Spring Lake

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, Environment/Mother Earth, For Children, Spring Lake, Trips and Places

Spotted Lanternflies

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Spotted lanternflies must have flown off course.

When they landed at the New Jersey shore.

For instead of forest, there is sand.

No trees to feed on, lay eggs.

Surf pummels them.

Tides carry them away.

Bathers hit them with bottles.

Stamp on them.

Bury them.

Children shovel them into buckets.

Play with them.

Seagulls peck at them.

Spit them out as though their taste, bitter.

Lanternflies eat through forests.

Destroy plants for food, then spawn.

But, here on Spring Lake beach,

the environment is wrong.

If we could lure the rest of them

to vacation at the shore,

there’d be no more calls to wipe them out,

for they’d bother us no more.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 7, 2023

 

All Poems, Beaches, Change, Memories, Spring Lake

Day After Labor Day

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Labor Day marks the unofficial end of summer.

But, the news must not have reached the Jersey shore.

For the day after, it was scorching hot.

Cars were lined up to park all along the beach.

As though the holiday were still in progress.

Despite absence of lifeguards, concession stands, beach tags.

For us, the first time this season in New Jersey.

Mostly because of Bob’s eye surgery in late Spring.

And a busy travel schedule.

The day was glorious.

Pounding surf.

Salty breezes.

Frolicking seagulls, plovers.

Sounds, smells, visuals.

Nudging memories.

Maybe jolting them.

Children, grandchildren jumping waves.

Older parents strolling the boardwalk.

Family members disembarking from the train.

Dashing across foot bridges in the park.

Buying chocolates and wine in town.

Those times seemed more pliant,

the road more circumscribed.

The world a gentler place,

not jumbled, in overdrive.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 6, 2023

 

All Poems, Beaches, Holidays, Memorial Day, Politics, Seasons, Spring Lake, Trips and Places

Rain Pelted

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Rain pelted like pebbles
all night against the windows,
roof of the old inn at the beach.
Not the rain of lullabies.
No lulling to sleep.
But heavy, unrelenting rain.
Angry, angled.
A tempest tantrum
on this weekend of Memorial Day,
known for parades, barbecues, opening pools.
Gales batted flags displayed, but drenched,
to honor military lost.
Trees swayed.
Rivulets deepened on roadways.
Temperatures plunged.
Branches full of new spring leaves crashed down.
Clouds dumped their fury.
Even birds, squirrels were nowhere to be seen.
Questions crowded my mind.
Had the lure of leisure days led us to break faith
with those who died fighting for Democracy?
Had they led us to forsake care of water, air?
Or maybe the whirlwind was a cleansing crew come
to sanitize sand?
Detoxify currents?
Sweep streets?
It’s hard to know for sure.
But breaking water sometimes signals transition.
The downpour lightened.
I noticed rhododendrons blossoming,
yellow water lilies waving,
ducks, swans, seagulls returning,
bass surfacing on the lake,
vaccinated pedestrians shedding masks,
hugging, dancing, singing.
Wet with drizzle, I wondered
if May’s storm was essential, a need,
for three days of gloom.
Room to concede, retreat, attune
to June’s Strawberry Blooming Moon.

Lynn Benjamin
May 29, 2021

Note that the phrase break faith refers to the line in John McCrae’s poem In Flanders Fields in which he writes:
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep….