"Daybreak"

Daybreak

I'm not naturally an early riser -
greet each day like a broody hen,

sip my coffee - almost begrudge
twittering, darting sparrows
their industriousness.

Leisurely contemplate the light
as it hesitantly scans my yard -

finally acknowledge
impatient whines, thumping tails
imploring me to step out -

greet the day,
fresh air fills my lungs,
finally wake.

by Margaret Bednar, October 31, 2013



This is for my own challenge at the "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations - Maria Wulf's Visual Poems" which will be posted Friday morning at midnight (central daylight time).  Maria Wulf is a fiber artist, "Full Moon Fiber Art" and has a link to her "My Visual Poems" on her blog header.  I find them to be mini journeys (sometimes a bit surreal), snippets of images and sounds linked together offering impressions - all inspire and celebrate Maria's artistic view of the world - whether it is creating from found objects or just enjoying the land, the seasons.

The challenge is to watch and listen to the sounds of what you don't see, live in the moment, feel the emotions (or memories) they conjure and write about it in any poetic form you choose.

Come join me over at "The Garden".

I have also linked this poem with Friday Flash 55 - a story (or in my case, usually a poem) in 55 words.   I invite you to come join the fun over there as well.    Happy Halloween!

Here is a photo of me tonight ... I do not see what my family found so funny - for I AM a princess...

My youngest two really had fun.  I really liked my daughter's "homemade" outfit - I thought she was a broken doll, she said she was a child serial killer ...  Oh...  Well, glad we had Captain America nearby then...

and we always carve pumpkins - my second oldest daughter (Headless Horseman) and husband (Dracula) had quite the competition going on this year... and neither one used a stencil!

Fall (a poem by my 5 year old son)

Fall

Floating colors,
Falling acorns,
crunch, crunch, crunch!

Whistle, jump,
trick-or-treat,
winter's coming...

dead!

by my son, 5 years old

I tried to get him to change the ending, but he just laughs.  So be it.  

"The Fishing Fleet'

The Fishing Fleet of 1620

Beside gray and choppy shore of the river, James,
preening men strutted before the "Fishing Fleet" -
seventy women strong, "old maids", widows,
handful of virgins,

from England they'd sailed, supplied with new petticoat,
gloves, rug, and sheet.  Domesticity's price? "One hundredth
and fifie pounds of the best leafe Tobacco".

Preacher warned, "one man at a time!", judge declared,
"Consummate or set her free!", indentured servants they were not,
but plucky women who gambled, tried to beat the odds -
did for two years

until Opechancanough spared no "man woman or childe",
proceeded to "deface, drag, and mangle the dead into many pieces -
triumphant."

Triumphant for a time,
as the hand of "revenge" is never-ending.

by Margaret Bednar, October 28, 2013

A replica of the first Protestant church in America located inside the Jamestown Fort -
I assume the "Fishing Fleet" couples were married here.

HERE is Bob Deans the author of the book I am currently reading, "The River Where America Began".  He is a gifted speaker and this is a C-Span Video Library link.  It is thoroughly educational and enjoyable.

The Fishing Fleet was a true group of women (age 15-24) who came over to find husbands within the  Jamestown colony.  Most of these women were killed two years later in the "Great Indian Massacre".   Opechancanough was Powhatan's powerful brother who took control after the great chief died.  I find it a fascinating topic and Mr. Deans states briefly that their stories are fascinating (which leads me to believe there are journals and/or documents about them).  I wish there were books or a documentary about them, but I can find nothing.

Below is a photo of my youngest son standing very near the location where the Jamestown people were massacred (the people inside the fort were warned in advance and did not suffer devastating losses).  So much history, so much violence along the James River.  This is linked with "I Heart Macro Week 24".

I signed up to view National Geographic - HERE is a great article on Jamestown, but it will ask you to sign up as a member (which is really easy).

I am linking this with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday" and will link with "dVerse - Open Link Night #120" on Tuesday.

