Stories

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Gardens, Seasons, Stories, Time

Heat Hangs in the Air

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Heat hangs in the air.

A sticky bog to slog, move forward.

Dampening shirts, drying mouths.

But, animals go about their business.

Nary a complaint.

Robins, wrens chirp as though in competition.

Ducks, geese gather by the pond.

A fawn gazes up at me from a bush.

As though sorry I’m wading through goo.

A few Poplar seedpods float by.

Inviting me to make a wish or two.

A pink and gray butterfly hovers atop a coneflower.

The beebalm planted last summer, sings triumphant.

Stretching out and up in glorious profusion.

Red, pink, lavender mops.

Tall rag dolls, hair unkempt, in strings.

Covering eyes, noses, mouths.

Mysterious, exotic.

Waving honey bees in to drink.

Sweet nectar quenching thirst.

Could they spread the word to hummingbirds

before summer days dispersed?

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 27, 2024

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Spouses, Stories

Electric Garage Door

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Let’s open the garage and sneak out, whispered Bob.

Adding, forefinger to lips, and not tell Bob.

He looked at me with a glint in his eye.

Joining me in conspiracy against that grumpy Bob.

The one who, only days ago, chided me.

For opening and closing the electric garage door too many times.

Using too much electricity.

Raising our electric bill.

Which, by the way, he never sees.

Because I pay it!

The accusation startled me.

Shocked me into silence.

For, in my mind, it was he.

Opening and closing the door with abandon.

Opening it to exit with his leki stick, stored there.

Or his electric vehicle.

Driving it to the store, park, train station.

Then parking it again inside.

Protecting it from rain and snow.

So when I took umbrage, he reconsidered.

Apologized for the tongue lashing.

Saying he didn’t know what part of him spewed those words.

But, my displeasure persisted.

Each time I went to open the garage door, I asked permission.

Wearying him enough to become my partner in conspiracy.

Against the Bob from whom

even he now felt offended.

Both laughing pressing buttons.

Hurt evaporating, mended!

Lynn Benjamin

June 26, 2024

All Poems, Food, Humor, Love, Stories

Waffles

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I raced into the kitchen.

Returning from a morning walk.

To grab the keys to the Volvo.

Pick up Bob from a service appointment for his car.

When I noticed, the table set for two.

A waffle iron poised to go.

Ready to make the crispy cakes.

As soon as he got back.

For we had all kinds of berries.

To pair with them.

Strawberries, blueberries, blackberries.

Not to mention figs and cherries.

Ricotta cheese and jam.

Whom do you know who would do that?

On a Monday morning?

Who would delay breakfast?

Fuss over an elaborate weekday one?

Serve it with panache?

Elegance, loving touch?

Culinary flair, good taste?

Wooing you with waffles?

Young again, you’re courted, chased!

Lynn Benjamin

June 25, 2024

All Poems, Environment/Mother Earth, Seasons, Stories, Worry

Heat Rolled In

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Heat rolled in like a blast of steam.

From a boiling pot on the stove.

Around the summer solstice.

Refusing retreat for days.

Sending sparrows, robins to hide.

Up in shady branches.

Pushing ducks, geese into tepid ponds.

Wilting flower petals, leaves.

Forcing dog walkers, strollers indoors.

To air conditioned rooms.

So when, unpredicted, the sky showered,

a thunderous shout of thanks was heard.

All around the neighborhood.

No need to lug out hoses to water.

Finally, relief.

Even I wanted to dance under the drops.

But, to my shock, the downpour wasn’t cool.

The rain like a hot cup of tea.

Instead of refreshing, it warmed the bones.

Some eco catastrophe?

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 22, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Emotions, Stories, Worry

Turtle

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I was finishing my morning walk.

When I saw the turtle.

Sitting in the middle of the street.

Large, green, ponderous.

Lichen sticking to its shell, a patina.

Oh no, I thought, as I ran toward it.

To pluck it from its precarious place.

Just as a huge white truck started turning toward us.

I jumped into the road.

Waving arms, pointing, shouting, stop.

The driver slammed on his brakes.

Exited the cab of the vehicle.

Be careful, I wagged my forefinger again toward the turtle.

Could you put it back on the lawn? I asked politely.

But, the man spoke quickly.

Explaining he had five turtles in his yard at home.

He wanted to take this one to add to the collection.

My heart started racing.

My head spun.

As I’m an advocate for animal freedom.

Wild creatures belong in the wild.

But there was no stopping him.

He lifted the reptile.

Tucked it into his trunk.

Leaving my thoughts in pieces.

I wished the turtle to be safe,

near a grassy, leafy pond.

Close to all its relatives,

near to where it spawned. 

But, if it wanders into traffic,

like a careless vagabond,

then anyone who comes along,

with the tortoise could abscond.

Though my worries flocked like starlings,

fretting I could be conned,

he might get the protection he needs

postponing the great beyond.

I reassured myself

the man knew how to bond.

The old turtle would be content.

Of his new home grow fond.

The living space would be charming,

elegant, well adorned.

Elevating the old creature

to pizazz in beau monde.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 20, 2024

Beau monde is the world of high society.

