Pain

All Poems, Emotions, Farewell, Loss, Pain, Politics, Trees

Trees Shed Tears

Posted on

 

Strange that trees shed tears.

Little jeweled droplets.

Poised on naked branches.

Reflecting my own melancholy.

For a maddening world.

Where people hurt each other.

Innocents suffer.

Injustices grow like weeds.

Endings unravel faster than beginnings start.

So easy to let bad tidings flood the mind.

Especially after holiday farewells.

When guests distract from the usual diet.

Daily news, social media.

With their good cheer, enthusiasm.

Involvement in activities.

Baking, group walks.

Outtings, theater.

Now behind us.

Leaving a hollow.

Easily filled with sorrows.

For the multitude of them.

Ceaseless, never ending.

So, let me have my tears.

Legitimate, justified.

But also stock the void.

With good deeds, comaraderie.

Helping neighbors with a meal.

Marking the new year with friends.

Preparing for adventure.

Focusing on those I love.

Scattering kindness seeds.

Tapping into my own self’s best.

Relief from bleak unease.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 30, 2023

All Poems, Pain, Sounds, Trauma, Violence

Neighborhood

Posted on

 

The neighborhood is quiet.

A peaceful place.

Where bees buzz.

Robins sing.

People wave, converse.

Sometimes listen to audiobooks.

Except this morning.

Everything booms.

Helicopters roar.

Trains rattle by.

Amazon trucks thunder.

Then, Fed Ex.

The wind.

Huffs, puffs.

Into ears.

Blows off hats, scarves.

Knocks walkers off paths.

Perhaps noisiest of all,

thoughts inside my head.

Explosions in the Middle East.

Mayhem and bloodshed.

Could it be discordant sounds

outside and in the brain,

remind us that all around

lay suffering and pain?

Whatever we can do

so others’ spirits rise,

will surely calm the clamor.

Mend ears, revitalize.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 24, 2023

 

 

 

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

Broken

Posted on

 

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, Emotions, Loss, Pain, Trauma, Violence

I Want to Write

Posted on

 

I want to write about beauty.

The milkweed display outside my window.

Orange and red florets.

That would, if temperatures stayed steady, become seed pods.

Draw caterpillars, butterflies, even firebugs.

Send puffs floating on breezes.

The white onion flowers.

Blooming in September clusters.

From a sprouted bulb in a refrigerator drawer.

Planted a year ago by a grandson, then nine.

The lindens, oaks and maples.

Turning yellow, red, orange in earnest.

Dropping dried souvenirs on lawns.

In streets, parking lots.

The toadstools.

Pop up parades everywhere.

Including a fungal float on a Locust trunk.

In shades of orange matching autumnal pumpkins.

I want to write about beauty.

About growth, regeneration.

But, how can I?

When terrorism hijacks Israel?

Innocent lives, snuffed?

Life itself devalued?

Beauty crushed?

Reason blown to bits?

Sanity shattered?

When my insides burn with sorrow?

Grief I can’t describe.

How to see what’s beautiful?

When the world falls all around?

How to hear the breezes blow?

When you want to shut out sound?

I don’t have the answers.

My voice is small, unheard.

The only thing that settles me

is penning my next word.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 11, 2023

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Loss, Pain, Trauma, Violence

Day Promised Joy

Posted on

 

The day promised joy.

Two grandchildren, visiting.

Theater matinee, Liora and me.

Mini golf, games, Elias and Bob.

Simchat Torah celebrations.

Dinner, dancing, glow lights, ice cream.

Yet, a shadow hovered.

Threatening to extinguish light.

Terrorist attacks in Israel.

Snuffing lives, daily routines.

Kidnapping, bombing, terrorizing.

Nothing seemed right.

How do you force yourself into the moment?

With children who live far away?

When places you know are exploding?

How do you hold pleasure in one hand?

Sorrow in the other?

Enriching your own life?

While Israel be in despair?

Pulling grandchildren closer,

questioning power of prayer.

When conflict breaks out on the planet,

it’s hard to calm small ones, breathe.

For darkness could hit any time

from above us or underneath.

Living’s a delicate balance

between mourning and felicity.

Acknowledging their co-existence

enables authenticity.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 10, 2023

 

Aging, All Poems, Health/Illness, Pain

Seeing A Doctor

Posted on

 

Seeing a doctor was always an ordeal.

Stamping, screaming at vaccinations in childhood.

Over time, easier.

Though the pandemic added new stress.

Waiting outside.

Wearing a mask.

Answering questions about travel.

Now offices have eased restrictions.

Like the one yesterday.

Where I went to check out pain along my right arm.

Worrying it radiated from the shoulder.

Having had shoulder surgery, injuries.

The waiting room, crammed.

Though people disappeared quickly.

At an assembly line pace.

Registration, easy.

No long packets to fill out.

Just delivery of insurance cards to a clerk.

Then, directed to Xray.

Before any consultation.

Caught off guard, never removing my sun hat.

Nor a mask attached to a chain around my neck.

Next, escorted to an intake with an assistant.

To tell the level of pain.

Answer other questions.

Is it painful to shop?

To clean?

Neither of which I do extensively.

Since Bob’s the shopper.

A lady comes in to clean.

Though, in truth, I do straighten, tidy.

Certainly bake, clean bowls.

But there were no questions about tidying or baking.

Only the two asked.

