Gardens

All Poems, Argentine Family, Family, Gardens, Invitations, Spanish language

Una Invitación

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Cuando estoy sola, solita en el huerto,
cuchicheo con ustedes,
mis primos argentinos.
Los invito a recoger las frutas,
las frutas de nuestra tierra.

Les hablo despacio en un castellano mío,
una mezcla de palabras y deseos de verlos.

Si vienen, mis primos,
si vienen a recoger la cosecha,
no tendré que hablar en cuchicheos
sino en canciones de alegría.

Y si vienen mis primos argentinos,
les hablaré en castellano suyo
porque mis deseos serán realidades.
Encontraré la gramática
y las palabras apropiadas
mientras comemos frambuesas y manzanas.

Les prepararé agua caliente
para tomar juntos el mate.
Charlaremos y nos reiremos
hasta los frutales queden vacíos
y nosotros llenos de frutos.

Lynn Benjamin
el 16 de octubre de 2005

We had a large vegetable and fruit garden at our house on Mayo Place. I wanted my Argentine cousins, Luisa and Raquel with their spouses, Osvaldo and Cisty, to come visit us there so we could share our produce and our love with them. Uriel, his sister, and his mother (Nora, daughter of Raquel) and father eventually did come to Mayo Place and enjoyed our vegetables and fruits.

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Gardens, Natural Beauty, Sleep

Purple Echinaceas

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This morning, I promised a tired body
more time in bed.
But, foot long Empress leaves beckoned.
A yellow Pied Piper spider on the window near
signaled me to rise.
Mesmerizing magic gripped me,
compelling me to comply.
Till I was there.
In gardens of purple Echinaceas.
Where bees, butterflies, finches
hovered above, then landed
on prickly center cones, nectar buffets.
Coneflowers, lavender, white, stood tall,
shoulder to shoulder, swaying a bit in the breeze.
A colony of parasols.
Oh, that I were a tiny sprite,
I’d skip among stems in shade,
listen to buzzes, beating wings,
carefree, curious, unafraid.

Lynn Benjamin
July 10, 2021

 

All Poems, For Children, Gardens, Hawaii, Big Island, 2022, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Trips and Places

Rainforest

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Have you ever been in a rainforest?
While it was raining?
Yesterday, we were.
On a trail.
In a valley garden on the sea.
In Papaikou.
Down a ramp of boards to a paved pathway.
On both sides, exotic flowers, wild orchids.
Leaves almost as tall as we.
Bromeliads, heliconias.
Anthuriums, bat plants, spider lilies.
Perfumes, dampness.
Rhythmic downpours.
Splendor beyond words.
Waterfalls overflowing cliffs.
Lily pads rocking to and fro in ponds.
Ferns bending under weight of droplets.
Forces defying death.
Sun, between showers, beaming energy, rainbows.
I didn’t want to exit.
But I’m sure I carry magic on my skin.
On the bottoms of my boots.
Maybe seeds of Ohia blooms,
or bits of breadfruit roots.

Lynn Benjamin
April 2, 2022

All Poems, Family, Gardens, Memories, Natural Beauty, Spouses

Remembering Exotic Flora

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I am filled to brimming with images of exotic flora.
From both southern California and Hawaii.
Birds of paradise, wild orchids, plumeria.
To name a few.
I soothe my craving to be with them by writing.
Imagining them.
Looking at photos I took.
I suspect Bob, too, misses our walks.
On fragrant flowered paths.
He copes in a different way.
Runs to a garden store.
Buys soil, fertilizer.
Plants flowers whose colors could serve an artist’s palette.
Gerber daisies, Peruvian lilies, pansies.
Green herbs, too.
Rosemary, parsley, dill and thyme.
Tiny shadows of the giant tropical ferns we saw.
But they fit.
In our miniature garden.
In pots.
Reminders all of floral feasts.
No matter where smelled, observed.
Greens, purples, yellows, whites, and reds.
Keep memories, like jams, preserved.

Lynn Benjamin
April 9, 2022

 

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Gardens, Memories, Mother Love, Natural Beauty, Parents, Regret, Wisdom

My Mother Told Me

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My Mother Told Me

My mother told me more times than I can count:
Stop and smell the roses.
Sometimes, she warned.
Sometimes, chided.
Sometimes, exhorted.
But always, she pointed to the  fragrant
red roses that climbed the porch posts before our house.
By June, they were a riot of of blooms and perfumes.
I was sure I paid them sufficient homage
as I anticipated with joy their annual appearance.
Now, my mother’s gone.
The roses reside in memory.
I smell in dreams what my mother wanted me to live.
She was right.
I could have stood a little longer with each blossom.
I wish I could tell her.

Lynn Benjamin
April 12, 2021

All Poems, Gardens, Seasons

October’s Raspberries

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October’s raspberries are plump and full of juice.

They hide in clusters under rows of leaves.

Chewed into lace legacies by August beetles.

 

Loosen just one berry and six fall in your hand.

Staining your fingers red and sweet.

Tempting you to pop one on your tongue.

 

Savor the nectar as you slowly suck the inside out.

Seeds and all.

 

Sustain the moment.

The harvest looks limitless.

But, the first frost will abruptly ambush you.

Pluck away this pulpy pleasure.

Coerce it into distant dreams.

 

Lynn Benjamin

 

October 13, 2006

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Farewell, Gardens, Loss, Seasons

Blue Mist Spirea Blooms

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Tree leaves dry and fall.

Hydrangeas, zinnias, impaciens

brown around the edges.

While blue mist spirea blooms thrive.

Attracting bees, butterflies by dozens

to soft, fragrant blossoms.

Taking chilly air in stride.

Rejoicing the changing seasons.

An attitude I’d like to don,

along with jacket, scarf, gloves,

on crisp late September mornings.

So now, each day as I stroll by,

I pinch a bud, a leaf.

Sniff aromas heavenly

to postpone transition grief.

Though Winter hides, teases

behind perfect autumn days,

I refuse servile submission

to her dark and cold charades.

Instead, like hungry honey bees,

I’ll find my favorite flowers.

Frolic, play, and hover,

scatter pollinator powers.

Lynn Benjamin

September 29, 2021