Mother’s Day

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

There’s a First Time for Everything

Posted on

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

Posted on

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, Holidays, Mother Love, Mother's Day

Mothers’ Day in May

Posted on

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, Holidays, Homages, Love, Mother's Day, Spouses

Blue Shirt on Mother’s Day: Perspective Two

Posted on

 

I put on this blue shirt for Mother’s Day, said Bob.

Pointing to his buttoned down, collared shirt.

But, who will see it?

Children, far away?

Siblings, occupied with their own families?

Lovely, I nodded.

Already sensing his homage to me.

Appreciating the meals he planned to make.

Morning waffles with jam.

Roasted stuffed tomatoes and beans for dinner.

The walks outdoors.

Holding hands.

Noting earth’s surprises.

Emerging roses.

Wafting perfumes.

Soaring cardinals.

Unfurling pea blossoms.

Shooting gladioli.

Why did you plant glads among the dahlias? I asked.

Continuing, my mother always loved them.

That’s why, he answered. I wanted to hear you say that.

I felt love well up inside.

Bubble like a cup of champagne.

For all we’ve shared together.

Buttons, collar, donned for me.

Any small mistakes he made.

Forgiven totally.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 15, 2023

All Poems, Family, Holidays, Humor, Mother's Day, Spouses

Blue Shirt on Mother’s Day: Perspective One

Posted on

 

I put on this blue shirt for Mother’s Day, said Bob.

Pointing to his buttoned down, collared shirt.

But, who will see it?

Children, far away?

Siblings, occupied with their own families?

As it turned out, lots of people saw it.

In the commotion, a few doors down.

An open house to sell a property.

Which lured us inside to see the layout.

Once in, we met prospective buyers.

Followed them to a second house.

Which was flipped, but left undone.

Wires hanging, trash strewn.

Appliances, a bannister, missing.

Over the shame of disrepair, Bob bonded with the shoppers.

Invited a family to walk through our house.

In an instant, he had company.

The blue shirt, seen, not wasted.

Grateful guests were glad to tour

a house well-kept and with décor.

Bob’s blue shirt was not for naught.

Asking in callers without forethought.

Though hosting tends to satisfy,

I could not this visit justify.

Don’t take strangers through your house

against the wishes of your spouse.

Unless your place is up for sale.

No fears of scammers or blackmail.

Just so you know, Bob, I like your shirt.

No need to inveigle fate, get hurt.

Glad enough to be alone with you.

Strolling, dining in Mother’s Day blue.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 15, 2023

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Environment/Mother Earth, Holidays, Mother Love, Mother's Day

Observing Mother’s Day

Posted on

 

I observed many a Mother’s Day.

For my mother, mother-in-law, self.

Years, decades of honoring.

Now, older generations, gone.

My children, parents.

Time to pass appreciation.

To those that toil daily with young ones.

Get them up for school.

Prepare meals.

Buy clothes.

Tuck them in at night.

Guide, nurture.

To those who struggle to garner resources.

Single mothers, mothers with health issues.

Mothers carrying little ones at our borders.

Mothers who work outside their homes.

Teachers, medical professionals, grocery clerks.

Mothers pulled in every direction.

Fighting to find a free minute in the day.

Women without the title Mother.

Who birth ideas, designs, strategies.

Mentors, guides, inspirations.

I salute you all.

Your tenacity.

Ingenuity.

Energy.

Generosity.

Perhaps made possible by Mother Earth.

Who holds us all.

Her bounty spanning seasons.

Countries.

Continents.

To whom, like to every mother,

we owe gratitude, praise.

Protection and loving care

for sacred dwelling space.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 14, 2023

Debra Hughes, Dreamstime

All Poems, Family, Health/Illness, Mother's Day, Pain, Spouses, Stories

Instant Change

Posted on

 

It was a magical evening in May.
Two social events in the same afternoon.
Unusual, and needed.
To break up the pace of the workday routine.
Tomorrow: Mother’s Day.
Who would call?

Heaven. Sitting in someone else’s yard.
Gabbing: babies, parenting, prizes, honors,
children, politics.
The free association of an intimate soiree.
Then, time to go to meet some friends at a nearby pub.

We fairly sprang around the side of the house to avoid
pet allergies inside.
Surprise! The lawn sloped four feet down to our car.
Funny. We hadn’t noticed the incline on arrival.
When climbing some steps to the front door.

Come, I called. There are steps here somewhere.
I rushed to find them feeling the first drops of rain on my face.
I was alone.
Where are you?
Silence.
Thud. Two screams cut through the dampness.
And your ankle.

Ahead: instant change, confusion, pain.
Weeks of  thump, thump.
The fiber glass cast.
Anticipating your entrance.

Lynn Benjamin
June 22, 2007