Food

All Poems, Food, Humor, Love, Stories

Waffles

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I raced into the kitchen.

Returning from a morning walk.

To grab the keys to the Volvo.

Pick up Bob from a service appointment for his car.

When I noticed, the table set for two.

A waffle iron poised to go.

Ready to make the crispy cakes.

As soon as he got back.

For we had all kinds of berries.

To pair with them.

Strawberries, blueberries, blackberries.

Not to mention figs and cherries.

Ricotta cheese and jam.

Whom do you know who would do that?

On a Monday morning?

Who would delay breakfast?

Fuss over an elaborate weekday one?

Serve it with panache?

Elegance, loving touch?

Culinary flair, good taste?

Wooing you with waffles?

Young again, you’re courted, chased!

Lynn Benjamin

June 25, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Food, For Children, Gym/exercise, Holidays, Juneteenth

The Gym Was Closed

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I knew the gym was closed today.

But, it didn’t occur to me, the university as well.

To commemorate Juneteenth.

When Major General Gordon Granger arrived in Galveston, Texas.

On June 19, 1865.

To inform the people, the Civil War, over.

Won by Union troops.

Bringing the executive order to declare slaves freed.

Over the years, becoming a folk holiday for African Americans.

Made federally official in 2021 by President Joe Biden.

Closing schools, post offices, banks.

To honor this second Independence Day.

Proclaiming the end of human bondage in the United States.

So, upon arising, I realized I had a job to do.

One I had forgotten.

For the usual goose feeder would not come to work.

To deliver her morning treats.

I hurried to locate cereal, a bag.

To carry to the empty parking lot at Salus.

Where, indeed, the seven geese waited.

Two parents, five goslings.

Now as tall, plump, feathered as their creators.

Indistinguishable, in fact.

Until I rattled the bag.

Five teenagers scampering after me, ahead of their parents.

Conditioned by the sound to chase the cheerio pick-me-up.

Squealing in delight.

Racing after the bounty I scattered.

I, crooning in my high-pitched Mommy voice: You’re getting soooo big. Okay, here it comes!

I rejoice the geese are free

to wander as they please,

settle down, rear their young

without inhumanities.

Lynn Benjamin

June 19, 2024

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, Food, Natural Beauty, Seasons, Stories

Opening Day

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It was opening day.

At the Horsham Farmer’s Market.

So we decided to try it.

Thinking there’d be lots of stalls with vegetables.

But, finding only three.

With limited produce.

Instead, kiosks of every other sort.

Bagels, cookies, cakes.

Dumplings, waffles, empanadas.

Even several stands with wares for dogs.

Not to mention jewelry, aprons, tees.

The Sunday market, not pleasing us.

Seekers of mushrooms, herbs, novel tastes.

But the stroll in Kohler Park made up for it.

Paths through forests, past geese, wildflowers.

Bridges over creeks.

A maze for meanderers.

Quiet, peaceful.

Mostly solitary in coolest shade.

Alone to breathe in scents of June.

Allow thoughts to wander, not get lost.

Within a green, springtime cocoon.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 11, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Disappointment, Food, For Children, Humor, Stories

Running Low on Cheerios

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The weekend rolled in.

A smooth, expected wave.

My turn to feed geese.

Still hanging out at the pond.

Goslings, grown, almost indistinguishable from parents.

Maybe adolescents now.

Waddling further afield.

As grownups look on.

Giving them space.

To peck for more to eat.

Just like typical teens.

But, yesterday, I scattered the last of the cheerios.

Bob, reassuring me, we had another cereal for today.

An old stale one from months ago.

Before settling into bed, he ran downstairs to find it.

Opened the pantry, searched.

I must have tossed it out, he apologized.

Now what? I shrugged.

Thinking of my weekend charges, their disappointment.

So, he ransacked the closet further.

Finding two plastic containers holding cheerios.

Packed, ready for a grandchild to munch on a car ride.

Also, pulling out rice crackers, other assorted possibilities.

For me to collect in the morning.

Put into a brown paper bag.

The geese didn’t know the effort it took

to assemble their early treat.

As they raced to compete for toasted oats,

half flying, half on fleet feet.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 10, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Emotions, Food, Humor, Loss, Stories

Day of Lamentation

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It was a day of lamentation.

Rabbits ate the peas. The deer, cucumbers, eggplants.

Bob intoned at intervals.

Punctuated by, it makes me sad.

It’s true, he worked hard potting those plants.

In tidy rows outback.

Where, in years past, no animals bothered them.

But, once he put peas downstairs, they lured other forest friends.