Finally found an image painted by Sidney King "Arrival of the Maids".  The website is HERE

Sidney King "Arrival of the Maids" (to Jamestown Colony 1620)

"The Masquerade"

Marilyn Monroe - Google Images

The Masquerade

Loveless red kisses
thrown to adoring crowds
drunk with adoration
for an image invented

before a cold piece of glass;
a friend who never lied
as she stood, eyes naked,
vulnerability exposed.

Yet Fame insisted all debts be paid -

so with lips painted red,
flaxen hair; coiffed,
eyes; cat-lined,
she embraced make-believe

waved, smiled
delighted fans
and hid behind the world's
most recognizable laugh.

by Margaret Bednar, October 27, 2013

I originally wrote two versions of this on December 27 & 30th, 2011.  I've tweaked it once more, and am happier with this version.  I am linking this with "Imaginary Garden with Real  Toads - Sunday Mini Challenge: Masks".

I took a road trip this weekend- had originally planned on the mountains, but changed my mind and visited historic Jamestown in Virginia.  I hope to squeeze out a poem about America's "first river" soon.

Day-tripping, 1979

Not an image of Horicon Marsh, but taken in North Carolina

Day-tripping, 1979

Blanketed, bored
we slumped in the backseat,
day-tripping.  No rock-n-roll,
dog panting between us,

no longer little kids
excited about adventure,
but teenagers too cool
to be seen with "The P's".

Promises of fresh air,
wetlands, wildlife
met with a roll
of the eyeballs,

until we arrived,
forgot protocol,
finally smiled -
became human again.

by Margaret Bednar, October 24, 2013


Horicon Marsh Wildlife Area, Wisconsin "HERE".  I remember the first time I saw Horicon Marsh as a child - it was vast with endless sky and the almost deafening sound of the geese overwhelmed me.   Year round other birds call it home as well, and I would certainly make a few trips yearly if I lived nearby.

I am planning a day trip to Blowing Rock or Boone, NC, this weekend.  Not all can make it, not because they selected chores, but due to homework (or so they have convinced me).  I have one child that doesn't like to travel in general but is eager for a trip to the mountains.



This is for "Mr. Knowitall's - Friday Flash 55", which I will link up tonight after 8pm.

"Take Note"

Take Note

I grace your bed,
an ornamental
all rosettes, ruffles
and lavender.

Its true,
some find me bitter -

I say taste and see
and offer a tip:
it's all in the way
I'm handled.

by Margaret Bednar, October 23, 2013

This is linked with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Wednesday Challenge - The Language of Flowers - "turn to flowers for inspiration, not simply as beautiful objects, but as symbols of deeper emotions and human qualities, or as magical ingredients".

I was intrigued recently to find the hardworking Kale sold next to fancy roses and other such flowers.   I did plant this in my garden along the border a few years back  - as I thought them beautiful, but found them bitter to eat.  Since then, I have learned how to cook with it.  

"Outside my Window" & "Wild Geese Take Flight"

The Nursing Home

Outside my window
leaves become sainted with gold
a life's span revered.
       Eyes hopeful I watch the door,
       wrinkled hand smooths silvered hair.

by Margaret Bednar, October 21, 2013


(wish I were a Maple tree.)  - my original ending. 

A Mother's Inevitability

Wild geese take flight
upon exuberant wing,
restless spirits freed -
       yet I remain rooted,
       childish laughter growing dim.

by Margaret Bednar, October 21, 2013


Over at the Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Format Challenge, Kerry has a fantastic series with Dr. Hisashi Nakamura on the poetry form Tanka. The transcript of his lecture "Japanese Women in Tanka Poetry: From the 4th to the 13th Century" can be found HERE.

Traditional Tanka, as far as I can see, has no "title" but I decided to add one to direct the way I want the reader to view these... I didn't put a title at first, and it was interesting to see where people went with them... and perhaps I should have let that be...

I see I did NOT strictly follow the 5-7-5-7-7 rule in the second Tanka, and will leave it as it is for now.  It is still 31 syllables. This form is MUCH harder than it looks!

If you want more info on Tanka, I found "The Seed of the Human Heart: Writing Tanka" quite interesting as well.

