Trauma

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Emotions, Environment/Mother Earth, Hope, Natural Beauty, Plants, Politics, Seasons, Spirituality, Trauma, Violence, Wisdom, Worry

Madding Drumbeat

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The world, madding drumbeat of bad news.

Endless wars.

Unreleased hostages.

Political chicaneries.

Environmental catastrophes.

Where’s the relief?

Even for a moment?

From the echo chamber of the mind?

Playing, replaying the misery?

Where’s the reassurance things will rebalance?

When no one has a crystal ball.

But, everyone, an opinion.

The only comforts, what Mother Nature offers.

Predictability of seasons.

Awakening in spring.

Aromas of lilacs, viburnum bouquets.

Silent explosions of color.

Maple seed pods and mushrooms.

Pollen and nectar.

Honking and chirping.

Baby bunnies and geese.

Newness and vitality.

Energy to move us forward.

Appreciate a smile, kind word.

Offer the same to others.

Tiny attempts to heal what’s broken.

Make something whole.

Do for others what Mother Earth does for us.

In her generous embrace.

Take a breath.

Let the earth caress.

Find blessed respite.

From frenzied distress.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2024

All Poems, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Trauma, Violence

Eight Chanukah Candles

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Eight chanukah candles.

Dripping their last.

White alternating with blue.

Israel’s flag.

Each waxy bead, a tear.

Weeping till snuffed, exhausted.

In shadows of sadness.

Swirling sorrows.

Massacres.

Captures.

Brutalities.

War.

Wrought by power hungry leaders.

On both sides.

Spewing fanaticism, greed, self-interest.

All nurturing illusions.

Instead of babies, children, people.

Chanukah is over.

Dreams for peace are not.

Tolerance and humanity.

What the world forgot.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 14, 2023

 

 

 

All Poems, Holidays, Hope, Jewish Holidays, Miracles, Trauma, Violence

Chanukah Slipped In

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Chanukah slipped in.

Almost unnoticed in the heavy gloom.

Weeks after the assault by Hamas.

On October 7th, Sukkot.

World Jewry desperate to free hostages.

Root out terrorism.

End darkness.

Melancholy, grief.

A thousand shadows lurking.

While each night adding another candle.

Remembering souls snuffed out too soon.

Praying for the marvel of the Maccabees.

Oil enough for one day, kindling eight.

Though miracles be legends,

they seed needs for hope.

For light to fill a vengeful world,

enmity revoke.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 8, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Pain, Sounds, Trauma, Violence

Neighborhood

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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, Food, Gardens, Growth, People Traits, Trauma, Violence

Why Did My Neighbor Laugh?

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Why did my neighbor laugh?

When I told her about pop-up stands?

Outside the theater?

Where I saw Assassins.

Likely, not a good time for me to attend.

For though a satire on US violence, it stirred other images.

Hamas’s terrorism in Israel.

Massacring families.

Shattering lives.

Breaking order.

What settled me when I emerged were kiosks.

From country farms deep in Pennsylvania.

Selling many kinds of apples.

Varieties of grapes, pears.

Mushrooms cultivated and foraged.

Purple speckled beans.

All produce my family grew years ago.

In gardens behind the house.

So, I know the labor it takes.

The patience.

Care.

Respect.

To tend plants.

Raise food.

Nourish people.

Not hurt them.

Rather, help them become strong.

Why did my neighbor laugh?

It really doesn’t matter.

For a few minutes at the market

nudged my gloom to scatter.

Thinking of good people

who caress, nurture fruits.

Who care about well-being

deep down in their roots.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 14, 2023

 

 

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

Broken

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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

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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

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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

 

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

Who can Retell?

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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

All Poems, Hope, Pandemic, Politics, Seasons, Sleep, Trauma, Violence, Wisdom

Who Wants to Jump From Bed?

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Who wants to jump from bed?
When the thermometer reads ten degrees?
When Russia’s poised to invade Ukraine?
When Covid still silently stalks?
When certain politicians spread untruths?
Why not pull covers atop the head?
Hide?
Stay warm?
Dream a little longer?
Hard questions all.
Maybe some will refuse to go.
But my body leads the way.
Time to rise, to catch the day.
Hours are short, light won’t stay.
To lie when well is to court decay.
The mind will follow. Open eyes.
Focus on the clear blue skies.
Be in the moment, memorize.
What it is to be alive.
All bad news wounds our souls.
Leaves our hearts full of holes.
Traumas always take their tolls.
For sure, something glad consoles.
Promise of flowers soon to bloom.
Aromas sweet, no cost perfume.
Songs of birds to lift the gloom.
Soon to be spring honeymoon.

Lynn Benjamin
February 15, 2022