Santa Monica

All Poems, For Children, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Santa Barbara, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Signs

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Have you ever stopped to read all the signs around us?

Do Not Feed the Birds or Squirrels

No Smoking

Beach Path

They clutter our streets, highways, parks, schoolyards.

Even our houses are full of signs.

Instructions to change filters, turn on appliances, set alarms.

We could fill our days with mandates and how-to’s.

Most, pragmatic or cautionary.

But, one that grabbed my eye was on a sidewalk in front of Reed Park.

In Santa Monica.

Advising: Wander Often, Wonder Always.

Two of my favorite things to do.

Doing them right now in Santa Barbara!

Wandering the harbor piers.

Wondering about silk floss trees.

How can I preserve the splendor

of lofty mountains meeting seas?

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 19, 2023

All Poems, Natural Beauty, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Palisades Park

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Palisades Park runs along the Pacific coastline.

On a cliff atop Santa Monica’s beaches.

With all you could wish for in a park.

Pier with rides, eateries.

Walking, jogging paths.

Restrooms, benches.

Gardens galore.

Roses, crane flowers, sea lavender.

Palm, pine, eucalyptus trees.

Vistas of the sand, ocean.

A place to watch the sun rise, set.

An expanse to share.

With people of every age.

Exercisers, dog walkers, homeless.

Crows, seagulls, squirrels.

Bees, butterflies, birds.

A go to place for strolling,

inhaling fragrance and salt air.

Ever-changing canvass.

Pedestrian thoroughfare.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 18, 2023

   

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Natural Beauty, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Walk Anywhere in Santa Monica

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Walk anywhere in Santa Monica, and you’ll be amazed.

Gnarled eucalyptus, soaring palms, citrus, fig trees.

Rosemary, lavender hedges.

The city bursts with vitality.

Bouncing down the street, I stopped short.

Hearing buzzing, humming.

From a grove of salvia plants.

Thick, lush, with blooms, velvet to the touch.

I detected motion.

In rhythm with vibrations.

Expecting bees, I stepped closer.

Instead, a dozen hummingbirds!

Wings beating air.

Tiny paddles rotating wildly.

So many, they didn’t flee when I approached.

Continued sucking nectar.

Hovering, moving sideways.

Sipping, lifting.

Luminescent bursts of blue, yellow, green, brown.

Peeking through purple fields.

Animation without artist.

No frames, technology.

Nature at her boldest.

You get just what you see.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 17, 2023

 

 

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Children, Family, Grandchildren, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

It Was a Long Trip West

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It was a long trip west.

Relinquishing November’s preparations for winter.

To rediscover late summer’s vitality.

Birds of paradise in profusion.

Succulents, cacti.

Sea lavender, brittlebush blooms.

Palms everywhere.

What natural luxury.

For three grand brothers.

Five, three, one.

Energetic as waves.

Warm as sunshine.

Sweet as passion fruit.

Sturdy as olive trees.

Bouncing, jumping, tumbling.

Squatting, skipping, hopping.

On, around, on top of each other.

And us.

Balls of gusto, zest.

Like all of us once were.

With no effort and no straining.

If only we could keep on flourishing

without practice and retraining.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 13, 2023

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Natural Beauty, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

You Never Know What You’ll Find

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You never know what you’ll find on morning walks.

In Ocean Park.

Which abuts the Atlantic along one boundary.

Close to the sea wall.

Ocean sprays to cool you down.

Grackles, tanagers and doves.

Playing in trees or on fences.

Sometimes hummingbirds.

Fat cats, skinny cats.

Gray, white, tabby, tawny.

Crabs sliding on rocks.

Quick footed lizards on walls.

Swaying palms, flamboyant trees.

Pink bougainvillea, yellow trumpets.

Squat pastel Caribbean houses.

Built to withstand hurricanes.

New buildings under construction.

Friendly neighbors calling Buen día.

Whatever it is,

it’s under warm skies.

Seen past or new,

sure to tantalize.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 25, 2023

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Parents, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Last Evening in Santa Monica

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It was the last evening in Santa Monica.

I took forty minutes as the sun was setting.

To stroll Montana.

Street of eateries, cafés.

Boutiques, children’s shops.

Beauty salons of every kind.

Nails, hair, skin.

Services and products.

Enough to rival any fountain of youth.

For the people in Santa Monica really are beautiful.

Trim, fit, coiffed.

The sun completely descended.

I returned to 829 14 th Street.

Where my son and his family reside.

Where real life fills rooms with chatter, laughter.