Also Submitted to "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday" as I am a bit late getting this "Sunday Challenge" submitted - I had a very busy weekend and yet, was unable to enjoy being OUTSIDE in this glorious fall weather!

"Beware"

Mendenhall Ice Caves, Juneau, Alaska (photobucket)

tears tunnel unseen a frozen trail - beware spring's sudden thaw.

by Margaret Bednar, October 18, 2013



My attempt at a Japanese haiku.  It usually consists of 17 sounds - it can vary.  It should be able to be expressed in one breath (which often means English haiku can be 10-14 syllables.  Japanese haiku are commonly written in one line and should "leap" or have an "internal comparison".  Traditional versions capture a fleeting natural image.

I found this link to be helpful:  HERE

This is for the challenge over at the "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Transforming Fridays with Hannah -  Haunted and Hungry"

"Appreciation" and "Administrative Assistant"

This first poem is linked with G-Man's "Friday Flash 55" and is another "take" on the poem I wrote below.  I've also linked this first poem with "The Mag #190".

Would you like to hear me read my poem?


Check this out on Chirbit

Appreciation

I never did learn
to play fetch, "wag my tail",

nor view you
with adoring eyes -

always thankful
others enjoyed your pats

upon their pretty behinds -
one you even took home.

Tried to keep the gleam
out of my eyes

when her "foxy" bite
finally made you sing soprano -

made you appreciate
my bull-dog gaze.

by Margaret Bednar, October 17, 1013

Photo by Scavengercat8o8.  Used for "The Mag #190"

The Administrative Assistant

'Coffee, hot.  Eight sharp.
Large carafe, whether I'm here
or not.  (inhale)  And babe,
(exhale) ashtray dumped,
wiped clean, 10 & 2

and fetch my dry-cleaning
mid-week at noon." (grinds stub -
half smiles), "Be sure
to take five for lunch.

Oh, 'bout the cute
transcriptionist scheduled
today from 3:00 - 4:00 -
(winks) ... hold all calls."

I smile, turn, roll my eyes,
and meet his in the mirror.

by Margaret Bednar, October 16, 2013

Yeah, this job was very short-lived.  The smoke would roll out of his office, I suggested a smokeless ashtray - he laughed.  This is actually based on two bosses and I rolled them into one "monster".
I did have a few wonderful bosses - they weren't all jerks.

My daughter painted the image above - it's a detail - and I thought the gaze was perfect for the sharing of this memory - I wonder to this day how I kept my expression "neutral".

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Words Count with Mama Zen" - National Boss's Day & keep it 67 words or less.  

"Days of Grace"

Would you like to hear me read my poem?

Check this out on Chirbit

Days of Grace

I wish these days of grace to linger -

linger in my soul content, yet ablaze.

Ablaze with dying in order to nourish -

nourish to live again.  Each Autumn I walk,

walk these wooded trails, pause -

pause to photograph and gaze in wonder.

Wondering all the while if I will bow -

bow as graciously as nature when it's my time.

Time, a gift we seem to squander -

squander away when we have it and long,

long for it when it silently winds down - tick,

tick, tick.  Perhaps we over-think, when we should -

should just breath in and out, think how to,

to give of ourselves, daily.  Die to self,

selflessly give each day in order to live -

live one day outside of time, ablaze with grace.

by Margaret Bednar, October 13, 2013

This is written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Sunday Challenge - Loop Poetry".  The last word of the line must wrap around and begin the next.  I did not take up the challenge of a rhyme scheme.  

I am also linking this up with "I Heart Macro week 22" 

and Poets United: Poetry Pantry #171.  

"Redemption"

Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, Savannah, GA

Would you like to hear me read this poem?



Check this out on Chirbit

Redemption

"Dog-eared." That's what a bible
should be (so I've been told one hundred
if not a thousand times), "spine; supple,
yielding favorites, underlined, faded" -
I guess for all to see I'm a good girl.

Each week I watch,
try to come closer to holy.
See some kneel the "lazy man's" way,
butt rests upon the bench, forming
an imperfect triangle
(I always attribute it to being fat).
Momma pinches me if I
even curve my back to stretch,
"Reach tall for Jesus" she whispers.

