Philadelphia

All Poems, Art/Arts, For Children, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Museums, Philadelphia, Pleasure, Trips and Places, Wisdom

Morning After the Second Seder

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It was morning, after the second Seder.

Ordinary excursion to the Franklin Institute.

A favorite museum of grandchildren.

For exhibits on electricity, biology, physics.

A planetarium’s view of the universe.

All with predictable participatory fun.

But not one of us expected the surprise in the special gallery.

The Art of the Brick.

By artist Nathan Sawaya.

New Yorker, whose love of legos bloomed into masterpieces.

Copies of well-known paintings, sculptures.

His own expressive works.

On love, growth, hope.

Collaboration with photographer, Dean West.

Crafting distinctive photos with landscapes and legos.

Even more than prolific production, Sawaya encourages.

Cradles creativity.

Tells you who he is.

His journey from attorney to artist.

Enjoins you to find, honor your unique path.

The visit, ordinary to extraordinary.

Sawaya surely has a goal.

To uplift us and inspire.

Nourish each and every soul.

Lynn Benjamin

April 26, 2024

 

26, 2024

All Poems, Art/Arts, Philadelphia, Regret, Trips and Places

Almost Forgotten

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It was an almost forgotten day.

Forgetting we had tickets to the Academy.

Till I asked a few days before,

Don’t we have tickets?

Searching for the date on the calendar.

Finding it, then actually going.

Ready to walk to the train.

I, noticing Bob forgot his iphone.

Which, he said, he wasn’t supposed to forget.

Because it was on a charger near mine.

Once recovered, we dashed to the train.

Boarding toward Jefferson Station.

But, jumping off so fast, Bob forgot the canvas bag.

Still crumpled on the seat.

Toted so we could buy champagne mangoes.

On a detour to Chinatown.

But I spotted it, grabbed it.

Remembered it.

Breaking the spell.

For the remainder of our time, unforgettable.

Philadelphia production of Hadestown.

Animated, rousing, enthralling.

Ancient story retold, sung.

In a jazzy, snappy way.

Impossible to forget.

We reclaimed our things, the day.

Wanting not one regret.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 23, 2024

 

All Poems, Birthdays, Family, Gardens, Homages, Humor, In-laws, Philadelphia, Stories, Trips and Places

April Tulips

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Only last summer, I went to Amsterdam.

Known for its tulip harvest.

But, by July, it was over.

Though I spotted a few.

Likely cultivated late for tourists.

Yesterday, though, I happened upon dozens.

On street corners in Philadelphia.

Pink, yellow, red, lavender, variegated beauties.

Show stoppers halting me in my tracks.

Their mouths open, heads tilted upwards.

As if in prayer or conversation.

I wondered to whom they whispered.

Could it be Ethel, my mother-in-law?

For she thought them divine.

So, I moved closer.

Thinking I might overhear the exchange.

Perhaps Ethel boasting her birthday, the next day.

For she expected homage be paid her.

Tulips likely answering, we bloomed for you.

Heralding spring and your ninety-ninth.

Along with daffodils, hyacinths, irises.

Bringing to earth repose.

Little spaces to find relief.

From political angst.

Environmental woes.

Savage global wars.

She, like I, mesmerized.

Her voice fading in the rustle of a breeze.

Back from where she came.

Tulips equally enthralled,

awed by the grande dame.

Lynn Benjamin

April 14, 2024

Ethel’s birthday was on April 11th. Had she lived, she would have been ninety-nine.

All Poems, Art/Arts, Love, Philadelphia, Trips and Places

West to East

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We left LA in bright November sun.

Around eleven in the morning.

A daily American Airlines flight.

Arriving in evening darkness to Philadelphia.

In fewer than five hours.

Leaving three behind.

Though a modern miracle, distressing, nonetheless.

Swapping warmth for cold.

Children, grandchildren for empty nest.

Marching off the jetway, I shivered.

Stepped with my husband to Terminal B, Baggage Claim.

Rounding the corner to see a monumental collage.

By Terrance Woolf.

Young Philadelphia artist.

Using discarded materials.

Mostly from airport workspaces.

To create Love Awaits You.

An airplane flying toward a heart.

So captivating, it settled my distress.

Calming me.

Reminding me that love doesn’t disappear with distance.

And though no one but a driver

stood waiting for us there,

and though the night, damp, dreary,

love floated in the air.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 28, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Children, Disappointment, Emotions, Family, Grandchildren, Philadelphia, Trips and Places

I Still Don’t Understand Why

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I still don’t understand why I couldn’t get the Newton’s Cradle,

Elias said at breakfast.

Chewing eggs and toast.

Looking plaintively across at me.

Wanting to continue processing.

Yesterday’s denial of the device.

That demonstrated conservation of momentum, energy.

Appealing to him in the shop at the Franklin Institute.

Do you remember the reasons Grandpop gave? I questioned.

Yes, he answered.

I would lose interest.

It required space.

Mom would have a conniption.

He smiled at the word conniption, learned at the museum’s café.

When we first went over why the souvenir wasn’t a good idea.

I imagined my daughter’s exasperated voice:

One more tchotchke in an already overstuffed apartment!

Now, I said, tell me your reasons for wanting it.

He enumerated.

It’s a cool example of a physics principle.

I would play with it.

I’d store it on my brother’s computer table.

I listened intently.

Then told him a story.

About when I bought hermit crabs and a cage, gifts for his older brother.

When his brother was much younger.

How his parents made me return them to the store.

For the clutter they’d cause.

For the work to take care of them.

