Cape May

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Cape May, Environment/Mother Earth, Natural Beauty, Trips and Places

Do You Want to Shop?

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Do you want to shop before we leave Cape May? asked Bob.

Willing to read the news while I ambled through a store.

No, I was clear. Let’s go back to the trails behind the lighthouse.

For the fourth time in four days.

For each trek into the wetlands revealed something new.

Today, a yellow garden spider.

Hanging on an intricate web.

White marsh mallows in bloom.

Beside the ones gone to seed.

A flock of ducks on a pier.

More swans than before.

Or, each foray might bring comfort.

Intimacy, from previous contemplation.

Vibrant bees zeroing in on sunflowers.

As if latching on to magnets.

Dragonflies circling above.

Cicadas vibrating like buzz saws.

The hums and quacks and buzzes

amid the floral marsh display.

September paean to Mother Earth

as summer sun slips away.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 27, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Memories, Trips and Places

What Will I Remember?

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What will I remember from September days in Cape May?

Just Bob and I on a quick get-away.

Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Holding hands, humming melodies?

Long walks to the lighthouse?

Siestas under a beach umbrella?

Snippets of conversations on politics?

Maybe a monarch on goldenrods?

Or a hummingbird on jewelweed?

A bee on a wild sunflower?

A gathering of seagulls?

A trained hawk on the elbow of his trainer?

Harvesting figs?

Which images will stick?

Which fade away?

Recede like waves rolling back?

Or tides going out?

Impossible to know.

But, perhaps the words I jot,

as I meander after dawn,

will jog the feet, the hands, the mind.

Be the perfect liaison.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 26, 2023

 

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Environment/Mother Earth, For Children, Trips and Places

Open Senses in Cape May

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My senses are open.

To what makes a place beautiful.

Dunes, beaches, wildlife, plants.

Smells, sounds, sensations.

But, I cannot miss the infrastructure.

Making it possible.

Sanitary engineers.

Keeping streets, beaches pristine.

Beach machines.

Smoothing sand.

Landscapers.

Planting, watering shrubs.

Parking meter collectors.

Pushing wheeled conveyances.

Emptying meters.

To fund the city.

Even birds.

Trained hawks frightening seagulls.

Away from guest spaces.

So they don’t grab a bite or two.

From a patron’s plate.

Or poop on patios.

So much activity behind the scenes

insuring the production’s grand.

I hope Mother Nature recognizes

the role of a loving hand.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 25, 2023

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Memories, Natural Beauty, Trips and Places

Wetlands

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We saw no people walking through the wetlands.

Only wild sunflowers, asters, marsh mallows gone to seed.

Fir trees, viburnums, shadbushes.

Ducks, swans, egrets.

Monarchs, dragonflies, bees.

A lighthouse in the distance.

Sole sounds, breezes, vibrating cicadas.

And our own voices.

Dredging up memories.

From decades, stacked like blocks.

Places we stayed with children, grandchildren, each other.

Strolling in sand, hunting ghost crabs.

Tracking seagulls, terns, plovers.

Jumping waves, listening at night for beach machines.

Wheeling babies, spotting toads.

As we trekked the salt marsh path,

our feet tapped out a sound.

In synchrony with Mother Earth,

alive and free, unbound.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 24, 2023

Aging, All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Trips and Places

What Is It About Cape May?

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What is it about Cape May that shaves off years?

Makes your bones strong?

Your muscles flexible?

Erases time’s ravages?

Is it the briny air?

Monarchs starting on their journey south?

Frolicking plovers, gulls, terns?

Wild sunflowers, goldenrods, cattails?

Dunes full of pokeweed, sweet autumn clematis, tall grasses?

Rhythmic pounding of surf?

Sand between the toes?

Convergence of land and sea?

What is the magic formula that confers health?

Turns time around?

Is it the place?

The memories?

Some of each?

Taking you back to life’s core,

to the beating heart of earth.

Healing frame and spirit

in salty sea rebirth.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 23, 2023

All Poems, Beaches, Cape May, Spring Lake, Trips and Places

I Cannot Count

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I cannot count the number of beaches I’ve walked.

Domestic ones in Los Angeles, Cape Cod, Honolulu.

Island ones on Tortola, Curaçao, Bahamas.