I used to watch a pretty lady
fidget with her necklace, hair,
twist her diamond ring back and forth -
thought it a new way to pray the rosary.
Copied her motions in church.
Momma pinched me.

Often get sidetracked
admiring beautiful clothes,
wish Momma could look as nice.
Watch as Ms. Fancy Pants puts $1
in the collection basket, Momma $20.
Whisper "Not fair!".   Momma pinches me,
says "worry 'bout yourself".

I think I'm starting to understand,
remember Momma says "Holy
is often about not what we do,
but what we don't". So, I'll keep quiet,
maybe sit an arm and finger's length
away from Mamma, not watch "them"
so much anymore, begin to learn
how to "pray guilt away" -

for that's what two women whispered
behind their hands about Momma
as she walked by, and there is no one
I'd rather be more like than my Momma.

by Margaret Bednar, October 11, 2013  

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Fireblossom Friday - Redemption"  One of the options was to write about an imagined character.

Oh the journey to try and figure out what it means to be good, how to be good, and who to emulate.  I tried to end it with a misunderstanding (once again) as to what is right.  I hint in the last paragraph that the two women are gossiping about "Mama's sins"... but the little girl is really to young to understand.

I'm trying to write a few more "story poems" and they are often clear to me, but then I realize readers don't always follow the way I wanted them to go... alas.  :)

I also want to make it clear that I do not think anyone can work (or buy) their way into heaven (I'm a Catholic and that is a HUGE Protestant misunderstanding).  So when I say "good" here, it is just a childish understanding of what is expected of them.

"Autumn"

Autumn

A golden season
is Autumn
whose branches
slowly release treasure,

begin to bare
the eternal night sky
ablaze with its own
spectacular show.

It's these crisp,
clear nights
beneath an unchanging
glorious design

I recall those
who've touched my life,
take comfort
believing

they gaze down,
send the crisp breeze
that fondly
brushes my cheek.

by Margaret Bednar, October 10, 2013

This is for dVerse Meeting the Bar - Friends.   A blogger poet, Dave Kling, of "Pics and Poems" passed away on October 4, 2013, from an illness.  He was a gentle soul, full of beautiful and kind words, always encouraging fellow poets.  Tonight dVerse is honoring his memory with poetry about good friends, about friendship.

I wrote my poem tonight about those family and friends who have died, whom I can never hear their voice, see their smile, nor touch their arm, but will always feel within my heart.

This is also linked with Friday Flash 55

"Either Way"

"Texas Toad" image courtesy of The Run *A*Round Ranch blog 

Either Way

I serenaded you last night, 

trilled for all my plumpness was worth 

from my waterhole beneath the big Texas sky -

dreams dashed as you walked away,
shut your door -

realized it's a frog's fortune

of becoming a prince,
not a lonely Texas toad.

I'll pursue you, gonna play coy, 

try and charm - come hell or high water 

and the creek don't rise.

Go ahead, pick me up, toss me aside.  

Love me, hate me - either way, 

I plan on making your heart beat a little faster,

one way or another.  Not much difference
between love and revenge after all.

by Margaret Bednar, October 9, 2013

A rather silly poem for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Wednesdays with Peggy - Point of View. She had wanted us to write a poem based on the environment through the eyes of an animal, but all I could think of is how a princess must kiss a frog, not a toad, and how that is so unfair!

If one touches a Texas Toad, the glands on the side of their neck (behind the eyes) secrete a white poison - humans are warned to wash their hands after handling.  Many animals develop symptoms - one being an irregular heart beat - I don't know if this is so for humans, but for the sake of this poem, I went with it.  I tried to research it, but the possible consequences were clear for animals - and humans were warned to wash their hands - so I didn't know if the same warnings applied?:   HERE

"With Love" & "Men!"

"With Love"

Here we are in paradise,
gone A-whaling
into the ice -
with love,
Shipwreck at the bottom of the world.

by William Bednar

"Men!"

The man who mistook
his wife for a hat...

