St. Croix, 2022

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Farewell, For Children, Humor, St. Croix, 2022, Stories, Trips and Places

We Leave Tomorrow

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I know it seems incredible.
But I’m finally on a first name basis.
With hermit crabs.
Iguanas.
Herons.
Pelicans.
Horses.
Roosters.
Swallowtails.
And I just met a new bird today.
Atop a cactus commingled with a Pain Killer Plant.
There she sat.
She sang a tune.
Yellow bananaquit.
Black tail plume.
She offered me her trill.
A tour round where she flies.
But since we leave tomorrow,
I thought it most unwise.
How unfair to meet new friends.
Then turn around and leave.
When they’ve no wifi, home address
for letters to receive.
The only thing to do.
I mean it most sincere.
Is to tell each with hopeful heart
that we’ll meet again next year.

Lynn Benjamin
January 28, 2022

 

All Poems, Beaches, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

The Curtain Rises

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This morning’s overture.
Crowing roosters.
Whooing owls.
Glorious way to rise.
Watch the sun light the stage.
Ready me for Act One.
An early walk.
Dance of butterflies.
Pipiries of gray kingbirds.
Backdrop of Caribbean Sea, beach, palms.
Today’s drama is not written yet.
Which conch will find its way to sand?
Which pelican will glide to land?
Which neighbor will bid farewell?
Which hermit crab trade its shell?
Which diver will plumb the blue?
Which bananaquit fly past you?
Who’s to know? Who’s to say?
Earth’s improv. Its own Broadway.

Lynn Benjamin
January 19, 2022

All Poems, Animals/Insects, St. Croix, 2022, Stories, Trips and Places

Two Hummingbirds

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Outside this morning, feathers flapped.
Two hummingbirds tapped nectar from hibiscus.
I studied them.
Intently.
Like I might check out someone in an airport, shop, eatery.
As though I spotted a familiar face.
Did these small birds frequent my neighborhood last summer?
Were they the ones that sipped lavender?
In a flash, I saw them on their two-thousand-mile trek.
Down the coast to Florida, the Bahamas, and finally, St. Croix.
No passports needed.
No I.D.’s.
No masks, proofs of vaccination.
Just muscles, stamina, desire to be warm.
I scrutinized them again.
Till they disappeared into dense flora.
I’m sure if they return in May
round gardens where I roam,
I’ll cheer their flighty antics.
Welcome them back home.
Enthusiast of avian feats,
I’ll express full admiration
for tiny wings hanging mid-air,
consummating far migration.

Lynn Benjamin
January 26, 2022

All Poems, Humor, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Potholes

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Rain at dawn soaks heron feathers.
Swallowtail wings.
Rubber tree leaves.
Bougainvillea blooms.
Its brief persistence fills potholes.
Hundreds, if not thousands.
Pocking thoroughfares in St. Croix.
Forcing drivers to slow down.
Vie for passage with oncoming traffic.
Creep around crevices.
For fear of ripping tires.
Breaking axles.
Ruining suspensions.
If not spines or necks.
So, how does a heavy rain help motorists?
Well, water in those small lagoons glistens.
As sun pokes from behind curtained sky,
For an hour, just one hour, drivers, forewarned.
Beholding brimming craters.
Making their way without worry.
For when pit becomes pool,
driving, for sure, is less cruel.
No four-wheel gridlock duel.
Heads more inclined to keep cool!

Lynn Benjamin
January 26, 2022

All Poems, Beaches, Change, For Children, Natural Beauty, Sleep, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Rain in St. Croix

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I opened my eyes.
To the hubbub of roosters, owls.
Screeching cats.
Horses on the lawn.
Full bellied gray clouds, drizzling rain.
Till the water really broke.
Then everything round burst to life.
Salt popped from the sea.
Palms furiously fanned.
Jazmin blossoms inundated air with aromas.
Reddish crabs slid on rocks.
Plovers looked for drinks.
Coconuts fell from trees.
Lizards traded winks.
Rain gushed down on sea, on shore
to cleanse, to bless, to shower.
But once the cloudy fonts emptied,
drips dried within an hour.