Tropical ones, stony ones, rocky ones.

Tiny ones, long ones, tree lined ones.

All over the world.

Beautiful, exotic, refreshing.

But, my feet feel most at home in New Jersey.

Something about the sand, the smell, the familiarity.

Let it be Spring Lake, Stone Harbor, Cape May.

Belmar, Atlantic City, Margate.

All like second homes.

Without knowing the neighbors.

Though, in some strange way, I do.

Different versions of myself at different ages.

Child, digging holes, jumping waves.

Lover, wrapped in arms and water.

Mother of small children, teens.

Grandmother, holding hands with toddlers.

Every beach, spectacular,

though it’s Jersey I long for.

Safeguarding my beach history

upon its briny shore.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 8, 2023

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Beaches, Cape May, For Children, Pandemic, Trips and Places, Wisdom

This Morning in Cape May

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This morning in Cape May, winds make a statement.
Batting grasses, foliage on the dunes till they bow low.
No rest for flags, banners.
Even seagulls glide kite-like on currents.
Prelude to a storm.
Or maybe  backdrop for a ceremony.
Honoring the fallen during the war on terror.
Or a sign that summer season’s over.
Time for beach trippers to pack up, go home.
The sun emerges strong.
Spotlighting turbulence on land.
Wild waves smashing the shore.
For me, a needed cleanse.
A dusting, sweeping, clearing.
To push away toxic, viral germs.
But, the wind, the sea,
they beg of me
to fly with them,
be free.
But if I fly, I’ll surely die.
That’s the irony.
True freedom is not solely me.
It honors your needs, too.
When we can act reciprocally,
You care for me; I, you.
The wind can then advise us.
Maybe you’ll listen, agree.
Disturbance is distraction.
Freedom, responsibility.

Lynn Benjamin
September 23, 2021

 

Aging, All Poems, Animals/Insects, Beaches, Cape May, Humor, Trips and Places

September At the Beach

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September at the beach is for parents
pushing baby carriages.
Or for people pushing old age, pulling puppies.
Fewer places open.
Fewer bakery treats.
More tranquility.
Usually nervous plovers step calmer.
I wonder if seagulls, terns, sparrows
notice changing demographics
from observatories, high above.
What do they see?
The seashore?
Vacation oasis?
Expansion?
Contraction?
A microcosm of life.
A slice, too.
Usually delicious.
Occasionally, overdone.

Lynn Benjamin
September 24, 2021

Adult Children, All Poems, Amsterdam, Beaches, Cape May, Family, Fear, Grandchildren, Pandemic, Seasons, Trips and Places, Worry

Cape May

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Cape May, my beach of choice during childrearing.
Victorian mansions.
Abundant dunes.
Seductive walks on the promenade.
Lured here again this August by a siren.
Having missed the past summer due to lockdown.
Arriving with two grandkids and a daughter.
But, Delta variant also circulating in town.
Felling even dually vaccinated.
So, we treaded cautiously among the unmasked.
Help wanted signs everywhere.
Robotic checkers.
Motels withholding housekeeping.
Familiar shops shuttered, gone.
Some people oblivious to the danger.
Jogging, biking, sailing.
Sunbathing, minigolfing, barhopping.
Or maybe aware, but swatting worry away.
Like they would a pesky mosquito.
After all, this was vacation.
Seagulls, terns seemed unconcerned.
Sparrows, doves hopped about.
Dragonflies, not shy.
Even cicadas boasted mating conquests from the trees.
A golden sun squeezed out between ribbons of pink clouds.
A performance that turned everyone’s head.
At dusk, a nightlight moon swelled for scoff beds,
and those chasing ghost crabs.
Summer season brings a crush of visitors to Cape May.
Mostly lovers of sea, sand, salt.
Marsh plants, fowl, insects.
Nature preserves, fishing, swimming.
Joys of uninterrupted time with family, friends.
What could be better?
Normally nothing.
But in these days of anything but normal,
the wish to be home, isolated from humanity,
crosses my mind, multiplies, flies.
It’s an insistent akaakaakaaa, indistinguishable from
the wails of birds overhead.
The anchor that steadies me,
keeps me from rushing away,
are the giggles, hoots, hollers
of my grand boys at play.

Lynn Benjamin
August 11, 2021