So, I couldn’t offer an answer.

Whereupon the assistant did.

Choosing to check pain on shopping.

Said she had to fill the box.

True or not!

Five minutes later, the doctor bounced in.

Energetic, upbeat.

Pointing to the Xray.

With the mask chain in prominent view.

Look, he beamed. Your shoulder is perfect!

I eyed him and asked, What about the intermittent pains?

From my shoulder to my wrist? The numbness?

Glancing from the image to me, he said brightly, your neck.

Never touching me.

I don’t do necks, he continued. I’ll give you a card for a neck guy.

Try Advil and massage.

Then apologized.

For not being more helpful.

I walked out.

Relieved my shoulder was intact.

Relieved, the appointment over.

Scooting out, neck bent, head low.

Deciding in that instant.

The sure cure: a new pillow.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 3, 2023

 

 

 

All Poems, Emotions, Pain

She Phoned

Posted on

 

She phoned.

Distressed.

Humiliated.

Mournful.

Annual voice presentation, off key.

Before professors.

Colleagues.

The whole department.

Not possible to revise, reverse.

Only rerun it.

Endlessly in the mind.

Till it cut grooves.

Each reprise, new surprise.

I listened.

Cradled her sadness.

Regret.

Wishes to make it better.

The feelings overflowed my arms.

Was it time? I wondered.

To let her know?

Everyone suffers mortification.

One time or another.

Despite meticulous preparation.

Even a teacher told her she was brave.

To have pushed on.

Like an athlete who stumbles.

Gets up, continues.

I agreed.

Added to the wisdom.

Disappointment enlightens.

Helps you understand misfortune.

Grows compassion.

For self and others.

Maybe it was too soon to say.

Or, maybe she heard a bit.

But, there’s value in losing face.

Divine tool for life’s kit.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 3, 2023

Aging, All Poems, Health/Illness, Pain

My Sister-in-Law is Sick

Posted on

 

My sister-in-law is sick.

After an eight-hour back surgery.

Mid-November in Georgia.

Surgery, successful.

Complications, bad.

Blood clots, G. I. irritations.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Unable to get out of bed.

Muscles weakening.

Joints swelling.

Not discharged to go home.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Thanksgiving cancelled.

Her birthday the 28th.

Alone in the hospital.

Then rehabilitation.

Three to five weeks.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Everyone texts her.

Wants to know more.

No replies.

Far away in Georgia.

In a rehab.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Cared for by medical staff.

Who you hope are skilled, kind.

Able to get her up, moving.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Just turned seventy.

Her mother ninety-seven.

Fragile, in a nursing home.

In Pennsylvania.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Imagine the worry.

About herself.

Her mother.

Where’s the space for so much worry?

How does it fit?

My sister-in-law is sick.

After surgery in Georgia.

The world is smaller.

But Georgia seems far away.

When you can’t talk to someone.

My sister-in-law is sick.

Who hears me?

The wind?

Crows that hunt for acorns?

Squirrels?

My sister-in-law is sick.

Each day in bed, unending.

Loved ones scratch for scraps of news.

All praying she is mending.

My sister-in-law is sick.

In the balance, her well-being.

Want her to get strong and well.

But, who offers warrantying?

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 3, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Deception, Disappointment, Pain, Pandemic, Politics, Seasons, Time

When Winter Sun Feels False

Posted on

When Winter Sun Feels False

Sometimes winter sun feels false.
When news soaks through senses.
Wets shoes.
Makes it hard to walk.
Hard to think.
Will Russians invade Ukraine?
Covid carry on its rampage?
Democracy be desecrated?
Politics divide, lie?
Misinform?
How to maintain sanity?
In a tsunami of distress?
Daily routines seem trite.
Cooking.
Eating.
Sweeping.
Washing.
Basic tasks.
Infrastructure for stability?
Of mind?
Spirit?
At times, I think I pedal backwards.
Though my skin, my bones say otherwise.

Lynn Benjamin
February 9, 2022

All Poems, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Loss, Pain, Pandemic, Politics, Trauma, Violence

Who can Retell?

Posted on

Who can Retell?

Who can retell the traumas that befell us the past four years?
The violations of Lady Liberty?
The words and actions of a President?
Inciting  loyal nationalists who chanted Make America Great?
While desecrating, befouling, destroying
values, norms, traditions, and even laws?

Who can retell the traumas that befell us?
When millions fell ill?
Hundreds of thousands died?
From a virus crisscrossing states?
Unchecked by maskless governors
seeking praise from the top?

Who can retell the traumas that befell us?
When shops, hotels, eateries shuttered?
When people lost their paychecks?
Food lines snaked for miles round the block?

Who can retell the traumas that befell us?
When we found ourselves confined at home?
Lonely, fatigued, waiting to connect on Zoom?

Who can retell the traumas that befell us?
This year as we lit eight candles?
Seeking eight reasons to rejoice?

Who can measure our joy as:
Judges adhered to their oaths?
Democracy, though tenuous, held strong?
Autocracy, so close, slipped past?
Fed-ex hauled vaccine in ice packed containers?
ER, ICU staff offered arms for inoculation?
Faithful electors cast votes?
Officials-elect started rebuilding trust?
First snow blanketed our streets?

Who can retell the traumas that befell us
these last four years?
Those who survive.
Those who remember.
Those who honor history.

By Lynn Benjamin
December 16, 2020