Trees

Aging, All Poems, Gym/exercise, Trees

Branches Sway

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Have you ever noticed branches swaying in the breeze?

Bending, stretching, returning to upright positions?

As though doing exercises?

Or maybe yoga?

A practice Bob and I started.

In our mid-seventies.

First, chair yoga.

Seated, maneuvering this way, that.

Coordinating with the breath.

Inhaling, exhaling.

Then graduating to a mat on the floor.

Gentle joining of mind and body.

Sliding from one pose to another.

Standing, sitting, lying prone, supine.

Advancing, little by little.

Thrusting legs up and out.

Like limbs of an old oak tree.

Seeking flexibility, balance

in arboreal harmony.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 28, 2024

All Poems, Children, For Children, Hope, Memories, Trees

Mulberry Bush

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Here we go round the mulberry bush, intoned Bob.

As we made a wide arc around it.

Not wanting to squish the black juicy berries strewn about.

On Red Oak Drive.

Since moving here, we’ve passed by this tree almost daily.

Always avoiding the fallen fruits in June.

Its foliage towering, green umbrella from on high.

Maybe growing for the last hundred years.

But, not as old as the nursery tune Bob sang.

Each year dropping sweet, seedy berries.

For birds and squirrels.

A few assorted neighbors daring to eat them from the ground.

For the branches are unreachable, even on tiptoe.

So, collecting them, impossible.

Not easy like with a raspberry or blackberry bush.

Both low to the ground.

For some reason, the familiar children’s melody, forgotten.

Even as we marched day after day past the tree.

Till Bob teased my playful child spirit.

The one chanting the song in early childhood.

On the long bus rides to and from day camp.

Then later to her own children.

Never really taking time to meet a mulberry bush.

Till now in old age.

But, as long as I breathe,

there’s always a chance,

I’ll encounter a first time

by glad happenstance.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 21, 2024

Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush is an English nursery rhyme and game from the mid nineteenth century.

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

Aging, All Poems, Animals/Insects, Change, Natural Beauty, Seasons, Time, Trees

I Shake my Head

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I shake my head at my youthful self.

Longing to stay in bed till nine.

Despite sunshine poking through panes.

For now, when I see first gleams of light, I sit straight up.

Wanting to catch them.

Jump forward, follow them.

Close the door behind me.

Bask in sights, smells.

Linden leaves, roses.

Lilacs, honeysuckles.

Rhythms of the season.

Caws, cheeps, trills.

Honks, hammers, vibratos.

Early rising birds.

Claiming soil, sky.

I want to hear morning symphonies.

Inhale perfumed lands.

Before the rush of traffic.

Humming engines, shrieking brakes.

Students parking cars.

Rushing toward classes.

Before the goose family arises.

Hatchlings in a comfy ball.

Fuzz greying into feathers.

Before the day swings underway.

Wakes up, stretches, yawns.

How much time have I left to find?

How many unspent dawns?

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 25, 2024

All Poems, Birth, Death, For Children, Natural Beauty, Trees

How Often Do You Get to Watch?

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How often do you get to watch blossoms fall from a favored tree?

In slow motion?

Gliding in graceful pirouettes toward the ground?

Lavender lanterns from the Empress.

Alighting on path, fence, forest floor.

Right behind the house.

To whistles, chirps, trills.

From robins, wrens, catbirds.

Funeral melodies.

In an otherwise silent scene.

Behind the kitchen where I awaited April flowers.

Longed for them.

To burst from golden velvet buds.

Disperse honeyed perfumes.

Through each window, door.

There, I witnessed renewal, birth.

Only weeks later, letting go, dying.

Life span brief.

Though every day lived, lusty.

Existence, elegant.

Adored for aromas, delicate shape.

Color, easy on the eyes.

Blessed am I to sit with you

at your mid-May demise.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 19, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Humor, Stories, Trees

Baffled

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I was baffled.

Each time I left the house.

Traversed the atrium.

A bird rocketed from a leafy clematis.

Climbing the trellis on the wall.

Bursting into bushy greenery.

What was that flier doing there?

Resting?

Hiding?

Sitting on a nest?

Frightened, hearing footsteps?

Darting out to distract a predator?

Zooming to the Bradford pear across the way.

To wait till the coast clear?

To return to the hideaway?

A drama played out a half dozen times a day.

Revealing its protagonist.

A brown song sparrow.

Singing its heart out with a mate.

High up in a tree.

Now instead of puzzled,

honored to host a nest.

Though the sparrow may regret her choice.

By footfalls, not impressed.

