Humor

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Humor, Love, Pleasure, Seasons, Spouses

Transformation

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Bob transforms before my eyes.

Noting new muscles in stomach, thighs.

Increasing weights on machines.

Walking with zip, alacrity.

Signing up for classes to strengthen core.

Watching carbs, losing weight.

Shrinking from pant size forty to thirty-six.

A number he hasn’t worn since his twenties.

Why do people think a man of seventy-five can’t change?

Even become younger?

Stare at himself in the mirror like a seventeen-year-old?

Study his physique?

Buy stylish clothing?

New undergarments, socks?

Hold my hand, rub my back?

Flirt, enchant, allure with passion?

Wax poetic about flowers?

Blooming clematis, daisies, lavender.

Waiting for bee balm, Echinacea to bare petals.

Attract hummingbirds, butterflies.

Notice mating calls of frogs, foxes?

Cardinals, robins, wrens

Luscious sensuality abounds.

June’s vitality makes it easy to be young.

No matter your age.

Passion floats with pollen through the air.

Settling golden on the skin.

Transfigured, we instantly take care.

With vigor, once again smitten.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 3, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Emotions, Food, Humor, Loss, Stories

Day of Lamentation

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It was a day of lamentation.

Rabbits ate the peas. The deer, cucumbers, eggplants.

Bob intoned at intervals.

Punctuated by, it makes me sad.

It’s true, he worked hard potting those plants.

In tidy rows outback.

Where, in years past, no animals bothered them.

But, once he put peas downstairs, they lured other forest friends.

So, by the end of the day, his crops, nearly decimated.

So, too, his spirits.

Which he soothed, shelling peas.

Picked up this morning at a local farmer’s market.

Also, by harvesting the first purslane.

Grown on the deck above the pillaged produce.

Then serving peas, purslane with dinner outside.

Listening to avian concerts.

Ignoring the garlic and rotten egg odor.

Laid down below to repel deer.

Then taking a walk through perfumed lanes.

Honeysuckles, magnolias, Japanese lilacs.

Instant aha in nature’s hall.

In the scheme, what’s lost is small.

Did you hear the sacred call?

Give the hungry green coleslaw!

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 2, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Disappointment, Food, For Children, Gardens, Humor, Seasons, Stories

What Happened to the Peas?

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What happened to the peas? asked Bob.

Seeing them pushed over, flattened.

After climbing lush, green, tall.

Was it the rain the night before?

Battering them down?

Leveling them?

It couldn’t be deer.

For all the deterrents laid.

Maybe bunnies.

Nibbling to nubs.

Leaving nothing for groundhogs.

Insects, birds.

Nothing for us, this season.

Last year’s pods, prolific.

Sitting on the deck flowering, fruiting.

Away from reach of rabbits.

Moved downstairs to the back yard.

Where hungry creatures forage.

Making more space above.

Surely, these rabbits trampling peas

have a fine gourmet palate.

I hope they reject cucumber leaves

for their next May time salad.

Our sacrifice, contribution

to well-being of cottontails.

We owe them hearty ovation

for attention to green details.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 24, 2024

All Poems, Gardens, Humor, Pleasure

Gardeners Among Us

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May brings out gardeners among us.

The ones wanting to beautify the neighborhood.

Adding flowers to tiny patches in front of houses.

Petunias, impatiens, geraniums.

Daisies, Persian buttercups, begonias.

May also brings out oglers.

Circulating, admiring the handiwork.

Organization, placement, arrangement.

Mixing, matching, coordinating colors.

Your garden is lovely.

It’s so attractive.

It’s sure to draw bees, birds.

Compliments fly.

Like wrens, sparrows.

Darting back and forth.

I approach a neighbor.

Praising her labors.

She, in turn, points to my garden.

The one my husband, Bob, plants, tends.

Often starting it earlier in the season.

Well, I say, they’re different.

Hers, tidy, orderly in rows.

Ours, abundant, lush, wild.

Bee balm, cone flower stalks.

Towering over smaller blooms.

Every inch of soil covered.

Surrounded by pots of daisies, Peruvian lilies, herbs.

Climbing lavender clematis, about to burst.

A lemon tree now outside.

Having wintered in the garage.

I couldn’t stop myself.

Bringing Bob’s attention to other flower plots.

Disciplined, neat.

He didn’t flinch.

Unoffended, smiling.

Different styles, more variety.

Lots of ways to enchant.

Our garden has character.

Untamed, exuberant.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 23, 2024

All Poems, Creation, Growth, Humor, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Seasons

Season for Pollen

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May is the season for pollen.

But, have you ever seen it billow by?

Yellow mist emanating from pine trees?

On gentle spring breezes?

