Thank-You

All Poems, Friendship, Growth, Natural Beauty, Plants, Spirituality, Thank-You

Gratitude for the Peace Lily

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I owe gratitude to the friends who sent the peace lily.

To comfort us after Ethel passed.

For it continues to soothe daily.

Beckoning tranquility, solace.

Wrapping us in green harmony.

No matter the season.

Amazing us with unfurling finery.

Goddesses, swathed in silk scarves.

Grasping erect candles to light the night.

Catching sun’s rays by day.

Dancing, twirling, curtsying in place.

Five mesmerizing deities.

Tall, supple, lithe.

Offering serenity in silence.

What a wondrous marvel!

What more could we want?

When, from leafy foliage, two hidden figures emerge.

Tiptoeing out to join their sisters.

Spirits in ivory garb.

Delivering yet more calm.

Pirouetting in place.

In the kitchen, by darkening window.

Seven beauties hide among  bushes,

soothing away distress.

Settling wild waves, torrents,

in a mystical process.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 6, 2024

 

All Poems, Birthdays, Cousins, Friendship, Homages, Prose/memoir, Thank-You

Lessons from My Cousin (To Aaron on your 80th)

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Aaron, do you know how much you’ve taught me?

Giving me lessons for many of your eighty years?

Twenty-nine thousand, two hundred twenty days?

My cousin from the country.

Only son of Cel and Lee.

Brother to three sisters.

Husband, father.

Only five years older than I.

Though, when small, age gap, enormous.

You, a strapping teen.

While I, a child.

Through the years, you instructed me.

First, at camp, to float.

A feat failed by others.

Only accomplished by you.

Because I trusted you.

Then continuing to educate me from a distance.

Mentoring from afar.

Transmitting lessons.

How a gentle man acts.

Relates to family, wife, girls.

Values engagement.

With relatives, friends, colleagues.

Stays in touch.

Purveys news.

Displays curiosity about roots.

Takes time to make a genealogy.

Invites others to contribute.

Updating, sharing it.

Writes a memoir.

So others can understand.

Your background, context.

Offering a peek into you early life on the farm, at camp.

Honors the nation.

Making it a goal to visit each state in the union.

While your children, young.

Admires other cultures, customs, mores.

Seeking adventures in many countries.

Makes friends everywhere.

Recognizes limitations.

Still travels, though alternating two destinations.

Keeps physically fit.

Participating in, organizing golf tournaments.

Aaron, teacher, historian, athlete, family man.

Kind, honorable, thoughtful.

Our age gap has diminished,

though I’m still five years behind.

Your many worthy lessons

enlighten, guide my mind.

 

With lots of love,

Your cousin, Lynn

May 5, 2024

Aging, All Poems, For Children, Gardens, Natural Beauty, Stories, Thank-You

Daily Constitutionals

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On daily constitutionals, we pass the house of Barbara.

Eighty-nine-year-old neighbor.

Living alone, tending an eye-catching garden.

Full of impatiens, zinnias, begonias.

She, the gardener, seated in a chair.

Bent over trowel, digging.

Organizing bushes, flowers to beautify the neighborhood.

Seeing her, we approached.

Listened to her describe her finished deck.

Six railing boxes, a palm tree, hibiscus plant.

But, then she moaned, I’m having trouble walking.

Whereupon, Bob noticed one of her begonias fallen awry.

Roots out of the soil.

Lying on its stem.

So, he offered to re-plant it.

Taking her trowel.

Righting it.

Covering the roots.

Her gratitude, enormous,

waves repeating in the sea.

There she sat upon her throne,

sowing visual poetry.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 4, 2024

 

All Poems, Argentine Family, Emotions, Family, New York, Pleasure, Thank-You, Trips and Places

Gifts

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Why do gifts, especially when unexpected, affect me?

Sending frissons of pleasure up and down my spine?

What are these sensations?

Desire to smile, cry, hug all at once.

Flashes of emotional fireworks seeking escape.

To display connection.

Glee, gratitude for thoughtfulness.

Balm of being remembered.

Cared about.

In this ever-increasing indifferent world.

Who anticipated fancy nuts from Luxembourg?

Chocolate ground by you in Ecuador?

To await me in New York?

Tokens telling me you know who I am.

What would awaken my senses, curiosity.

Transmit delight.

So much so, I leave them undisturbed.

To continue the bliss.

Before I dip in, sample.

Is it possible I feel this intensity more with age?

Having lost parents whose bond was unshakable?

For me, I think that true.

The sense of feeling special is a prize,

whether in the form of gift or time spent.

Like spotting fields of sunflowers,

billowy, buttery, thick, abundant.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 11, 2024

 

Aging, All Poems, Emotions, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Mother Love, Thank-You

Back to the Gym

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Away for a month, it was time to get back to the gym.

To stretching arms, legs, core.

It’s called Farmer’s Carry, explained the trainer.

Like a farmer carrying two pails of milk.

As he demonstrated, carrying a weight in each hand.

Keeping shoulders back, breathing.

Walking erect, one end of the room to the other.

Back again.

So, I emulated him.

Carrying, then being carried.

Right back to age twelve.

My mother sending me to Charm School.

At Gimbels Department Store.

To learn to pull shoulders back.

Stand up straight.

Walk gracefully with balance.

Perching a plate atop the head.

Daring it to fall.

Now, doing it again.

In old age.

Never having thanked my mother

for the thoughtful care she gave.

I felt the ocean in my stomach,

a strong regretful wave.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 10, 2024

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Christmas, Family, Food, Holidays, Humor, Spouses, Thank-You

Thanking Me Too Much

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Bob thanked me too much.

Repeating at intervals his gratitude.

Before, during, after the shopping spree.

For coming along to help.

Wade through a pre-holiday food market.

New York daughter’s long list in hand.

Items requested for an upcoming visit with teens.

Rennet-free cheeses, brie en croute.

Ingredients for dips, Swiss chard fritters.

Stollen, frozen appetizers, fruits.

Abundant holiday fare.

Unusual for us.

Requiring two carts, four hands.

To locate specialties.

Mitigate time spent.

Approaching home, Bob exhaled.

Thanking me yet again.

The gentleman doth thank too much, I thought.

Reminding me how rarely I shop.

Having lost enthusiasm since the pandemic.

Eschewing crowds.

Not wanting to don a mask.

But, he relished marketing.

So, the task fell to him.

Buying necessities, flours for baking.

Surprising me with treats.

Cherries in December.

Persimmons, passion fruits.

New flowers to cheer the kitchen.

But, Roseanne’s long list flummoxed him.

So, I tagged along.

Hearing the effusive acknowledgments.

But, believing them unwarranted.

For we do lots of things in tandem.

In our youth, called the dynamic duo.

Side by side, we cook, exercise.

Wash the other’s back, trim hair.

Listen to books on tape.

Absorb the other’s worries, reassure.

Why would I not help out?

When he, overwhelmed?

So maybe all the thanks

were feelings of relief, ease.

He’d fulfill the list of wishes.

Our daughter he’d not displease.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 19, 2023

 

All Poems, Food, For Children, Growth, Thank-You, Trees

Lemon Harvest

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The lemon tree offered its harvest in November.

Ripening the last of its fruits in the garage.

A tree with brilliant yellow oval balls.

Weighing down branches.

Fighting off aphids.

That latched on while still outdoors.

Staying, now that predators, gone.

lt was our Thanksgiving tree.

Culmination of a season of thanks.

For a bounty of vegetables, herbs, flowers.

Grandchildren, good health, travels.

A way to honor others.

By bidding them pick a lemon.

Pluck it from the tree.

Take it home to taste tart sweetness.

Sensory mystery.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 2, 2023

 

All Poems, Art/Arts, Thank-You

When I Travel

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When I travel, people say, I like your pockets.

Noticing over a dozen pockets in my vest.

Two breast pockets on my shirt.

Side pockets in my pants.

I usually nod, smile.

Quietly acknowledge with a thank you.

For what they don’t know is why I have so many pockets.

Why I need them.

What’s inside them.

Little portable desk drawers.

Holding pens, scraps, ideas.

So I can put thought to paper anywhere.

Any time.

In park, beach or street.

Any walking zone.

Observing ordinary, new.

Things both known, unknown.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 26, 2023

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Art/Arts, Thank-You

Thanks for Coming

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Thanks for coming out on a rainy day, said Sarah Peoples.

Glen Foerd artist-in-residence.

Honored today.

For three large installations.

All with deep meanings.

A rainy day is the best kind for exploring art, I replied.

For showers enhanced The Theatricality of Nature.

As children jumped into the scene.

Catapulting faux fruits, vegetables toward the curtain.

As rain dripped off birds in Hawkish and Dovish.

Fashioned from styrofoam remnants.

Covered in silicon rubber colors.

As water washed over monumental America’s Landscape.

Pushing viewers into a world of consumerism.

With an arc of buckets, detergent containers.

Centerpiece between red butterflies and blue dinghy in a storm.

All pieces using mixed media.

Speaking to children’s wonder.

Attraction to bright colors.

Fanciful portrayals.

Interactive games.

As well as to curious adults.

Tapping experiences, feelings, bits, pieces of childhood.

Fruits, animals, insects, rainbows, boats.

Memories, symbols.

A little off kilter.

Pleasant?

Uncomfortable?

Critical?

Hopeful?

Whimsical?

Thought provoking?

Packed with pleasure, pain?

All questions to ponder.

But, before you go, nab the view finder

to capture a scene.

It isolates images

with a classic machine!

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 25, 2023

Adolescence, All Poems, Change, Love, Pleasure, Thank-You

Note

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Have you ever rifled among stuff?

In a bureau drawer?

Only to come upon a note?

Tattered, torn, worn.

Written almost sixty-five years ago?

From a secret admirer?

Like I did yesterday.

I knew the handwriting.

The class.

The boy.

Now my husband.

Nearly fifty-three years!

Observer of my accessories.

My smile.

Academic fitness.

How must I have felt at sixteen?

Singled out? Praised extolled?

In metaphoric prose?

Somehow that message clung to me

among shirts, pantyhose.

I’m sure I was flattered

by sweet hyperbole.

I thank the boy who wrote it.

Now at seventy-three!

It clearly meant a lot to me

surviving through the years.

A few lines penned in class.

Now music to my ears.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 11, 2023