Elias piped up.

Well, you’d have to clean the cage, feed them.

Find a place to put the cage.

Aha! I said.

You’re taking the parental perspective.

He smiled, understanding.

The Newton’s Cradle issue done.

Elias seemed satisfied.

Understanding fully now

his Grandpop’s override.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 9, 2023

All Poems, Philadelphia, Politics, Trips and Places, Worry

Veterans’ Parade

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The city was quiet.

Except for a Veterans’ Parade.

Near Penn’s Landing.

A dozen armored vehicles.

Circling the streets.

We three spotted them.

From outside the National Constitution Center.

Sitting on benches while nibbling snacks.

What are they? Bob asked out loud.

To no one in particular.

But clearly, the distress of January 6th began to well.

I hope it’s not another coup, he mumbled.

Not wanting to scare our grandson, ten.

But, clearly worried.

I hankered for a stretch.

Striding down the long path toward the street.

Not to worry, I called. Just trucks from the Veterans’ Parade.

Bob exhaled a sigh of relief.

But, it was evident

from his words, his fearful stance.

The insurrection at the capital

bequeathed post traumatic trance.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 7, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Disappointment, Museums, Philadelphia, Politics, Trips and Places, Worry

National Constitution Center

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Usually, I shy away from crowds.

Look for places that don’t teem with people.

But, I was not content.

Rather, shocked.

When the National Constitution Center had no lines.

Few visitors pressing interactive buttons.

Attending the Freedom Rising performance.

It was so empty, we slipped through.

In record time.

Leaving me to ponder why so vacant?

Was it too beautiful outside to go into a museum?

Was tourist season over?

Or had people abandoned interest in learning about democracy?

Foundational laws of our country?

I had no answer.

But, I must confess.

My heart was heavy, gloomy.

Where were We the People?

Long halls unfilled, too roomy.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 6, 2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Family, Fear, Food, Grandchildren, Philadelphia, Trips and Places

The Day Started

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The day started in an ordinary way, said Elias.

Catching a train after lunch.

With his sister and grandparents.

For a walking tour of Philadelphia.

George Washington’s house.

The Liberty Bell.

Independence Hall.

Washington Square.

Pennsylvania Hospital, now Penn Medicine.

Where Bob interned.

Slept on call at 8th and Pine.

With Lynn and baby Roseanne.

Elias’s mother.

Then the performance of Lion King.

More than ordinary.

Spectacular.

But, what wasn’t ordinary happened before dinner.

Then, after the show.

First, the restaurant in Chinatown.

The vegetarian one on Race Street.

Gone.

Crunched for time, choosing another one.

Thinking hand drawn noodles might appeal.

But, Elias rejected everything.

Ate a bowl of rice.

Pronouncing it boring.

Later, the musical over, we marched to Jefferson Station.

Only to find entrance after entrance locked.

Likely for the lateness of the hour.

Till we reached 10th and Filbert.

Losing at least ten minutes.

Maybe a train or two.

Pulling door handles.

Anxiety haunting Elias.

The kind that made him wonder.

Would the train at 10:50 actually pull into Jenkintown?

He worried all the way

till the train slowed down, stopped.

Declaring dinner, return home, weird.

Then into bed, he flopped.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 27, 2023

   

 

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Museums, Philadelphia, Trips and Places

Golden Oldie

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It was a golden oldie, said Bob.

Thinking about our jaunt with Elias and Liora.

To the Franklin Institute.

As we listened to crickets, cicadas, finches.

On an evening promenade.

I saw that very show on liquid nitrogen sixty years ago, he added.

Except, in addition to a ball, the teacher put a hot dog in the container.

We both pictured her dropping a ball into liquid nitrogen.

Pulling it out with a utensil, slamming it onto the floor.

Where it shattered.

The hot dog was more dramatic, he laughed.

Breaking into pieces like a china cup!

Wisps of the day floated through my mind.

Amazed screams of children.

When the presenter poured water into liquid nitrogen.

The stage billowing with clouds of vapor.

Children running up front to touch it, catch it.

Then, our group flashing through the special Disney exhibit.

Toward machines.

Pressing, pulling, hanging on weighted ropes.

Watching pulleys, levers, balls in George Rhoads’s Newton’s Jawn.

Cousin to the display in the Philadelphia airport.

Each memory, a bubble.

Light, transparent, awesome.

Till Bob’s voice interrupted my reverie.

Concert in the trees soothed my soul.

Perfect capstone to the day.

Siblings collaborating in a museum.

While Covid slipped away.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 26, 2023

 

All Poems, Philadelphia, Trips and Places

One Hour Before

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The ticket read 1:00 pm.

Moulin Rouge, Academy of Music.

So, we caught an 11:01 train from Jenkintown.

Which, though late, got us to the station at 11:25.

An hour to stroll before going in to the show.

To encounter a man in a lady’s room.

Dressed to the nines in a royal blue suit.

A dog walker watching his dog poop on the sidewalk.

Slipping away with no intention to clean up.

A scofflaw fleeing police.

Dashing down Pine Street.

Construction on the corner hammering ear drums.

Stench of pee in every crevice and beyond.

All, one hour before the show.

In Philadelphia.

The city where I was born

Grew up in childhood.

To which I invite friends from other places.

You’ve seen New York. Come to Philadelphia!

Where the Constitution was signed.

 

But, after this hour of smells, distaste,

do I bid people come? What to say?

Suppose I’ll just shrug, toss it off.

A hot July city bad day!

 

Lynn Benjamin

July 21, 2023