All Poems, Birthdays, Family, Growth, Invitations, Love, Memories, Spouses

Opportunities

 

An invitation to Bob on his 60th birthday to have some tea and reflect with me

Lots of people I know view life as a journey,
A developmental package plan.
A start point.
Stops at designated, predetermined destinations.
Toddlerhood, latency, adolescence and adulthood.
Then an end.
Perhaps, first, with a recapitulation, albeit brief,
of the beginning.
Think Shakespeare’s All the World’s a Stage.
Both metaphoric and punning.
Which, by the way, my head hears recited
not in the deep, melodic voice of Sir Laurence Olivier.
But, in the high pitched 3rd grade rendition
of Zev Benjamin, aptly coached by Roseanne.

Getting back to journeys.
I must admit that, at times, I view my trips
as isomorphic miniatures of the larger lifespan passage.
However, I prefer to embrace each day,
each hour, each minute as an opportunity.
To give a gift to myself or to someone else.
My gifts to self are simple:
thinking, learning, understanding, and caring.
My gifts to others are similarly straightforward:
observing, listening, empathizing.
All, simple formulas that render dialogue complete.

Along the path of my own soulful searching,
I met a kindred mate who thought like I.
Viewed our meeting as an occasion for joy.
The bliss evolved.
An uncontainable bursting into blueberries, beans, and babies.
Seeds of promise, boundless.
Blowing in every direction, like dandelion parachutes.
Past the boundaries of our common garden.
Planting themselves in faraway places.
Over time, the winds shifted.
Inexorably, the prophecy of Khalil Gibran rang true:

Your children are not your children….
You may give them your love but not your thoughts…
…their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

So, we surrendered to the inevitable.
Found each other again.
Educated  by career, travel.
The latest trend in technological temptation.
No new degrees, but experience, wisdom, age to share.

We learned the brain stays as healthy as the heart is fit.
Worked our best to maintain the mortal frame.
But, in truth, our strongest bond is at the level of the soul.
The love of soul mates surpasses the mundane.
Into the realm of spirituality.

Not long ago, our Dan asked me what I meant by spirituality.
I thought I might digress to ponder his query.
An awe of, a connection with the space around me.
People, animals, trees.
Their births, beauty, demise.
A force unseen by others yet inspirational.
My spiritual self is moved by redwoods,  birches.
Mountain chains and hills, oceans and streams.
Condors and finches.
Deserts and beaches.
Lions and kittens.
Large families and small, (conventional or not).
Presidents and peasants.
Computers and paper.
New light and darkness.

My spirit dreams of my forebears.
Russian ancestors toiling, suffering,  sailing.
Through rough seas.
To deliver their gene pool to progeny they’d never know.
On both sides of the Americas.
Grandparents and parents, locked in conjugal embrace.
Whispering earthly possibilities into my lungs.
Including fulfillment of my soul’s affection.
According to the chant of an ancient love song.

I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine….
My beloved is gone down into his garden…
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field;…
Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grapes appear….There I will give thee my loves.
…At our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.
I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me.

Together, my beloved and I have sown in our garden.
Passion and meaning.
Children and peas.
Roses and sunflowers.
We have hoed gardens of others.
Read, walked, talked, learned.
Fantasized, wished, yearned.
Abandoned worries, laughed.
Admired, encouraged each other.

But, our opportunity today is the present.
Wrapped in the warm breath of Autumn’s annual debut.
Let us encounter each other anew.
With gratitude for the past.
Wonder at the mystery of tomorrow.

The days are getting shorter now.
It’s a little chilly outside. Come close, Bob.
Pour the tea. Let’s talk.
What are you thinking?

With love, Lynn
September 27, 2008

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Love, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Spouses, Thank-You

Love Swirls Around Me, To Bob

 

Love swirls around me.
The garden you plant:
pansies, columbines, lupines, clematis,
even peas, herbs,
arouse eyes, nose.
The vegetables you sauté:
garlic, mushrooms, spinach
seduce taste buds,
fill the mouth with ambrosial juices.
The walks we take:
along lichen lined lanes,
adjoined by bulbs, wildflowers, ivy, honeysuckle
excite our gaze, offer us bouquets.
Avian concerts overhead:
goldfinches, robins, cardinals make melodies,
titillate the ears,
invigorate the feet to dance.
The little chats throughout the day:
energize the mind,
ready it to remember days gone by
and image those to come.
Whom do we thank for blessings
too numerous to count?
Parents? Mentors? Children?
Each other? HaShem? The earth?
The answer, I do not have.
I only know that while I have you,
your eyes, ears, nose, hands  feet, focus:
my heart is a guitar;
my mouth, the fountain of youth;
my skin, the blanket to keep us warm.