Silent Thunder.

by Margaret Bednar, October 7, 2013


This is linked with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday and also a response to the challenge over at dVerse - Hidden Poetry.   This poem is not linked as I already linked one to the challenge.

My oldest son had a bit of fun with my library and I had fun at our local used book store...

I've been a bit absent these past few days from my blog as my two oldest have come home from college for "fall break".  I am still reading the dVerse Hidden Poems, but am determined to visit them all as it is really fun to see what books and combinations people have.

Page High School and The True Colors of "Roar"

This is my daughter's High School's response to Katy Perry and Good Morning America's video contest.  (my daughter can be seen at the bottom right of the screen at 1:36 :)

It is very well done!   "LIKE it" if you like it.  

"Forlorn"

Forlorn

Woven on the wind
where yesterday lives -

of wildflower
and mockingbird song
was a reason for hope.

Oh, for sweet liberation!

Now the drum of war,
a dangerous beauty -
the age of innocence
never no more.

by Margaret Bednar, October 3, 2013

This is written for the challenge over at dVerse Poets Pub - Form For All - The Hidden Poetry Books. A found poem using book titles.  These are a few of the many I just went through (and messed up my neat bookshelves!)  It really was much harder than I thought, and I did add a few words - they are italicized.

Most of my books I get from my favorite used book store - I love roaming about picking up a book here and there for a few dollars - I never fail to walk out with an armful.

Woven on the Wind - Women write about friendship in the Sagebrush West HERE
Where Yesterday Lives - It takes place in my beloved Petoskey,  MI!!  HERE
Wildflower - An extraordinary life & untimely death in Africa (Jane Root) HERE
Mockingbird Song - Ecological Landscapes of the South HERE
Reason for Hope - A spiritual Journey by Jane Goodall HERE
Liberation - War as seen through the innocence of a child (WWII) HERE
Now the Drum of War - Walt Whitman and His Brothers in the Civil War HERE
Dangerous Beauty - Life & Death in Africa - True stories from a Safari Guide HERE
The Age of Innocence - A classic by Edith Wharton  HERE
Never No More - The Story of Rebecca Boone HERE

"Behold"

Behold

Lonely is often beholden to the blight 

of winter's questionable grace,

yet sheltered beneath fall's golden light,

I realize love just drifts, where words of love 

once crooned beside summer's redolent roses

is replayed.  I tuck them away, 

linger beneath a cranberry canopy, alone, 

look past winter and behold a new spring.

by Margaret Bednar, October 3, 2013

This is linked to "Poetry Jam - Backwards".  We are to find a poem and write it backwards, not word for word, but line for line.  I did change it up a bit, but I think stayed true to the intent for the most part.  This poem was originally written in November of 2012 in the form below:

Alone

Beneath a cranberry canopy
I linger, replay words of love
once crooned beneath spring's canopy
of roses; love in full bloom.  Love
has drifted, this canopy shelters
only me.  Yet I find I'm not lonely
beneath fall's golden light, this shelter
where I embrace alone, beholden lonely
to the blight of winter's questionable grace.

by Margaret Bednar, 11-18-2012

"I Wonder"

I Wonder

I wonder
will they return

to this garden
next year, buzzing,
hugging, sucking
life from colors bold -

to this home
next holiday, laughing,
conversing, filling up
these brick walls -

or will the bees
diminish, die
as scientists forecast,

will my children
follow far flung gazes,
leave my arms yearning?

I wonder
will they return?

by Margaret Bednar, October 3, 2013

This is written to the challenge at "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Get Listed" and for Friday Flash 55 (will link up tonight at 8pm)  Patricia A. McGoldrick supplied the word list - her site is HERE.

I had no idea what I was going to write as I stared at the word list.  So I just started thinking about my last few thoughts yesterday.  I went to photograph a few more bees amongst my flowers.  I had already used my iPhone, but wanted a few with my nice Canon lens... but there were NO bees.    I also have been texting and calling my two college children to see if they will be coming home during this short fall break... I have been put on "hold" and they will get back with me....

So, that is how this slightly melancholy poem was "birthed".