But whistles, warbles, trills,

concerts from our guest,

send our spirits soaring.

Daily music fest.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 5, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Emotions, Family, Farewell, Holidays, Homages, Love, Memories, Natural Beauty, Parents, Passover, Trees

I Wish I Could

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I wish I could take my father’s hand.

Amble together through Spring’s annual spectacle.

He’d be one hundred three, the first Seder.

Moving to this town before I did.

Passing away before I settled nearby.

Departing on his ninety-seventh birthday.

So, this April stroll, fitting.

By turns, under fickle drizzles, sunny skies.

Admiring lindens, oaks, maples.

Unfurling leafy banners by the thousands.

After restful winter naps.

Or, flowering cherries, crabapples, plums.

Already sailing blossoms along gusty currents.

Assembling petal carpets along roadways, grass.

How about magnolias?

A favorite for the seed pods he collected.

Tended to on a windowsill.

Or dogwoods, like ones he cultivated years ago?

Blooming in flamboyant abundance.

While Viburnum bouquets perfume the air.

Making our passage regal.

Then, parades of flowers by our feet.

Though daffodils fading, tulips, lavender, yellow, red, stand.

Rows of heavenly chalices.

Grape hyacinths, irises spilling over in purples, yellows.

Phlox, violets, bushy clumps peeking through rocks.

Hosta lilies poking up in clustered stems.

One last tree before farewells.

The potted lemon, now outside, imbibing April breezes.

Popping buds to deliver fruits in December.

Once his to water, trim, fertilize.

Now my household, its steward.

If only wishes could come true,

how blissful I would be.

To watch the springtime world renew

in my father’s company.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 22, 2024

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Catalina Island, Children, For Children, Stories, Trees, Trips and Places

How Do You Stay Dry?

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How do you stay dry in a saltwater park?

Well, anything’s possible on Catalina Island.

You can visit hundreds of fish in Love’s Cove.

Seated, comfortable in a semi-submersible.

A boat with large windows, stools below deck.

Where you  pass through kelp forests.

Underwater seaweed trees.

Undulating this way, that.

According to the currents.

Straightening up to look for light.

For in this briny world, kelp grows like magic.

Sometimes two feet a day!

With the help of spherical gas-filled floats.

Like tiny helium balloons.

Keeping  blades near the water’s surface.

To catch sunshine.

Schools of fish and seaweed forests

are busy beneath the sea.

Hop a semi-submersible

to glimpse the variety.

No need for scuba gear,

for deep diving anxiety.

Take children, keep them dry,

eyeing marine society.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 24, 2024

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Catalina Island, For Children, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Trees

I Never Imagined

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I never imagined I’d be going on safari.

On Catalina Island.

The Channel Island visible from Santa Monica.

An hour’s ferry ride away.

Taking us to a picturesque village.

At the base of high mountains.

Full of eucalyptus trees, ironwoods.

Abundant yellow ginesta blooms.

Cacti, salvias, shrubs.

Soon after docking, we hopped a hummer.

Sat right behind the driver.

For the dusty eco tour.

Looking down as we ascended.

Toward the marina, cruise ship, casino.

Green flora, ponds from recent rains.

Till the route took us through a herd of bison.

At least a dozen huge animals.

Grazing, resting.

Peering at us.

One started toward the vehicle.

But the driver lurched forward.

Avoiding an encounter.

Soon after, two small foxes crossed the road.

Then, a mule deer and some ground squirrels.

A red-tailed hawk and several black ravens circled above.

I just never imagined a safari,

seeing bison roaming free.

On Catalina Island,

high up above the sea.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 22, 2024

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Gardens, Natural Beauty, Plants, Santa Monica 3/24, Trees, Trips and Places

Walks in Santa Monica

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Walks in Santa Monica are botanical adventures, said Bob.

The truth is, they don’t disappoint,

Always a new plant or tree in bloom.

Exotic red Erythrina caffra blossoms.

On a bare branched tree.

Mop-like orange soap aloe flowers.

A graceful plant mimicking an elephant’s trunk.

Bright purple Coopers Hardy Ice Plant.

Lighting up the day.

Orange California poppies.

Bushy western fir trees.

Blueish wild banana flowers.

The list goes on.

An abundance of flavor and fragrance.

Hence, the likelihood of spotting hummingbirds.

Again and again.

First on lavender trailing shrubverbenas.

Then on birds of paradise.

Amazingly unafraid of squeaky sneakers.

A clicking camera lens.

Just busily gathering nectar

to store up energy.

Hovering over blossoms

in best feathered finery.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 19, 2024