Hope

All Poems, Change, Family, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Hope, Humor, Spouses

I Feel Younger

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I really feel younger, said Bob.

Since I began going to the gym.

He seemed younger, too.

Bouncing along without pain in his hip.

Each day, finding a new muscle.

Increasing weights he lifts.

Showing improved stamina.

Always ready to take a second, third walk.

Jumping up to turn off a light.

Run back for a forgotten scarf.

Inviting people to socialize.

Eating more protein.

Losing excess pounds.

Even wrinkles receding.

Discovering ways to be lighter and limber

makes aging more of a friend.

Bones stop creaking when you rise from the floor.

With ease you can squat and bend.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 3, 2024

 

All Poems, Emotions, Environment/Mother Earth, Holidays, Hope, Pleasure, Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day

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Valentine’s Day is upon us.

That day when we express love.

With cards, chocolates, flowers.

Of course, with words.

The I love you’s not said.

Buried under mounds of work.

Resentments that forestall.

Stresses that burden.

Embarrassment, timidity.

But, the 14th frees us.

To tell our lovers.

Our children, grandchildren.

Even friends.

How much we appreciate them.

Something I’ve taken part in since childhood.

Exchanging cards at school.

Later, gifts with dear ones.

This year, Mother Nature regales me.

Snowbells in a dell.

Daffodils poking up.

Daylilies turning lettuce green.

White candy tufts in bloom.

All in mid-February.

In time for this day of affection.

Proof, though raw days still abound,

perhaps even snow and ice,

Spring pushes through the ground,

soon to offer paradise.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 14, 2024

 

All Poems, Holidays, Hope, Jewish Holidays, Miracles, Trauma, Violence

Chanukah Slipped In

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Chanukah slipped in.

Almost unnoticed in the heavy gloom.

Weeks after the assault by Hamas.

On October 7th, Sukkot.

World Jewry desperate to free hostages.

Root out terrorism.

End darkness.

Melancholy, grief.

A thousand shadows lurking.

While each night adding another candle.

Remembering souls snuffed out too soon.

Praying for the marvel of the Maccabees.

Oil enough for one day, kindling eight.

Though miracles be legends,

they seed needs for hope.

For light to fill a vengeful world,

enmity revoke.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 8, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Hope, Loss, Pain, Trauma, Violence

Broken

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When you think broken, what comes to mind?

A bone?

Toy?

Tooth?

Sidewalk?

Relationship?

I, too, image those things.

But, Friday, I knew it was the world.

When Hamas ambushed Israel.

Slaughtering, capturing, brutalizing.

Yes, the world breaks.

When people murder innocents.

Listening to music.

Celebrating a holiday.

Spending time with family.

The world breaks.

When people rip up basic human contracts.

The ones I taught my children.

Be kind.

Respectful.

Empathic.

Solve problems with words, not violence.

How do you fix a fractured world?

Is it even possible?

When, though past wounds still burn, people walk away.

Avert eyes.

Numb senses.

Forget the misery, loss, grief.

Needless suffering.

Till new catastrophes slam down.

Breaking us again into pieces.

It’s easy to lose all hope.

Fall into despondency, despair.

Instead, let each of us be healer.

Lift up one shattered shard, smashed prayer.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 13, 2023

 

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Friendship, Hope, Plants

What Buoys Spirits?

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What buoys spirits as days shorten?

Leaves dry and drop?

Birds, butterflies migrate south?

Late summer flowers wither?

Perhaps little wonders.

Filling you with pleasure.

Milkweed pods bursting.

Parachuting seeds aloft.

A turtle family.

Bathing in afternoon sun.

Snakeroot fields.

Climbing where trees, felled.

A pop-up popcorn party.

Calling friends together.

Weaving stories.

Like spiders, webs.

Kindling thoughts, recollections.

Exchanging ideas.

Inspirations all.

Breaths for heart and soul.

Deep and long and full.

The kind that keep you whole.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 4, 2023

 

All Poems, Environment/Mother Earth, Growth, Hope, Natural Beauty, Plants

Gray As Slate

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The day was gray as slate.

Threatening at any moment to unleash showers.

Dampening spirits of those who long for sun.

Almost out of nowhere, Bob pointed.

Look out back, he said.

Staring out the bedroom window.

Look, I did.

The forest bloomed.

A miracle.

In empty space where landscapers clear cut it.

