Friday, June 15, 2018



What is it that whispers from forest's edge,
wooing with winsome charm and fawn-like shyness;
from narrow shadowy paths tucking themselves
between mountain boulders and bursting rhododendrons

modestly giving way to a boldness, a distant vastness
of vibrant greens, slate blues, fading grays
that takes my breath away?

What is it that calms from old fishing shore,
tickling and tempting toes to journey further
into a coolness that laps knees, belly button, shoulders
as swirling concentric circles are sent forth from fingertips
playing ocean's surface?

I guess it's a reverence, a bit child-like; sensitive,
even hesitant as I listen for answers to questions
I keep deep inside, some since childhood -
find I can release a few upon time worn path,
mountain breeze, some upon ever-expanding ripples

not needing a solution after-all.

by Margaret Bednar, June 15, 2018

Playing along with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - What the ... a nod to Walt Whitman"

Saturday, June 9, 2018


mountain breeze,
hitches a ride
galloping tandem, lifting mane and tail.

by Margaret Bednar, June 9, 2018

linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fussy Little Forms - Tetractys".  A line count of 20 syllables (1, 2, 3, 4, 10)