Language

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Language

Another Language

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Do your grandchildren speak another language?

One different from yours?

So different, you simply don’t understand?

Like three of mine.

Starting life in Russian.

Hearing lullabies in Russian.

Stories in Russian.

Conversations in Russian.

That’s when I lean on my body and theirs.

Cues, hints, signs.

Smiles, nodding heads, closing eyes.

Coos, clicks, giggles.

So I become a mirror.

Curling lips upwards, crooning back.

In high-pitched notes mothers use with babies.

Or, I attend when they cry or whine.

Absorbing their distress as mine.

Supplying comfort, solace.

By toddlerhood, we both point, nod, shake heads.

I listen to the strange string of words.

Parse them for meaning.

Label an object or two in English.

Offering my language to them.

Seeking balance.

Between understanding and not.

By school years, they traverse two languages.

Our back and forth, easier.

But, in truth, words are never enough.

The body reveals the message.

Eyes, mouth, hands, stance.

Exquisite give and take.

Grandparent-child dance.

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2024

All Poems, Family, For Children, Humor, Language, Natural Beauty, Seasons, Spouses

One More Outdoor Dinner

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We squeezed in one more outdoor dinner, said Bob with joy.

As we sat on the deck.

At our wrought iron table.

Watching the sun set.

Between bites of fava beans, roasted eggplants.

Alone with chirping crickets.

Rustling, darting squirrels.

An unexpected deer trampling twigs.

Gazing up at us as if we, the intruders.

Before darting away.

A view of fading snakeroots.

Guarding two pink zinnias, a lavender coneflower.

The sole progeny of a hundred seeds.

Scattered by Bob early in summer.

When men cut down the trees.

I looked about on all sides.

Distilling the scene.

Wondering if we really squeezed it in.

For perhaps we’re squeezing it out!

One last drop from a drying sponge.

Thirsty leaves around us falling.

Rumpling, crackling, scrunching, crunge.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 30, 2023

 

 

 

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Language, Maine, Trips and Places

Out of the Woods

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Are we out of the woods yet? I asked Bob.

As we trekked in Camden Hills State Park.

Not a trail we were supposed to be on.

Because we were planning to drive to the top of the hill.

To see the view of Penobscot Bay and the Harbor.

From the renowned Mount Battie.

But, the road was closed.

For construction.

Paving that would end nine days from now.

When we were no longer here.

The only permitted path to the top was a trail.

Wet with mud, puddles from yesterday’s rain.

I couldn’t stop myself from posing a question.

Didn’t Napoleon lose at Waterloo because of mud after a storm?

Bob nodded in assent.

Both of us having been to Waterloo not long ago.

The hike felt like it might be a losing battle.

Against marshy ravines.

Slippery rocks.

Underbrush, roots, stones.

Both of us ready to be free of the slog.

Struck by the true meaning of out of the woods.

For we were not out of the woods yet.

We had an hour to go.

The prize, Mount Battie tower.

View of the bay.

Neither wearing boots.

Only sneakers, tripping, sliding.

But for the leki sticks, we would be defeated.

Persevering, though, despite older age.

Like we used to.

Getting through school.

Starting careers.

Rearing children.

All goals to fulfill.

Like this trudge.

Ending in scenic views.

Which we reached whole, intact.

But opting out of woods

for the banned zone going back.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 14, 2023

 

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Humor, Language

Wild Goose Chase

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I have been immersed with geese.

Maybe, enmeshed.

For at least three months.

Watching parents give birth.

Nurture, teach.

As goslings lost down.

Grew strong enough to fly away.

A new bird taking their place.

On the banks of a pond.

So, yesterday, my ears burned.

When my husband said, that was a wild goose chase.

After a long drive to a nursing home.

To see a cousin who wasn’t there.

Because she had been taken to a hospital.

Unbeknownst to us.

I grasped the meaning.

The oft used idiom.

Picturing my wild geese friends.

Competent parents.

Foragers.

Managers of life.

The attribution simply did not fit.

Why not wild snake or frog?

Wild fly, bedbug, flea?

Even wild honeysuckle

or spreading green ivy?

Perhaps a wild car chase

where police don’t catch the crook.

Or a pastry chef in motion

who can’t find his own cookbook.

Or just leave out the modifier.

Go on a wild chase.

Don’t denote a wild anything,

its character debase.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 6, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Emotions, Food, For Children, Friendship, Language, Stories

Lone Goose

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The goose family has disappeared.

So have daily dramas.

Feedings.

Fights with other goose couples.

Protection of goslings.

Defense of territory.

Instead, one lone goose remains.

Roams around nearby.

Poking at grass.

Poplar tulip petals.

Looking a bit dejected.

As if it needs a friend.

An ear to tell its tales.

Why is it alone?

Is it mourning?

Depressed?

Afraid to socialize?

It doesn’t hiss me away.

It runs from me.

As if fearful.

So, each day, I sprinkle a handful of cereal.

Which it eats with gusto.

A simple way to connect.

To build a bridge.

Along with gentle cooing.

Mother to baby.

High pitched, soothing.

Good morning, little one. Come for a treat.

I know our language different.

Our culture and our mores.

But I am ready, dear sweet goose,

to listen to your stories.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 5, 2023

All Poems, Friendship, Humor, Language, Retirement

Serendipity or Coincidence?