Left it naked, vulnerable.

Fields of flowering vines.

White snakeroot, three feet tall.

Surrounding a single pink zinnia.

Winterberry heavy with scarlet fruits.

Empress trees laden with seed pods.

A baby trunk sprouting behind a floral arrangement.

The area rebounded.

Inhaled new life.

Lighting up the day.

With a dazzling white aura.

Triumphant luminosity outshining gloom.

Mixed with a sea of green.

Leaves, stems, climbing, creeping.

Lush, verdant, vital.

A sign, I thought.

An example

Earth knows how to renew herself

despite carelessness, eradication.

Give her time to heal herself.

She’ll make the transformation.

A guiding beam in dark times

for skeptics of civilization.

Maybe our world can spring back.

Make reversal with remediation.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 2, 2023

 

 

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Growth, Gym/exercise, Hope, Spouses

Who Would Have Guessed?

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Who would have guessed?

We’d join a gym.

Sign up for classes.

Hire personal trainers.

For fitness, steadiness.

Who would have guessed?

Two old people would request machines.

Learning to lift weights.

Fortifying limbs and core.

For these people prefer to walk.

Keeping heart fit.

Mostly, exercising the brain.

Important for decades.

But now, it’s time, we’re told.

To practice as elegantly as we did.

When learning to roll over, crawl, toddle.

When our techniques, perfect.

But, degraded over long years in chairs.

So, we met the moment.

Prioritizing strength, stability.

Working on movement, balance

to postpone weakness, fragility.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 29, 2023

 

All Poems, Change, Gardens, Hope, Natural Beauty, Plants, Seasons

One Day After

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One day after return from the shore.

Thermometer dropped.

Green leaves faded to yellow.

Cool breezes crept in.

Dark clouds roamed the skies.

All harbingers of change.

Sinking spirits.

For it’s hard to bid farewell to summer.

Season of abandon, outdoor ease.

I shivered in the bracing air.

Wondering what would come next.

My eyes alighting on three white toadstools.

Smack in the middle of the garden.

Large, plain umbrellas.

Uninvited boarders popping in.

Providing shelter for ants, bees, ladybugs.

Offering curiosity and hope.

Their underground fungal network

converting dead plants to food,

enriching the garden’s soil

for which I owe gratitude.

Toadstool tops are fruits

spreading spores by wind, by rain,

to settle in a further patch.

Improve yet more terrain.

So, welcome unexpected guests!

Your mission brings me cheer.

Unpack your bags and stay awhile

before you, too, disappear.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 28, 2023

All Poems, Food, Friendship, Hope

My Mouth Longs for Figs

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When September rolls round, my mouth longs for figs.

The kind we used to grow before downsizing.

Sometimes, longing turns to wishing.

Wishing I could grow a fig tree in a pot.

Wishing I could nibble a fig in my mind.

Wishing someone who has a fig tree would give me some.

Now and again, the wish comes true.

Becomes reality.

Like last night.

When friends arrived for dinner.

Two gifts in hand.

A jar of honey from Cape May beekeepers.

Complete surprise.

A container of figs from their tree.

Wish fulfilled.

Along with an offer.

To harvest their yield.

On our post Rosh Hashanah trip to Cape May.

Otherwise, my friend said, the squirrels will grab them.

Take a bite, then drop them.

Those discourteous creatures, she laughed.

I needed no more encouragement.

Excited, highly motivated,

in a pail, figs I’ll collect.

Before arboreal bushy tails

take charge of fruits unchecked.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 14, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Hope, Maine, Trips and Places

Hope

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I hope the suitcases come today, said Roseanne.

As we drove away for breakfast.

I’d feel so much better if I had my things, she added.

All day, one or the other of us said, I hope the suitcases come.

Till mid-afternoon.

When the driver for the airline called.

Said he hoped to drop them off by four.

They had gone to Bangor, on a flight we didn’t take.

Each of us relieved after his message.

Then hoping for other things.

I hope the person who left a bag on the picnic table comes back for it.

I hope the dog wandering in the middle of the road is okay.

I hope the teary clerk in the shop feels better.

What is this thing called hope?

A wish for something to happen?

A sense of optimism that it will?

An expectation?

Define hope as you would like.

It dwelled in our hearts all day.

Keeping us buoyant, confident.

Shooing our doubts away.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 8, 2023