Lynn Benjamin
March 25, 2021

All Poems, Birthdays, Family, Memories, Spouses

Love Is More Than a Shared Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

To Bob on your 57th Birthday

Sometimes I crave a moment from the past.
A touch, a glance, a sound, a taste.
And usually I find my mind,
or our collective minds, retrace the memory.
Eagerly position it in the web
that conjoins our shared experience.

But lately, I’ve an unquenched quest
to remember your speech on love.
The one you delivered
at the commencement of our lives together.

The first line alone sticks to my mouth,
repetitively awakening my salivary glands
in gustatory desire:
Love is a shared peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

But without the address itself,
I cannot recall your seventeen-year-old rendition of love.
I only know that years must have etched new meaning.
Nuances that have evolved it beyond initial recognition.
Love can no longer solely be the act of sharing sandwiches,
though intimate and close.

Rather, it is the process
of cultivating the best in people.
Over days and months and years.
In the same way you ready the garden
to plant your saplings and your seeds.

It is the people gardening you do
that multiplies the love.
Sends it in all directions like seeds on a breeze.
To nestle shoots in the most surprising places.

As for me, the seeds you’ve sown have rooted
in my hands, my ears, my uterus, and my tongue.
Blooming into children, songs, and sweet fruit pies.

Every day, I blow some back to you.
So you can plant anew.
With the rest, I people-garden too.
Scattering seeds to renew a spirit.
Refresh a soul.

S.T.T.K.T.
Lynn

September 27, 2005

This poem alludes to Bob’s Upper Dublin High School valedictory speech. The poem was written before I found Bob’s copy of the speech just before we moved to Elkins Park. It was in a box in our basement on Mayo Place. Below is a typed copy.

Bob’s Valedictory Speech

(Upper Dublin, June 1966)

LOVE

Love is a many splendored thing. It is a shared peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple on the teacher’s desk, a flower in a young girl’s hair, a penny in a beggar’s cup, a little boy’s prayer. Each of these represents a different facet of that complex emotion that we call love.

At birth, we first encountered love. We came into the world as the physical evidence of our parents’ love. We owed life itself to their love, for we were incapable of caring for ourselves. Yet, the only love that we knew at that early age was self-love. A baby is basically an egotist. Although he is the recipient of loving affection, he gives none in return.

When we first directed our affections towards our parents and other members of our family, we began to outgrow the one-sided love of infancy. The family unit is based on a foundation of loving concern of the members for each other. Thus, as we matured, we discovered love by growing out of self-centeredness.

The first type of love that we found outside the home was friendship. Giving began to replace the childish urge of simply taking. When we began to share with others, we learned the meaning of mutual respect.

Consideration for others led us to another type of love, which we call devotion. Our sense of gratitude and loyalty towards friends and teachers gave us the desire to emulate them. We learned that these individuals expected certain things of us in return for their efforts on our behalf. In order to keep their respect, we had to accept responsibilities. We were gradually drawn out of our narrow little worlds and began to occupy a place in society.

Tonight we are young adults facing the world. Our expanded environment has brought many new influences upon us. In our awakening, we have discovered that pure adoration cannot survive in an adult world, for it lacks the staying power of true love. Love must be realistic. Only when we learn to accept a loved one’s faults as well as his graces will we find the key to mature love. Ultimately, we will seek a partner to whom we will become a source of strength and comfort. The deepest form of human love is achieved when two individuals share one soul.

But higher even than true human love is divine love. Man has developed a devout attachment to G-d in gratitude for His benevolent concern for mankind. Because of His love for us, we were given His Law. In it, we find that it is the Will of the Almighty to have us love our fellow men. This divinely inspired love is often called charity. To give unselfishly of oneself in order to help a stranger, therefore, is to heed the Word of G-d.

It is in this sense that love plays a vital role in today’s world. The American experiment in Democracy will succeed or fail depending on the strength of our love for our nation and for our countrymen. If a kingdom is mismanaged, the monarch may be deposed, but if a democracy decays, the citizens have no one to blame but themselves. Government by the people will survive only if we learn to respect the rights of others.

In the final analysis, the fate of all mankind depends upon love. War, poverty, and disease are the products of ignorance. Knowledge alone cannot defeat ignorance, for it lacks a soul. Only love, spawned by an understanding of the needs and aspirations of others, can bring peace to our troubled world.

 

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Growth, Humor, Love, Memories, Natural Beauty, Prose/memoir, Spouses

Do You Remember Us?

