Beatrice Benning

 #13 January Eleanor’s Mouse House There once was a woman named Eleanor Who lived in a fine home on the North Shore. Some local mice also thought it was nice, Too many for her Eleanor to ignore. She set twenty-two traps and many mouse necks she did snap. As the body count mounted, fewer mice she encountered. But Eleanor soon found that with no mice hanging ‘round, That the House of Eleanor became a big empty bore.

   #15 January’s Journey: Father and Son Returns Adding Fraternal Farewell part 1 Perspective Prelude  In 2020, when Covid-19 began to leach Sanity  and courage, And science failed to reach, The fearful and discouraged, Son’s remote learning and online sessions Led to lassitude and many missed lessons. Mom and he, and a million others in stampede, That prophecies propelled at frightful speed To southern reaches, and open schooling, Warmer beaches and again more carpooling. The Age of Enlightenment was left behind, and rationality into the dustbin was consigned, True seekers of truth preferred any kind of conspiracy that through divination only they could find. The Founding Fathers succored on the Age of Reason Would not recognize their heirs’ mad season. This Father and his heir, and Son Will now down this country run. A confluence of withheld reasons Compels a journey in this wintry season. The time is now, whilst in Father’s company, For Son ...

 #14 January’s Journey: Father and Son Returns Adding Arkansas part 6 Perspective Prelude  In 2020, when Covid-19 began to leach Sanity  and courage, And science failed to reach, The fearful and discouraged, Son’s remote learning and online sessions Led to lassitude and many missed lessons. Mom and he, and a million others in stampede, That prophecies propelled at frightful speed To southern reaches, and open schooling, Warmer beaches and again more carpooling. The Age of Enlightenment was left behind, and rationality into the dustbin was consigned, True seekers of truth preferred any kind of conspiracy that through divination only they could find. The Founding Fathers succored on the Age of Reason Would not recognize their heirs’ mad season. This Father and his heir, and Son Will now down this country run. A confluence of withheld reasons Compels a journey in this wintry season. The time is now, whilst in Father’s company, For Son to become prologue to their mutual desti...

  #12 January’s Journey: Father and Son Returns Prelude Perspective Prelude  In 2020, when Covid-19 began to leach Sanity  and courage, And science failed to reach, The fearful and discouraged, Son’s remote learning and online sessions Led to lassitude and many missed lessons. Mom and he, and a million others in stampede, That prophecies propelled at frightful speed To southern reaches, and open schooling, Warmer beaches and again more carpooling. The Age of Enlightenment was left behind, and rationality into the dustbin was consigned, True seekers of truth preferred any kind of conspiracy that through divination only they could find. The Founding Fathers succored on the Age of Reason Would not recognize their heirs’ mad season. This Father and his heir, and Son Will now down this country run. A confluence of withheld reasons Compels a journey in this wintry season. The time is now, whilst in Father’s company, For Son to become prologue to their mutual destiny. While the ...

11  January’s Journey: Father and Son Returns part 3 1. Fraternal Farewell 2. Perpetual Preparation 3. Duo’s Departure: Son to Sun The youngest son to his sunny home returning, Along America’s interstates he and father will soon be journeying. Alert! Winter storm Indigo is bearing down, Hurry the final prep, they must leave town. But the interstates are not for them alone, Other taxpayers will also be hurrying home. Forsooth! Before they are barely rolling The queues of cars begin slowing. Like ice floes choking a river swollen First responders surround a driver stricken. Down in mangled steel, reflecting lights yellow white and red, Freezing the faces of those gawking for the dead. As if creeping past an open casket, thoughtful glances are exchanged, At the scene yellow tape, and orange cones, are mournfully arranged. The surface tension is finally breached, As the macabre point is reached Where they gazed. And four lanes finally lose their unease, Vaulting to the velocity t...