A four-year-old begs to do a science project.

Math problems.

Write a book.

A two-year old content to play with trucks.

Learning to use the potty.

Which sits nearby waiting for him.

A three-month-old congested from the latest cold.

But smiling.

Between nursings.

Dinner is a whirlwind of inhaling food.

Child centered conversations.

Clearing the table.

Then bath time.

Hubbub with attendant routines.

Till bedtime.

When quiet falls.

Except for the calls of the two-year-old.

Who, now alert to his small body, needs to pee.

But, away from the potty, he’s already done it.

So, needs to be changed.

Finally, the silence that young parents crave.

To do what they wish.

With the hour left in the evening.

Have dessert? Or watch a film?

For possibly half an hour?

Or is sleep the only panacea

to preserve parent power?

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 14, 2022

All Poems, Food, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Farmers’ Markets

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Santa Monica is known for healthful food.

Well known restaurants like Rustic Canyon, Lulu, Huckleberry Café.

Famous chefs like Susan Feniger, Jeremy Fox, Miles Thompson.

Who pick up vegetables from the farmers’ market.

That set up near the promenade on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

In nearby Brentwood on Sundays.

There the farmers from the Central Valley display, sell wares.

Whatever is in season.

Avocados of every kind.

Reed, Haas and ones with edible skins.

Mushrooms of every shape, color.

Peppers, tomatoes, broccoli, carrots, potatoes, herbs.

Not the usual ones found at the store.

Ones plucked at the peak of flavor.

So delicious that it’s hard to return indoors to buy.

But, understand, there’s not one stall, but dozens to choose from.

Farmers who relish giving out cooking tips.

Tell you what to do with cactus nopales.

With green lemons, the shape of tiny cucumbers.

Housing caviar membranes.

Each a squirt of sour juice.

You can also get the best almonds, pecans in southern California.

With a crunch that leaves even specialty nut shops behind.

So, when in Santa Monica making plans.

You have a kitchen and some pans,

Buy fresh from farmers’ market stands.

Channel your inner chef, your skilled cooking hands.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 14, 2022

 

All Poems, Family, Memories, Parents, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Days of Poo, Pee, and Vomit

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My daughter-in-law pointed to the pile of clothes.

In a heap on the kitchen counter.

All full of poo, pee, and vomit.

Now clean, ready to be folded, she sighed.

Re-used tomorrow.

It’s easy to forget those days.

Toilet learning.

Accidents.

Nursing.

Burping.

Spitting up.

Add a cold or two.

Endless runny noses.

Sneezing.

Coughing.

Body fluids as far as you can see.

At what point does the swell subside?

Does clothes washing return to normalcy?

Life become less preoccupied?

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 15, 2022

 

 

 

 

Family, Grandparents, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Lot of a Grandparent

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I like walking along Ocean Avenue.

Early mornings in Santa Monica.

Not only for the views of the sea.

Palm trees swaying.

Seagulls swooping.

But for the large open trash bins at every corner.

Where I can deposit wet tissues.

From dripping nose, eyes.

Endless faucets of mucus.

Turned to on.

From a yet active cold I share with three grandbabies.

And their parents.

On an early call with my daughter, I relay my symptoms.

The leaking orifaces.

Aching eyes.

Pulsing head.

With a laugh she prods my memory.

Of contagious times with her three.

A bout of lice.

Vomiting virus.

Bedbugs.

In short, the lot of a grandparent.

A person who’s close, involved.

Does projects, gives kisses, hugs.

Shares tender exquisite moments.

Trade offs for virulent bugs.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 13, 2022

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

What Could Go Wrong

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What could go wrong?

In southern California by the sea?

Where palms sway gracefully?

Sun warms the bones most days?

Sometimes problems are hard to see.

They float just under the surface.

A new car breaks.

Service, unavailable.

The department having just moved to a new site.

The loaner, a behemoth.

So big, it hits the garage door.

Disables it.

Hard to repair.

Children ping pong colds back and forth.

Babysitters get sick.

Leave parents in the lurch.

Daycare demands pristine noses.

Autumn fall back arouses kids at dawn.

Leaving parents exhausted.

Children grumpy by 6 pm.

Grandparents want to step in.

Fill the gaps.

Help.

Mind.

Cook.

Bake.

But old limbs betray.

Unable to lift.

Old hearts.

Have bypassed electrical systems.

Old immune systems.

Catch the first virus nearby.

So, underneath the sunshine

in paradise by the sea.

Plenty can undo the promise.

Null a fragile guarantee.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 12, 2022