Some finding targets.

Inside female hidden parts.

To fertilize, make seeds.

The rest gilding lawns, streets.

Chairs, tables.

Doors, windows.

Wafting into unsuspecting eyes, noses.

Showers of golden powder.

Leaving telltale patinas everywhere.

But, given the sheer quantity,

some will find a mate.

Shimmy into seductive cones.

Surely propagate.

Standing inside the cloudburst,

bathing in the dust,

arouses amorous excitement

with each puffy gust.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 22, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Humor, Pleasure, Spouses, Stories

Rose Scented Body Wash

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Do you like the rose scented body wash? Bob asked me.

After ordering two bottles of the hard-to-find liquid on line.

Arriving today, I opened one, used it.

Nodding assent, I tell him, I like that scent. But, it became unavailable.

He went on, there are only two more left in stock. Should I order them?

I hesitated, thinking how much I relished the fragrance.

Then, a quick shake of the head, no.

What sense to hoard a bath soap

when I’m seventy-five?

Who knows if in a year or two

I’ll even be alive?

What’s the point of downsizing?

Tossing to make space?

If we purchase extra products.

Likely, we’ll misplace.

No merit now in storing

any more than two.

If I have to switch aromas,

that’s just what I’ll do.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 22, 2024

 

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Humor, Pleasure, Prose/memoir, Spouses, Stories

Tickling Conversation

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It was a conversation tickling me inside.

Making me open my mouth, giggle.

In short bursts.

Listening to Bob make a pronouncement.

I’m making an executive decision, he said with solemnity.

Referring to some old packages of farro.

Deciding to toss them into the trash.

I paid attention, amused.

Wasn’t he the guy who didn’t part with things?

Kept berries in the freezer for years?

Disregarded expiration dates on pill bottles?

Making sure there was not one last use for something?

Now talking about farro?

Telling me whole grains could go rancid?

Excellent decision, I agreed, laughing again.

Enjoying the little peals escaping in waves.

Feeling lighter with each one.

Hands rising as though filled with helium.

Lips curling upwards at the corners.

A delight I was wishing

would never cease.

Would go on forever,

only increase.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 9, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Humor, Stories, Trees

Baffled

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I was baffled.

Each time I left the house.

Traversed the atrium.

A bird rocketed from a leafy clematis.

Climbing the trellis on the wall.

Bursting into bushy greenery.

What was that flier doing there?

Resting?

Hiding?

Sitting on a nest?

Frightened, hearing footsteps?

Darting out to distract a predator?

Zooming to the Bradford pear across the way.

To wait till the coast clear?

To return to the hideaway?

A drama played out a half dozen times a day.

Revealing its protagonist.

A brown song sparrow.

Singing its heart out with a mate.

High up in a tree.

Now instead of puzzled,

honored to host a nest.

Though the sparrow may regret her choice.

By footfalls, not impressed.

But whistles, warbles, trills,

concerts from our guest,

send our spirits soaring.

Daily music fest.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 5, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Humor, Memories

I Don’t Remember

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I don’t remember.

A refrain heard often in conversation with age mates.

Those in the senior stage of life.

What is the title of that book?

The author?

The name of the politician?

The actor?

You can see the book cover.

The actor’s face.

You can describe the plot in detail.

Give a biography of the actor.

But the name eludes.

Sometimes popping up a few minutes later.

Sometimes a day.

Sometimes suggested by a companion.

Upon hearing the description.

What is it with the brain?

So photographic in our youth?

Maybe these glitches, like wrinkles.

Reminders of old age truth.

Names get snarled in chaos,

jammed up, unable to move.

What’s the fix from mind to mouth?

Nifty new cerebral groove?

Lynn Benjamin

May 5, 2024

All Poems, Commemorations, Death, Family, Humor, In-laws

Unveiling Ethel’s Stone

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Today, Ethel, the unveiling of your stone.

The one marking resting place with Mac.

Ceremony arranged by your children.

On time, as you would like it done.

Though I suspect you dreamed of fanfare.

A bit more pomp.

A grand parade of important people.

Grandchildren, older great grandchildren.

Large family gathering.

Like in days gone by.

To talk about you.

Remember when’s, exhort tell me mores.

Maybe outside among tulips, irises, forget-me-nots.

At big picnic tables.

Under a cloudless blue sky, sun shining.

Roses just beginning to bloom.

Diffuse their perfumes.

Cameras snapping all around.

Guests saying, wouldn’t Ethel love this celebration?

We miss her, wish she were here.

You would sense kavod flowing your way.

But, here we stand today.

A son, a daughter, each mate.

Paying you simple tribute.

Not wanting to complicate.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 13, 2024