 

Do you remember us at seventeen?
Young, full of life?
Blooming roses that climbed,
intertwined, held on to each other?
Vowed we’d grow old together?
Then spread, filled out, blossomed?
Invited cardinals, spiders, bees,
even beetles, to munch our leaves?
Once a yellow snake slithered through our branches.
Another time, snails.
Each year, we grew.
Multiplied into profusions of flowers, aromas.
Shook our foliage like lulavs to give thanks.
Now, my love, we have arrived.
Limbs withered, bark slivered, seeds launched.
Was it good fortune that protected us?
Thorns?
Sun?
Rain?
The grace of God?
If I could go back in time,
and promise with you to age,
I’d plant our roots again to tend,
repeat each and every stage.
But since I know for sure, I can’t.
I count on witnesses here
to retell the tale of our true love.
Don’t let it disappear.
Though not Anthony and Cleopatra
nor Romeo and his heartthrob,
we are two star matched lovers,
longtime soulmates, Lynn and her Bob.

Lynn Benjamin
September 22, 2021

All Poems, Change, Family, Homages, Humor, Spouses

“A Glimpse of the Future”

“A Glimpse of the Future”
A quote from Bob and homage to a resolution

Every life has many chapters.
You can tell when it nears its end.
The time has come to banish possessions.
To move from grand to small.
To sift through stuff.
Only keep the tiniest, most valuable things.
Occupying the least space.

Some people have trouble discarding and moving on.
Every object has a meaning or use.
So, kudos to the reluctant deporter
who tosses out a tired, dusty cellphone case,
displayed,
frayed,
decayed,
and overstayed by at least a decade!

Lynn Benjamin
November 21, 2016

All Poems, Birthdays, Family, Love, Memories, Spouses, Stories

A Love Tale

To Bob on Your 55th Birthday

My head is a chest of a thousand treasures.
Each a spark like the ones that flew when we met.
In that magnetic field called school.
The place where the curtain rose on our mutual cerebral seduction.
The ideas were more than we could bear alone.
So we charmed each other.
Baring souls inch by inch in a labyrinth.

We lived to learn, counted our riches in knowledge.
In physics, electric currents drew us together, willed our souls connect.
In chemistry, thermal explosions fired fiery flames.
In Spanish, romantic syntax titillated tongues.
In English, muses inspired.
In math, yearnings for each other soared to the highest power.
In biology, pheromones corralled us.
Rooted us in a níspero pot.
So we could encourage each other to grow.
Sway with the wind.
Bathe in the rain.
Sing sonnets to the sun.

In time, we lit candles, dripped wax, enjoyed grapes, round, juicy.
Long green days of tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, babies followed.
Passionate, satisfying.
Aromas of bread baking in woodstove winters kept our fires hot.

We came to measure love in fruit.
Your valentines to me were apple trees, fragrant, fertile.
Mine to you, sauce, jam, pies.

The clock’s face changed daily.
Marking birthdays, seasons, celebrations, entrances, exits, hellos, farewells.

Our story was verbose with details, emotional surprises.
We held onto it like sailors to ropes, mooring home and hearth.

Today our garden’s golden.
Like leaves on September’s trees.
Flashes that illuminate my brain.

I’m grateful for the fine fortune we’ve savored, shared, stored.
In silos in our minds: stories, images, dreams, journeys, songs, children.
Returns are joy and amazement in a realization.
Our success in alchemizing experience into wisdom.
Passion into poetry.
Poetry into recollections of a love tale for posterity.
Told by you and me.

With love,
Lynn
S.T.T.K.T.
September 27, 2003

All Poems, Beaches, Family, Love, Spouses, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Alone on Grotto Beach

 

Alone on Grotto Beach.
My love and I.
Coming here for days.
Sharing it with others.
What is it about today?
Sun shines.
Tides creep in, run out.
Water glistens.
Palms, blooming trees sway.
Craft of every sort sail by.
Iguanas peer out of holes.
Butterflies cluster, flutter.
Pelicans glide.
But all the chaises, vacant.
Empty.
Are visitors on excursions elsewhere?
On sailboats?
In town?
On flights home?
Who knows?
But the cove is ours today.
A loan we can’t refuse.
We’ll hike on stones and shells
in brand new water shoes.

Lynn Benjamin
January 23, 2022

All Poems, Birthdays, Change, Family, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Seasons, Spouses

Autumn Blows In

 

Autumn blows in on a cool wind.
Shocking sunflowers, primroses, mums, and me
into automatic atonement
for summer lethargy,
and a false belief in endless sunshine.

The raspberry bushes, apple trees and also me
will soon be brown.
No longer nourished by a green day sun.

I will have to revise my ways
to traverse the seasonal maze
of shorter days,
memory haze,
and blue skies turned shades of grays.

Can you help me
to calm my humming brain that dreams,
in nostalgic synesthesia,
of dancing daisies, boisterous beans?

Lynn Benjamin
September 27, 2006

This poem was written on Bob’s birthday. I assume it was a poem I gave to him, asking his help in making the transition to autumn. There is also an allusion to the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur, time of atonement.