Lynn Benjamin
January 25, 2022

 

All Poems, Emotions, Seasons, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places, Worry

Rainbow Hammocks

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Rainbow hammocks.
Another kind of plumage.
Birds for breezes to lift.
Gently rocking occupants to sleep.
But really, no need for these.
Open any window.
Warm gusts.
Sounds of surf wafting through.
Perfect lullabies for slumber.
Rejuvenating.
Repairing.
While on a journey to places forgotten.
Just a stitch or two mends.
Makes the past whole again.
Easier to do here.
Where sunshine, palms, green blue sea await.
Ready to lead to some new sight, sound, taste.
Novelty.
A pick-me-up for winter doldrums.
Worry.
Despair.

Lynn Benjamin
January 12, 2022

All Poems, Humor, Pandemic, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Rules in St. Croix

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St. Croix’s streets.
Warrens of alleys.
This way, that.
Pot holes, irregular, deep.
Few signs.
Puzzles to visiting drivers.
The sole instruction:
Left shoulder to shoulder.
Newfound workout for the brain.
And how about signage?
No parking this side.
Barely visible for all the parked cars!
And then: No dogs, horses on the beach.
The territory of both!
Maybe residents take cues from foliage,
herons, lizards.
Wild, few constraints.
Why should they follow rules?
Disorder has alluring beauty.
Or, maybe ordinances simply don’t make sense.
Who knows?
But island mandates aside.
One guide Cruxens, tourists abide.
Wear masks everywhere inside.
Till Covid droplets all subside.
The only rule not defied.

Lynn Benjamin
January 10, 2022

 

All Poems, For Children, Humor, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Smart Thistles Smart

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Every day I walk paths round my borrowed home.
Admiring ginger Thomas, white cedar flowers.
But somewhere on my wander, unbeknownst to me,
I pick up thistles on my shoes, socks, skirt.
Where? I wonder.
I have no idea.
Only that those thistles smart.
I need a handkerchief to pluck them.
They’re also smart in a clever sort of way.
They hitch a ride.
To settle, seed some other space.
For unwary souls to come upon.
Unbeknownst to them, to carry yon.

Lynn Benjamin
January 14, 2022

All Poems, Beaches, Natural Beauty, Sleep, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Night Winds in St. Croix

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When the sun sinks in St. Croix,
winds pick up.
Not the howling gusts of storms,
but a rhythmic moaning.
An island in labor.
Cries giving birth.
To the next morn’s dawn.
Budding bougainvilleas.
Coconut dates.
Baby lizards.
Hermit crabs.
Snails.
Starfish.
To life itself.
And, to dreams.
The deepest kind.
The ones summoning  people gone.
Parents.
Cousins.
Friends.
Revivifying them in slumber’s scenarios.
To touch.
Speak to.
Be heard again.
In a cocoon.
Of pulsating sounds.
Mysteries.
Restoration.
Until roosters, owls herald the day.
Swallow the wind.
Cede to breaking waves.
To blossoming fruits.

Lynn Benjamin
January 23, 2022

 

All Poems, Family, Memories, Natural Beauty, Pandemic, Retirement, Spouses, St. Croix, 2022, Trips and Places

Nothing and Everything

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To Bob

People ask me: How is your trip?
When I think trip, images of tours, museums, eateries
pop up.
This stay in St. Croix, nothing like that.
More a respite, sojourn.
Time to hide from a pandemic.
Move our home like conches, turtles.
Slowly, deliberately.
Not to race, run, mingle with crowds.
Do nothing but connect.
Listen to your musings.
Tell you mine.
Conversations used to be rich.
Talk of child rearing, work, finances.
No more.
Those things,  now in order.
We’re free to focus on everything else.
Things outside those boxes.
The arc of a wave.
Song of a gray kingbird.
Flap of a monarch’s wing.
March of an iguana.
Your desires, hopes, needs, dreams.
Mine.
Still learning.
To do nothing and everything at once.
Nothing we don’t want to do.
Everything we do.

Lynn Benjamin
January 24, 2022