Holidays

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, Family, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Memories, Mother Love, Regret, Shavuot, Stories

Shavuot

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It fills me with song.

To see a pair of Sketchers, size four.

Next to our sneakers on the floor.

Sign that Elias is here, a day or two.

While his mother davens in New City.

He, off from school for Shavuot.

Holiday when Moses received the Ten Commandments.

Marking my own confirmation, sixty years ago.

Right here at Adath Jeshurun, Elkins Park.

The first time reading a poem I composed.

To an entire congregation.

Feeling excitement, anticipation, vulnerability.

A rush, sharing thoughts with others.

Meditation on time, hope, truth, death, life.

Being acknowledged.

By friends, family, rabbi.

My daughter, one year short of cantorial degree, surprised.

When I told her I hold dear this holiday.

For she, at semester’s conclusion, ready to move past it to summer.

Until hired as guest chazan.

Preparing herself to chant.

For two lunar days.

In a blink, it became important to her, too.

This spring holiday, completion of the counting of the Omer.

Unexpected revelation between my daughter and me.

A story I wished I could tell my mother.

Along with appreciation for the party she made me.

At fifteen, after the Shavuot service.

Recognizing me.

Letting me know I belong.

To a larger cosmology.

Something I didn’t know then to thank her for.

Though she knew how to give.

So, I’ll scatter seeds of gratitude,

beseeching she’ll forgive.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 12, 2024

Daven is the Yiddish word meaning to chant the Jewish liturgy or pray.

Chazan is a cantor in a synagogue.

The counting of the Omer is a period of 49 days from the second day of Passover until the first day of Shavuot. During this time, marriage festivities are prohibited.

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, Animals/Insects, Family, Gym/exercise, Holidays, Love, Mother's Day, Spouses

There’s a First Time for Everything

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There’s a first time for everything.

Like finding yourself in a gym on Mother’s Day.

Instead of a park or familial gathering.

Carrying kettlebells, doing squats.

Lifting weights, crunching.

After a sprinkling of calls.

Texts from children, grandchildren.

Two neat packages for mother at the door.

But, in truth, not a bad way to spend a few hours.

On a damp, showery day.

Not alone, but in concert with an admirer.

Together over fifty years.

A man who woos me daily.

Walking the track with me.

From the window, watching geese shepherd their young.

Protecting, nurturing them.

Sparrows flapping in and out of a pipe in the stucco.

With ingenuity, grace.

Listening to an audio book as we circle round.

Alone on the path.

Then shifting to the studio.

Where Bob ferries equipment for both of us.

The gentleman he is.

Two of each piece of apparatus.

Pipes, bands, half balls for balance.

Finally, the machine room.

Taking turns exercising arms, legs.

Till exiting for a meander in mist.

Elixir for blooming trees, flowers, foliage.

And for us.

A natural steam bath,

opening ears and pores.

Mother’s Day music serenades

from avian troubadours.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 15, 2024

Adult Children, All Poems, Emotions, Family, Grandchildren, Holidays, Mother's Day

Early on Mother’s Day

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It was early on Mother’s Day.

When Eliana, seven, phoned from the car.

Excitement erupting like a geyser.

Talking so fast, words banged into each other.

We’re making a surprise for Mama, she blurted.

Explaining the word surprise to me, she doesn’t know about it.

We just shopped for bagels, ingredients for Russian pancakes.

I listened, then exclaimed, Wow! Whose idea is it?

She answered it was her older sister’s.

Not in the least bothered by the origin of the scheme.

Glad to be a co-conspirator.

Pointing at her two-year-old sister.

Noshing on a bagel in her car seat.

So, I continued, I guess you’re all away so Mama can sleep in.

Yes, Eliana smiled a Cheshire grin.

Then, eagerly, we’re about home. We have to go. Happy Mother’s Day, Yaya!

I clicked off the Facetime,

full to brimming with pride.

My son preserved a tradition,

his father, his guide.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 14, 2024

 

All Poems, Change, Holidays, Natural Beauty, Passover, Seasons

Empress Tree

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The Empress tree heralds the end of Passover.

Bursting into lavender bells.

Suffusing breezes with sweet fragrances.

Wafting toward the porch, through the door.

Permeating the kitchen with aromas.

Sweeping away the holiday.