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Pleasure, Spring Lake 2024, Stories, Trips and Places

Shopper

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I am not a shopper.

Never rejoicing in scanning racks.

Full of colorful jackets, skirts, dresses.

Seeking the perfect size, price point.

Especially now when service in most stores, diminished.

Unlike my childhood days at the Blum Store.

When attendants hovered about to help.

But, my daughter, like her grandmother, loves the sport.

Knowing well her style, her colors, what suits her.

Going at it like a hunt.

Checking tags, touching materials.

Gathering her prey to try on.

In tiny mirrored dressing rooms.

I like watching her movements.

Lithe, limber, full of energy.

Animating her, making eyes wider, smile broader.

As she zeroes in on her mark.

So, when I’m with her, I, too, delight.

Wake up from languidness.

Catch her zest, resilience,

joy in nailing the prize.

Deftly pull out my credit card

to join her exercise!

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 17, 2024

All Poems, For Children, Natural Beauty, Spring Lake 2024, Stories, Trees, Trips and Places

Lindens in Spring Lake

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Once you smell a flowering linden tree, you always know it.

It becomes part of your repertoire of aromas.

Like lilacs or roses.

But, I only came to meet lindens later in life.

After moving to Elkins Park.

Known for the tall, shade trees.

Blossoming yellow in June.

Diffusing scents of citrus, honey.

Like a thurible spreading incense in a cathedral.

Swinging sweetness, perfume.

So, I was enchanted on Passaic Avenue in Spring Lake.

Between the town and the fire station.

When the now familiar floral flurry filled my nostrils.

Seven lindens in full bloom.

Boughs weighed down with bouquets and bees.

Redolent with pleasing fragrance.

Sanctifying passage.

I, paying tribute to florescence.

Its aromatic language.

Lynn Benjamin

June 17, 2024

Adult Children, All Poems, Beaches, Family, Food, Humor, Spring Lake 2024, Stories, Trips and Places

Breakfast in Spring Lake

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Roseanne determined she had to catch a mid-afternoon train.

To get back to Manhattan.

On time to meet her children.

So, I suggested a light breakfast, late lunch.

For our Father’s Day celebration.

First going for savory croissants.

Which the bakery was out of.

Substituting an Irish soda bread.

Packed with plump dark raisins.

Grabbing drinks, finding a shady spot to picnic.

Each pulling off corners of the bread.

Savoring it between swigs of coffee.

This would be even better with jam, said Roseanne.

Then after another bite or two, or butter.

Well, I countered, this way it’s au naturel. You taste the bread exactly the way it is.

Like seeing a woman without make-up, coif.

Without latest fashion design.

Standing before you just how she is,

original state, divine.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 16, 2024

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Humor, Spring Lake 2024, Stories, Trips and Places

Pitch Dark

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It was pitch dark.

As Roseanne and I walked along the park in Spring Lake.

Searching for the last ice cream shop still open.

She arrived late by train from Manhattan.

The only adult child able to join us for our trifecta celebration.

Birthday, Anniversary, Father’s Day.

So, our dinner began later, too.

Long and leisurely.

Also known as slow service.

Sitting outside as the sun set after nine.

This town, quiet, sedate.

Even on Saturday nights, places shutting down early.

Bob urged Roseanne and me to set out.

He, staying behind to pay the bill.

Neither of us, sure where the dessert place was.

We marched, hoping in the right direction.

It was hard to follow the google map app directions.

Who can read street signs without light?

Let alone see the sidewalk ahead.

Street lamps, either extinguished or dim.

Call Dad, Roseanne suggested.

I resisted saying we’d either find it or not.

Thinking we wouldn’t make it before closing.

But, he’ll tell us if we’re close or not, she insisted.

Again, I demurred.

Okay, she shrugged, he’ll soon be calling you.

Then she mimicked his voice, I’m here. Where are you?

Only ten steps later, the phone dinged.

I’m here at the shop. Where are you? Bob asked.

Then he reassured us we were on the right path.

I turned to Roseanne, how did you know he’d call?

She laughed like Brer Rabbit at the briar patch.

You two are a comedy routine.

She knows us like a book.

Fifty years observing us

with scrutinizing look!

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 15, 2024

All Poems, Beaches, Family, Spouses, Stories

To the Beach

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We finally made it to the beach, said Bob.

After getting waylaid by an Irish festival.

We didn’t know was happening in Spring Lake.

Then walking the town seeking sun hats, cards, a baby gift.

Even a container of almonds.

Having forgotten to bring some from home.

But we did, finally, make it to the sand.

After the afternoon tide rolled in.

Crowds of revelers already planted with their umbrellas.

This Father’s Day weekend.

Bathers, surfers, kayakers, paddle ballers.

Piles of empty mussel shells upon the shore.

Crunching under bare feet.

As we meandered along.

Listening to the steady rhythm of the surf.

Smelling briny breezes.

Taking in the annual scene.

For the first time this season.

Always glad for ocean zephyrs

to blow away the stress.

Ancient balm for body, soul,

rejuvenating process.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 15, 2024