  January’s El Nino, “Por favor!” #10 Big baby baking under the Pacific sun Breast swelled with energy beyond comprehension. Throwing off his blanket of greenhouse gases El Nino totters north for cooler pastures. Into the Polar Jet Stream the baby blunders Blindly groping he gashes the barrier asunder. El Nino dumbly destabilizes our atmosphere, Threatening the temperatures of the entire hemisphere. The air flowing in the troposphere is no bar El Nino passes through and leaves the door ajar. For Polar Vortex to slip out An Artic tsunami roaring south. A glacier of air miles high and continent wide Only the baby can push back this Polar tide. We implore El Nino “Por favor! Return to your home at the Equator." With shivering desperation, we shout “Please retreat!” Once you slumber again, we swear to lower the heat.”

  January’s First Missing Glove #9 January’s winter is just beginning. Alas the first glove has already gone missing! The pair a lover’s gift this Christmas past Enduring cold abuse their bond could not last. January’s eternal questions now recur. How long to keep the sorry survivor? We hope that the lost one is returning But January chills this false yearning. See! Gloves everywhere in demand No winter wanderer wants a frosty hand. Nor do we discard the lonely one for fear That its lost mate may magically reappear. So we postpone the moment of our grief Finding a replacement mitten affords some relief. Poor thing, by our lover’s gift we were so smitten, We   cannot manage with a mere mitten. Instead fear and hope are the new pair We carry with us everywhere. Ever clinging to the faint hope That the missing mate did not elope? Perhaps a happy not a horrible fate Is   more loving for us to contemplate. So while January chills u...

  January’s Yellow School Bus #8 Lethargic yellow school bus through slush is lumbering. Thirty tired heads bob with the rigid frame’s trundling. As the bus finally slows, the students all nose Down, down, down jerking up with icy frowns. Thirty heads plop back against plastic seats Thirty students stomp sixty cold feet. The driver levers out the red hexagon To alert anxious drivers nosing around. With red lights winking, only a fool could be thinking Of trying to pass that lumbering mass. In January following a yellow bus is no place to be found. Better bobbing to sleep with warm toasty feet at home and snow bound.

  January Velvet #7 Eastern sky purples, Atmosphere twinkles Speckles of light, Drop into sight Angle of approach, Precise glide slopes A procession of professionals Guide these glittering jewels. Propelled by juggernaut jet engines Wafted on wings to airy suspension. Until the confident command Turn left, descend and land. Then let the fragile souls disembark Who minutes before, sleepy and bored Were borne aloft in metal sky arks. None now look back at the purpling sky Nor dare long to wonder why, Or how,   they, and their holiday luggage, were able to alight From those speckles spread on the velvet of a January’s clear night.

  January Whispers #6 Cars glide by on four rubber feet Sliding like sleighs through the snow and the sleet. Humming along, become hydroplane whispers Misty murmurs ascending, grow crisper. Fading away before the followers repeat. I do not want to wet my rubber feet. No whispered steps when I mush Only the plop, plop, plop of sneakers in slush.

  January Cornucopia of Promise by Beatrice Benning #1 January opens before us. Cornucopia of promise To others, to ourselves. How long before we fill our shelves? Before we run out of steam, And store another neglected and dusty dream?   Surprise January First Beatrice Benning #2 Surprise! January First upon us burst. Raining confettied euphoria. Rinsing us so clean We easily forget the collected regrets Of the prior year. Room for new memories to flood us When next January First draws near. January First upon us burst Showering us with fireworks of glee Sparkling away tears of the prior year Dazzling us to believe That resolve will triumph over inconstancy. Are we surprised by January First?   January Radiance by Beatrice Benning #3 Radiant heat from the January sun Crystalline light through the window Thin sheet of melted silicon Separates us from the cold. Glass transforms the low angled sunlight Into heat on m...

  January opens before us. Cornucopia of promise To others, to ourselves. How long before we fill our shelves? Before we run out of steam, And shelve another neglected and dusty dream?