Santa Monica

All Poems, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Who Wouldn’t Want to Live in Santa Monica?

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Who wouldn’t want to live in Santa Monica?

Where sun shines most of the year?

Roses, birds of paradise, bougainvilleas bloom?

Palms, citrus, olive trees sway?

The pier, beaches, a short walk away?

Seagulls swoop daily o’er the town.

To congregate with chums on rooftops.

People watch.

Observe smiling neighbors.

Helping each other.

Looking content, satisfied.

Often elegant.

Perhaps making the most of spas, salons.

Skin care and fashion shops.

Healthful eateries.

Who wouldn’t want to live in Santa Monica?

Neighborhoods by the sea?

Even if not possible,

except in fantasy.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 6, 2022

 

All Poems, Santa Monica, Stories, Trips and Places

The Schedule Veered

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The schedule veered a little off track.

This Sunday morning.

When three of the group stayed a bit long.

At the farmers’ market.

Altering the time table.

For the little ones.

Waiting to go to a car museum.

Then a seat in the new Lincoln wouldn’t straighten.

So, one of us was bumped.

I volunteered to roam.

Back down to Palisades Park.

Picking up a coffee from Primos on Montana.

Passing bougainvilleas, pink, lavender.

Geraniums, roses.

Crimson bottleneck bushes.

One so large, it was a tree.

Where a half dozen hummingbirds hovered in mid-air.

Touching down in turn on fuzzy blooms.

In that instant, I knew for sure.

A sign was sent divine.

Every wheel would find its track.

Synchronize, realign.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 6, 2022

 

The schedule veered a little off track.

This Sunday morning.

When three of the group stayed a bit long.

At the farmers’ market.

Altering the time table.

For the little ones.

Waiting to go to a car museum.

Then a seat in the new Lincoln wouldn’t straighten.

So, one of us was bumped.

I volunteered to roam.

Back down to Palisades Park.

Picking up a coffee from Primos on Montana.

Passing bougainvilleas, pink, lavender.

Geraniums, roses.

Crimson bottleneck bushes.

One so large, it was a tree.

Where a half dozen hummingbirds hovered in mid-air.

Touching down in turn on fuzzy blooms.

In that instant, I knew for sure.

A sign was sent divine.

Every wheel would find its track.

Synchronize, realign.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 6, 2022

 

 

All Poems, Grandchildren, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

Wind Whips Santa Monica

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Wind whips Santa Monica.

Fronds fall from palms.

Berries, acorns drop.

Hats blow off.

Everyone pulls jackets tighter.

Chimes outside windows play double-time.

Beachfront sands dust sidewalks.

Seagulls hide on rooftops.

Homeless dive for shelter.

Leaving behind backpacks, wagons.

The wind itself seeks refuge.

Doors open.

It flies inside.

Into the house on 14th street.

To push boys to and fro.

Hither and yon.

From room to room.

Upstairs, down.

Downstairs, up.

Magnatiles to books.

Trucks to ipads.

Children’s feet whirl around.

Adults run to catch up.

Till lights extinguish.

Winds settle.

A hush hovers overhead.

All quiet, serene.

Daybreak quite distant.

Rest zone, in between.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 5, 2022

 

 

 

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

Mother’s Beach

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Santa Monica offers many beaches.

Right in the city.

Just drive just a little further.

You’ll find Mother’s Beach.

In Marina del Rey.

An inlet on the Pacific.

Lined with sailing craft.

Populated with palms.

Seagulls and crows.

Hiding and seeking.

On sand, in water, or around swings.

Mother’s Beach, a place to relax,

bring smaller ones to play.

Activities for all who come.

Best at-home holiday.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 5, 2022

All Poems, For Children, Grandchildren, Santa Monica

Ezra Makes Challah

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It’s Friday in Santa Monica.

Last night Ez prepared the dough.

With me by his side.

To rise overnight.

In a big red bowl.

To shape and bake before school.

Which he did today.

Making long snakes.

Watching me braid.

Following my lead.

From the middle.

Over, under.

Under, over.

Pinching ends.

Egg washing.

Sprinkling seeds.

Morning joys in fingers, hands.

Smiles, hugs, simple sweet delight.

Next project likely pizza dough

for this bread baker neophyte.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 4, 2022

It’s Friday in Santa Monica.

Last night Ez prepared the dough.

With me by his side.

To rise overnight.

In a big red bowl.

To shape and bake before school.

Which he did today.

Making long snakes.

Watching me braid.

Following my lead.

From the middle.

Over, under.

Under, over.

Pinching ends.

Egg washing.

Sprinkling seeds.

Morning joys in fingers, hands.

Smiles, hugs, simple sweet delight.

Next project likely pizza dough

for this bread baker neophyte.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 4, 2022

 

All Poems, Grandchildren, Santa Monica, Trips and Places

First Afternoon in Santa Monica

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We ran to see the boys.

On our first afternoon in Santa Monica.

Walked Ezra home from daycare.

Ate dinner together.

Played hard till baths.

Stayed till we dropped.

So, Dan suggested we rest the next morning.

Maybe sleep in.

For Dad it might work, I said.

For me, not.

How would I greet the sunrise?

See strewn Halloween remnants on lawns?

Palm silhouettes against pink ribbons in the sky?

If I heeded Dan’s advice,

early dawn I’d miss.

How would I remember?

Ever reminisce?

Besides, Santa Monica’s behind in time.

At six am here, my town’s nine.

Awakening at nine’s twelve noon!

Just impossible to align!

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 4, 2022

 

 

 

Santa Monica, Stories, Trips and Places

Ready to Board

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Here we were at the Philadelphia airport.

The third time in a month.

Ready to board for Los Angeles.

Though I had wandered.

Away from the waiting area.

When our group number was called.

So, Bob was denied access.

Till I appeared.

For we carried too many bags for one person.

I raced to join him.

But the passengers had converged.

A barricade of people separated us.

One from the other.

Pardon me, I called.

As I threaded through the group.

To reach his side.

Pushed back by the crowd.

And by a woman who chided me.

Just wait. Let the old people through first.

Referring to herself.

So, there I was.

Caught behind an unyielding woman.

While Bob stood to the side.

Waiting for me to arrive.

At last, the line parted.

I reached him.

Able to march the corridor to the plane.

The lady who scolded me passed us on her way.

Smiled amiably.

Though she claimed elder status,

clearly, she was younger than I.

She blocked me from passing anyway.

I just couldn’t figure out why.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 2, 2022