Last crumbs of matzah.

Seder plate.

Haggadahs.

Into annual hibernation.

As soft petals lure us deeper into Spring.

The merry month of May.

From order to abandon.

Maple whirly wigs swirling down like rain.

Pollen patinas blanketing outside doors, tables.

Seeds sprouting in chaotic patches.

Ferns unfurling leafy curls.

The scent of fertility, attraction in the air.

Coupling, mating, pairing

under ringing Empress blooms.

Branches swinging, scattering

irresistible perfumes.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 3, 2024

All Poems, Family, Gardens, Grandchildren, Growth, Natural Beauty, Passover, Plants

Foray to Morris Arboretum

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Our last foray to Morris Arboretum.

A month ago, on Easter.

Jammed with visitors seeking renewal.

Today, the end of Pesach, we took Elias.

Almost eleven.

To witness the season accelerating.

Lilacs, viburnums, camellias.

All in floral glory.

Aromas to match.

While fields of tulips swept us to Holland.

Azaleas clustered thick as strawberry taffy.

Yellow ragworts, white stars of Bethlehem, fleabanes.

All populated banks, hillsides.

It was Monday.

Few people roamed the paths.

Leaving the park’s majesty to us.

Empty trails, bridges, lawns.

A quiet afternoon.

Just before our grandson’s return to Manhattan.

Munificent, spontaneous matinee.

Natural delights, great, small.

Riots of color, smell.

Bounteous curtain call.

All bidding him farewell.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 1, 2024

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Holidays, Mother Love, Mother's Day

Mothers’ Day in May

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Mothers’ Day falls in May.

But, I think about mothers all the time.

Maybe a habit, since childhood.

When I aspired to be a mother.

Gathering my dolls for tea.

Reading to them.

Putting them to bed.

Rehearsing for the day when I’d get the role.

Not realizing the complexity of the task.

Growth cycles.

Differences in children.

Temperaments.

Learning styles.

For me, relentless challenges.

Emotional, physical.

Seeking knowledge.

Books, mentors, seminars.

Making discoveries.

Finding support when situations, tough.

A miracle, I made it through.

Progeny intact.

Moving forward with their lives.

So, a mother of any age in any stage.

Or, anyone who works with children.

No matter gender, capacity.

Teachers, coaches, nannies.

I give them all automatic credit.

Embarking on this journey.

To cultivate healthy people,

ethical and kind.

It takes a special touch,

inching toward divine.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 12, 2024

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Holidays, Passover, Stories, Trips and Places, Water Mill

Epic Journey

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It was an epic journey.

From Elkins Park to the Hamptons.

Bob, Elias and I.

Skirting around Manhattan.

From Staten Island across the Verrazano Bridge.

Through Brooklyn, Queens.

Finally, to Long Island.

Pronounced long by the youngest passenger.

Listening to Harry Potter.

Prisoner of Azkaban.

Stopping to refuel our EV.

Grab a salad for Elias.

No bread or pretzels.

For it was midway through Pesach.

But the reward great upon arrival.

Three girl princesses all in a row

waiting with sweet embrace.

Two ballerinas and a toddler,

lithe-bodied, full of grace.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April  30, 2024

All Poems, Art/Arts, For Children, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Museums, Philadelphia, Pleasure, Trips and Places, Wisdom

Morning After the Second Seder

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It was morning, after the second Seder.

Ordinary excursion to the Franklin Institute.

A favorite museum of grandchildren.

For exhibits on electricity, biology, physics.

A planetarium’s view of the universe.

All with predictable participatory fun.

But not one of us expected the surprise in the special gallery.

The Art of the Brick.

By artist Nathan Sawaya.

New Yorker, whose love of legos bloomed into masterpieces.

Copies of well-known paintings, sculptures.

His own expressive works.

On love, growth, hope.

Collaboration with photographer, Dean West.

Crafting distinctive photos with landscapes and legos.

Even more than prolific production, Sawaya encourages.

Cradles creativity.

Tells you who he is.

His journey from attorney to artist.

Enjoins you to find, honor your unique path.

The visit, ordinary to extraordinary.

Sawaya surely has a goal.

To uplift us and inspire.

Nourish each and every soul.

Lynn Benjamin

April 26, 2024

 

26, 2024