Friendship

All Poems, Friendship, Growth, Natural Beauty, Plants, Spirituality, Thank-You

Gratitude for the Peace Lily

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I owe gratitude to the friends who sent the peace lily.

To comfort us after Ethel passed.

For it continues to soothe daily.

Beckoning tranquility, solace.

Wrapping us in green harmony.

No matter the season.

Amazing us with unfurling finery.

Goddesses, swathed in silk scarves.

Grasping erect candles to light the night.

Catching sun’s rays by day.

Dancing, twirling, curtsying in place.

Five mesmerizing deities.

Tall, supple, lithe.

Offering serenity in silence.

What a wondrous marvel!

What more could we want?

When, from leafy foliage, two hidden figures emerge.

Tiptoeing out to join their sisters.

Spirits in ivory garb.

Delivering yet more calm.

Pirouetting in place.

In the kitchen, by darkening window.

Seven beauties hide among  bushes,

soothing away distress.

Settling wild waves, torrents,

in a mystical process.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 6, 2024

 

All Poems, Friendship, Health/Illness, Homages, Hope, Spirituality

Breath of Life

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To Diane

 

Inspiration is the breath of life.

Animating, energizing, propelling us forward.

In the face of injustice, sorrow, despair.

So, I actively seek it.

In persistence of a bee on lavender salvia.

Song of a tiny sparrow.

Dance of a swallowtail butterfly.

Renewal in springtime.

Rainbows after a storm.

In zestfulness of a friend.

Continuing to minister to people.

Through writings, teachings, listening.

Despite older age, illnesses.

Gnawing at the body.

Though strengthening spirit.

Arriving at my door with a bouquet.

Peruvian lilies, Persian daisies, a golden mum.

Delivering perfumes of hope.

Resilience.

Optimism.

In cloudy times.

Visits, like prayers, strengthen.

Refill empty spaces.

Transport to places not unreachable.

Except through connection with others.

A woman who teaches, inspires.

Mission to edify, uplift.

The intensity of her passion.

A heartening, curative gift.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 26, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Birthdays, Change, Friendship, Loss, Memories

Discovery and Rediscovery

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How do you feel when you discover something?

Something novel?

A new place, new food?

New word, new flower?

Perhaps it spices up your life.

Gives you a sense of adventure.

Animates, enlivens.

Tickles the spirit.

What about rediscovery?

Something you knew in the past?

Lost, misplaced, forgot about?

A recipe, book?

Song, photo?

Perhaps a person?

Someone you lost touch with?

For the hustle bustle of life.

Career, marriage, childrearing.

And, then, reconnected with.

Finding out you still had much in common.

Adolescent memories.

Values, opinions, perspectives.

Even birthdays.

Exactly one week apart.

A fact I held onto for decades.

After going our separate ways.

Always remembering my friend’s birthday.

Acknowledging it in silence.

Even when apart.

Mourning the loss.

But, also, honoring her, the past relationship.

Despite disconnection.

So, when this year, I could offer her birthday wishes, I did.

Putting a bounce in my step.

Lightening each breath.

Feeling blessed in older age,

rediscovering a person dear.

Now we’ve found each other,

not possible to disappear.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 7, 2024

Adolescence, Adulthood, Aging, All Poems, Friendship, Holidays, Memorial Day, Pleasure

On a Breeze

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It was a breeze lifting us down the street.

A current making us buoyant, light.

Invited to spend an evening with friends.

Marking Memorial Day and camaraderie.

Reminiscing about schools, trips, adolescent adjustments.

Adult adjustments.

To children bearing children.

Having to move over.

Make space for the newest.

Shifting chairs as we shimmy down the line.

Children approaching middle age.

Theirs, teen years.

Our parents, gone.

What would they think of the world today?

Dependence on social media?

Boosters with wifi?

Alexa, Siri?

Likely, they’d shake heads, sigh.

Bewildered, as, at times, am I.

In truth, preferring old fashioned ways.

Face to face conversations.

Sparking stories, laughter.

Till tears run down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath.

For the mirth.

You pass it around.

Like another supper course.

Everyone smiling.

Holding on to anecdotes.

The room breathing.

Animated, moving, alive.

Till table cleared.

Signaling adieu.

Time to carry away joy.

Stow it in your core.

Spirits taken care of.

Nourished, attended to.

Summoned and belonging.

In simple rendezvous.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 27, 2024

All Poems, Emotions, Friendship, Memories, Stories

Dreams Evaporate

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Dreams evaporate.

Steam from a kettle.

Vanishing clouds.

Sometimes, though, they stick.

Like shadows.

Following us around.

Till we stop, pause.

Give them thought.

Attention, time.

For the characters who populate them.

The story, dimensions.

They resurrect the irrational.

A nagging fear.

Visit from a loved one.

Wish for a scene that never materializes.

Like the one holding on to me when I awoke.