So, by the end of the day, his crops, nearly decimated.

So, too, his spirits.

Which he soothed, shelling peas.

Picked up this morning at a local farmer’s market.

Also, by harvesting the first purslane.

Grown on the deck above the pillaged produce.

Then serving peas, purslane with dinner outside.

Listening to avian concerts.

Ignoring the garlic and rotten egg odor.

Laid down below to repel deer.

Then taking a walk through perfumed lanes.

Honeysuckles, magnolias, Japanese lilacs.

Instant aha in nature’s hall.

In the scheme, what’s lost is small.

Did you hear the sacred call?

Give the hungry green coleslaw!

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 2, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Disappointment, Food, For Children, Gardens, Humor, Seasons, Stories

What Happened to the Peas?

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What happened to the peas? asked Bob.

Seeing them pushed over, flattened.

After climbing lush, green, tall.

Was it the rain the night before?

Battering them down?

Leveling them?

It couldn’t be deer.

For all the deterrents laid.

Maybe bunnies.

Nibbling to nubs.

Leaving nothing for groundhogs.

Insects, birds.

Nothing for us, this season.

Last year’s pods, prolific.

Sitting on the deck flowering, fruiting.

Away from reach of rabbits.

Moved downstairs to the back yard.

Where hungry creatures forage.

Making more space above.

Surely, these rabbits trampling peas

have a fine gourmet palate.

I hope they reject cucumber leaves

for their next May time salad.

Our sacrifice, contribution

to well-being of cottontails.

We owe them hearty ovation

for attention to green details.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 24, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Emotions, Food, For Children, Stories

Claiming the Geese

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Lots of us in the neighborhood claim the goose family.

Mama, papa, five growing goslings.

Waddling around the campus at Salus.

Ever further from the pond.

If you listen to snippets of conversations, you’ll hear:

I love these geese.

My darling geese.

My babies.

A librarian at the university feeds them.

Weekdays at half past seven each morning.

Arriving in a gray SUV.

Geese awaiting her.

Recognizing her car.

Running toward her as she exits.

Cereal in hand, rattling the container.

Enticing them to a grassy slope.

Then sprinkling the hillside.

On weekends, she doesn’t come.

So, I substitute, imitating her behaviors, gestures.

Shaking the package, cooing at the babies.

Then, dispersing a bag of cheerios.

It’s not long before the whole winged family knows you.

Anticipates breakfast.

Looks for you.

On Mondays, I wander past, camera in hand.

Snapping photos of a plant, a tree.

Geese surround me.

Mouths open, tongues clacking.

I reassure them gently,

the treat lady, on her way.

To scatter the accustomed fare,

provide gourmet buffet.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 20, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Food, For Children, Stories

Gray Day in May

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This day in May was gray.

Threatening to shower any moment.

Though holding off.

Instead, sprinkling aromas.

Empress blooms, lilacs, roses.

But, cloud cover stubborn.

Like a lid, heavy on a pot.

Warm enough for bunnies, squirrels to scamper.

Robins, cardinals, sparrows to flap about.

Woodpeckers to hammer on gutters.

For me to continue stepping.

Grabbing each dry second.

When suddenly hearing honk, honk, honk.

Father Goose leading his clan.

Babies now doubled in size.

Sprouting dark feathers.

Goslings waddling right up to me.

Mouths open as if expecting a treat.

My pockets, empty.

But, I thought, they deserved a snack.

Something to cheer them in the gloom.

So, I raced home.

For a container of cheerios.

Shaking it as I approached.

Like the woman feeding them weekday mornings.

They, recognizing the familiar rattle.

Came running toward me.

A mitzvah, I thought,

scattering the grain.

Downpours of cereal

instead of rain!

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 17, 2024

A mitzvah is a good deed in Hebrew.

All Poems, Change, Food, For Children, Gardens, Growth, Plants

What Does a Man Do?

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What does a man do?

Who fancies himself a farmer?

But no longer has a farm?

For downsizing.

He finds a way to plant.

Despite no land.

No tool shed.

No irrigation system.

How?

In pots.

Large blue ones.

Peas, dill, basil.

Eggplants, cucumbers, peppers.

He readies seedlings to absorb balmy sunshine.

Soak in showers.

Deliver fruits at various intervals.

The farmer works long afternoons.

Seated on a stool.

Trowel in hand.

Bags of soil, fertilizer.

Fashioning cages to keep out deer, groundhogs.

Hooking up blinking lights.

To shoo them away at night.

Laying down smells to repel.

All on a tiny scale.

Sowing harvest nonetheless.

May this year’s crop prevail!

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 6, 2024