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Was it serendipity or coincidence?

That a colleague and I reconnected?

After the pandemic separated us.

For, I, reaching out, emailed her old address.

The one from her time as a psychologist.

At a school where we worked together.

Though she had left, retired.

Spotting it only because she joined the school board.

Reactivating the old email account.

Maybe it was serendipity for her.

A fortunate discovery.

Occurring by fortuitous accident.

Because she checked her messages at the old address.

For me, coincidence.

That I sent an email to a wrong address.

That, by chance, she restored.

At the exact moment I sent my greeting.

Serendipity or coincidence?

Happenstance or luck?

Call it what you will.

Covid spell, unstuck.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 23, 2023

 

All Poems, Humor, Language

Zhuzh

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It’s likely I’ve heard this word.

Never really grabbed it.

Till now.

Hearing it two days in a row.

First, at a dermatology office.

Then, on the Rachel Maddow show.

Why didn’t I notice it before?

Maybe because it’s not in every dictionary?

Spelling is variable?

Its onomatopoeia outwits?

Sneaking past?

I’m not sure.

But, the spelling is fickle.

Depending on the writer.

Zhuzh, zhoosh, jeuje.

Tszuj, zush, tzhuj.

Shuzh, shush, jooj.

Can be verb or noun.

Origins unclear.

Is it from Yiddish?

Like tchotchke or tsuris?

Or from Romani nomadic itinerants?

Or from Polari, slang of British art subculture?

All possibilities.

It was popularized by Carson Kressey.

In Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

Meaning to give something life, flair, oomph.

To zhuzh it up.

Or, to give it zhuzh.

So, zhuzh up your appearance

with a scarf or eye shadow.

Or give your sofa zhuzh

with a patterned posh pillow.

Zhuzh up your pie crust

with flower cookie cutters.

Give your hair some zhuzh

with fancy finger flutters.

Once you practice how to say it,

zhuzh slips right off the tongue.

Try it, buy it, seize it!

It enlivens, makes you young!

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 11, 2023

 

In Yiddish, a tchotchke is a trinket.

Tsuris is aggravation.

 

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Humor, Language

Goose Language

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To have another language is to possess a second soul. Charlemagne

 

When I was a student, I favored language classes.

Spanish, French, Latin.

English, Hebrew, Catalán.

Learning with gusto.

Now wish I could understand birds.

Chirps, trills, whistles, croaks.

Honks of geese who nest in a pond near me.

Rearing their young, now adolescents.

With wingspans, dark feathers.

Each day, I visit.

Three or four times to check on them.

So, by now, we’re well acquainted.

Though polite.

Keeping appropriate distances.

I watch newcomers harass the family.

Honking,  hollering at them.

The father shooting strait into them.

Pushing them back.

Chasing them away.

Marking space.

Protecting offspring.

In a most admirable way.

Though I watch these dramas,

numerous assumptions make,

understanding from the goose’s mouth

would be clearer, no mistake.

Hence, my wish to communicate.

Part mediator, part friend.

I would give them both my ears.

Fully listen and attend.

I’d offer sympathy to parents.

Turn to intruders, too.

Ask for their perspective.

Why behave how you do?

Once everyone has spoken.

Heard each other’s side.

Perhaps assaults would cease.

At least I’d know I tried.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2023

All Poems, Friendship, Humor, Language

Reunion of Friends

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A reunion of friends is always unique.

Kaleidoscopic designs.

Same pieces, shifting arrangements.

Novel and reassuring at once.

Snippets of news, stories, updates, humor.

Everything you crave to be close.

Connected, uplifted, exhilarated.

Till thanked for squeezing in time.

Between two trips.

Leaving me perplexed.

A bit jarred.

Glimpsing unwanted images.

Extruding juice from lemons.

Extracting toothpaste from a tube.

Cramming people into an elevator.

When the perfect scene popped to mind.

A squeeze, embrace, hold tight.

Exhalation, a breath of calm.

Circle of squeezing delight!

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 2, 2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Health/Illness, Humor, Language, Worry

Nuclear Stress Test

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Today I go for a cardiac test.

A nuclear stress test.

Technically, Myocardial Perfusion Stress Testing with Imaging.

With radioactive dye.

Camera.

Treadmill.

But, why would anyone title a test with stress?

Don’t we have enough stress in our lives?

Rushing, racing here and there?

Balancing needs of children, parents?

Trying to fit more into each day?

Suppose we designated other tests with the qualifier stress?

The Bar Stress Test?

The Boards Stress Test?

The SAT Stress Test?

Each one of those tests confers its own stress.

It’s not necessary to broadcast stress.

Why not call the cardiac test the heart efficiency test?

Myocardial Perfusion Efficiency Testing and Imaging?

Isn’t the question how efficiently the heart pumps?

Don’t words send messages?

To the mind?

Heart?

Muscles?

I’m feeling very certain

my mind and heart converse.

If either one gets stressed,

difficult to reverse.

Stress is a stimulus

triggering bodily sensations.

Could be chest pain, short breath,

high blood pressure, palpitations.

So, if the idea is to measure

the blood flow in the heart,

why send a worrying suggestion?

Give symptoms a head start?

Maybe eliminating stress

from appellation of this test

might allow the patient calm,

circumvent cardiac distress.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 16, 2022