Antonio, friend long gone, stopping by.

Dropping in from Madrid.

To have a meal.

Sweet surprise.

Wanting to please him.

Preparing a Spanish omelet.

Though knowing he’d not leave Spain.

Yet, here he was.

Real, life sized.

In my kitchen.

With me, my family.

Transported in a dream.

No tickets, airplanes needed.

Just appearing by my side.

Gift bestowed, not entreated.

Lynn Benjamin

May 11, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Cousins, Friendship, Homages, Prose/memoir, Thank-You

Lessons from My Cousin (To Aaron on your 80th)

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Aaron, do you know how much you’ve taught me?

Giving me lessons for many of your eighty years?

Twenty-nine thousand, two hundred twenty days?

My cousin from the country.

Only son of Cel and Lee.

Brother to three sisters.

Husband, father.

Only five years older than I.

Though, when small, age gap, enormous.

You, a strapping teen.

While I, a child.

Through the years, you instructed me.

First, at camp, to float.

A feat failed by others.

Only accomplished by you.

Because I trusted you.

Then continuing to educate me from a distance.

Mentoring from afar.

Transmitting lessons.

How a gentle man acts.

Relates to family, wife, girls.

Values engagement.

With relatives, friends, colleagues.

Stays in touch.

Purveys news.

Displays curiosity about roots.

Takes time to make a genealogy.

Invites others to contribute.

Updating, sharing it.

Writes a memoir.

So others can understand.

Your background, context.

Offering a peek into you early life on the farm, at camp.

Honors the nation.

Making it a goal to visit each state in the union.

While your children, young.

Admires other cultures, customs, mores.

Seeking adventures in many countries.

Makes friends everywhere.

Recognizes limitations.

Still travels, though alternating two destinations.

Keeps physically fit.

Participating in, organizing golf tournaments.

Aaron, teacher, historian, athlete, family man.

Kind, honorable, thoughtful.

Our age gap has diminished,

though I’m still five years behind.

Your many worthy lessons

enlighten, guide my mind.

 

With lots of love,

Your cousin, Lynn

May 5, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Friendship, Loss, Natural Beauty, Time, Worry

Peace Lily Unfurling

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The peace lily, unfurling.

In time to reveal serenity to the people who sent it.

Just over a year ago.

Marking the loss of Bob’s mother.

Unbeknownst to them, a few days before unveiling her stone.

Strange, these coincidences.

Surprising us like that.

Also, bringing joy.

On re-encounter at the very moment of bloom.

Framed by two flowering trees just outside the window.

Empress and honeysuckle.

Both diffusing perfumes into the room.

Where we four sit.

Face to face.

Breaking bread.

Sprinting after conversations.

Like intellectual athletes.

Literature, politics, travel.

Finally, acknowledging the shadow.

Looming over us all.

The what next?

How do you prepare for the unknown?

Rely on your parents’ experiences?

Take advice from middle-aged children?

Wait till the unexpected pushes you?

Or prepare in anticipation?

Stay in place?

Move to smaller quarters?

Who has the right answer?

When possibilities endless, overwhelming.

Just hard to fathom our story ends

like any good novel or play.

What fortune to have a hand in it.

To mold like a piece of clay.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 8, 2024

 

Aging, All Poems, Cousins, Family, Friendship, Stories, Time

What Could Rejuvenate More?

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What could rejuvenate more than meeting with cousin/friends?

Who invited you to join them?

Catch up over dinner?

Then to a movie.

Perfect combination of socializing, analyzing.

On an April evening beyond compare.

So, we agreed.

Tackling old topics.

Jumping into new ones.

Plumbing unexplored depths.

Like teens chatting the night away.

Not pausing to take a breath.

Quick, animated, with gusto.

Halting when the film started.

Resuming on the sidewalk after.

Even though not possible to finish.

Having to text and email into the next day.

Very simply, too much to say.

Time raced ahead, invisible,

leaving four of us behind.

Perhaps sending a strong message

meant to penetrate, remind.

Rejuvenation,

a sensation in the mind.

For time travels one direction only

to which all of us, destined.

If feeling youthful for an evening,

old age we undermine,

then even for an instant,

let the clock rewind!

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 27, 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

Aging, All Poems, Career, Change, Friendship, Retirement

It’s Hard to Believe

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It’s hard to believe we face each other.

Across a table at a local eatery.

Two grandmothers.

Once young mothers.

Two devotees of parenting education.

Where we met many years ago.

Anguishing over children’s behaviors.

Listening to other mothers’ worries.

Teaching workshops.

Attending them.

Filling heads to overflowing with knowledge.

Both returning to school for more.

Because we couldn’t get enough.

Couldn’t help others enough.

Two family therapists.

One now retired, the other about to.

Here we sit.

Two aging ladies.

Recounting memories

of years gone by.

Making promises today

to simplify.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 10, 2024