Catching it, Bob hunted in the garage for a box.

Followed instructions in the New York Times.

Carving holes, covering one, piercing it with a toothpick.

Voilà, he proclaimed, a camera obscura!

The old-fashioned way of viewing.

Relieved, we went about the day.

Till two in the afternoon.

The moon starting its journey across the sun.

Neighbors pulling up chairs.

Around a central fountain.

Offering extra glasses, cookies, candies.

Checking out Bob’s box.

Projecting an image of the sun shrinking.

We all sat in friendly assembly.

Eating, chatting, witnessing.

The area darkening, a cool breeze blowing.

An eerie dimness settled in,

shrouding us in mystique.

Underneath a hidden sun,

phenomenon unique.

Lynn Benjamin

April 18, 2024

All Poems, Commemorations, Santa Monica 3/23, Trips and Places

John P. Jones

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Only four-and-a-half hours by plane.

From Honolulu to Los Angeles.

From one garden paradise to another.

To see family for a weekend.

Break up the return to Philadelphia.

Who knew I’d see the monument to John P. Jones?

On my morning wander?

Co-founder of Santa Monica.

US senator from Nevada for thirty years.

Lover (like me) of Palisades Park.

Where he’d sit to watch sunsets.

I was heartened on my favorite walk.

I could learn a new fact

about a figure I didn’t know

who made an impact.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 19, 2023

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Commemorations, Family, Humor, Spouses

Pearl Harbor Day

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After dinner on December 5th, Bob asked,

You know what tomorrow is, don’t you?

Then he answered the question.

It’s Pearl Harbor Day.

Next, he boomed in a slow, low Roosevelt voice.

…a date which will live in infamy….

I looked up.

At him.

No, I corrected. Pearl Harbor Day is the 7th.

Uh-uh, he shook his head. It’s tomorrow, December 6th.

I turned to Alexa, who sat behind the toaster.

Asked her, when is Pearl Harbor Day?

December 7th, she answered without hesitation.

Did you hear? I asked Bob.

He grabbed his phone.

To check with his own hands.

He didn’t believe Alexa.

Though her information was from the same internet.

You’re right, he conceded.

Then, as he strode to put out trash, he thought he had me.

In Japan, it was the 6th.

No, I corrected.

Japan is a day ahead of us. It was the 8th.

Again, I asked Alexa to be the arbiter.

A second time, she agreed with me.

Japan is thirteen hours ahead of the US, east coast time.

But, Bob is our historian.

Mostly right with date, detail.

More essential here the tribute.

Not at all that Bob should fail.

For Japan attacked Pearl Harbor

No matter, six, seven, eight.

Killing, wounding precious souls.

Our job, to commemorate.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 7, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Birth, Change, Commemorations, Creation, Environment/Mother Earth, Natural Beauty, People Traits, Pleasure

To Zev on Retreat in Vermont, An Aha Moment

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Splotches of yellow, lavender, white pop up everywhere
Reminding us of the reliability of spring, her grace, her generosity.
On solitary walks through flowering gardens,
I think of you, Zev, on your silent, solo retreat in Vermont’s great woods.
I wiggle into your skin to smell the pines,
catch the nippy northern breeze,
hear an unexpected Hermit Thrush recital,
glimpse a bear, swallow the quietude,
be near you on your journey.
And then, flash! aha!
Comprehension.
Your remote retreat: a womb to await awakening.
Midwives all, birds, trees, squirrels.
What exquisite joy to gestate in Mother Nature’s nest!

Though my skin rough, the bark of fir,
I recall you parting from my loins,
hesitant to leave, then energized by soothing whirlpool waves,
determined to grasp the world.
And now, this opportunity to once again see light
amid the glories of Earth’s gifts.
Another beginning, a fresh take on sensuous synchronicity,
pleasure, pain, regeneration, loss.
Perchance to choose what you cherish,
to meet your newest self.

Lynn Benjamin
March 23, 2021

 

All Poems, Commemorations, Death, Family, Farewell, Homages, Loss, Love, Parents

Oh, Well

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Everybody hails a hero:
the hard worker who overcomes odds
and rises from the ashes of poverty;
the parent who provides for, protects children;
the voice who stands up against
bullying, violence;
the advocate for the needy;
the vet who has marched or flown
or sailed in harm’s way to preserve democracy;
the altruist who gives, shares, cares,
principled, honest, respectful,
breathing in mere air, but exhaling goodness;
and finally, the person who relinquishes life with dignity,
acceptance, knowing  it was full, rich, loving.

My father’s story was remarkable for his heroic acts.
But perhaps the most inspiring
was the very moment when he intuited
his journey was at its end.

The moment when he sighed, and
with the last breath he would ever take, he intoned softly:
Oh, well.

Two words, uttered at the finale
with no way to query:
Tell me, Dad, what do you mean?
Two words, ripe for interpretation.
Two fruits waiting to be picked, held, smelled.
Two words, whose meaning I had to infer
based on inflection, facial clues.
Two words that struck me as surrender.
Surrender of a courageous spirit
to nature’s demanding cycle.
Two words alluding to the implicit pact
we all make when accepting the gift of life.

In his face, I first saw doubt and then resignation.
Followed by words of tranquility, understanding.
As he passed, he pressed his teachings into my palm.
One crowning project to fulfill:
scatter wisdom and watch it bloom.

Lynn Benjamin

May 22, 2018

All Poems, Argentine Family, Commemorations, Death, Emotions, Family, Farewell, Spanish language

A Cisty

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A Cisty

¿Cómo decirte que te quiero?

No era fácil comunicar cariño
por vivir tan lejos.
Sin embargo, creo que cuando te vi sano,
y también en la cama enfermo,
te di el amor que sentía por vos.
Por ser esposo, abuelo, padre, primo, amigo.

Lo curioso es que con la muerte,
estás más cerca.
Ya no hay límites.
Estás acá en el norte
tanto como con la familia en el sur.

Te siento en los lupinos en nuestro jardín.
En el sabor del mate.
En un buen chiste que satisface y nos hace reír.
En mi propia comprensión de lo que es un buen hombre.

Uno que inspira a otros.
Que goza de las alegrías de la vida.
Que sigue sus propios valores.

Sé que cuando tengo la buena fortuna
a ver a tu esposa, tus hijos, y los cuatro nietos,
te volveré a ver en sus ojos.
Con todo lo bueno que les regalaste.

Pero por ahora,
separada de la familia,
te siento muy cerca en las brisas australes
que me rodean y me consuelan.

Lynn Benjamin
June 3, 2008