"The Old Barn"

"I cannot pretend to feel impartial about colors.  I rejoice with the brilliant ones and genuinely sorry for the poor browns."  Winston Churchill

The Old Barn

I've driven by a hundred times,
never noticed how twin saplings have grown,

now frame her stoic form

but with sky drained of summer blues
and fall's kaleidoscope stilled,
her silhouette fills my eye;

rounded bales milked of springtime green
nest inside, her upper loft a frame
for light, her arching, faded roof

protective.  Weathered boards,
long since washed clean of red,
streak a pattern of age and time,

and I feel her quietly reach out

to soothe this wintery field
with a lullaby only she can sing.

by Margaret Bednar, December 27, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Artistic Interpretations - Simply Beautiful". 

"Interdependence"

Interdependence

Blue jays scream insults
as red shouldered hawk loops
and feints toward the ground.

More often I find him perched
in the canopy, a martyr, shoulders hunched
taking on crows' cries of vengeance.

The murder seems sanctimonious;
turf and heirs must be protected -
even songbirds dive bomb for peace.

I watch the hawk spiral skyward,
exiled; nearby he'll await in the field,
ready to attack and make his kill.

No dogma, no ritual disobeyed -
no anger, no prayers;
just death in order to live.

by Margaret Bednar, December 17, 2014

* A group of crows is called a murder.   

I originally had the following as the fourth stanza but I don't think it is necessary and the final stanza is enough.  Who knows I might put it back. 

Legend has it Cain
was banished to the moon;
truce wasn't his motive.

A few medieval legends say the man laboring on the moon is Cain, banished from earth for his sin. 

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Ah, Mephistopheles!"

"The Elderberry Tree"

Koehler's Medicinal Plants 1887

The Elderberry Tree

Grandma planted her elders
close to kitchen's back door -
not for summer fritters
(doily white flowers
dipped in flour & fried),
nor for fall cordial
(purple berry clusters
plucked before songbirds could dine).

She faithfully watered
(never pruned) these "old bent ladies"
to keep the Devil at bay.

And I, each Midsummer's Eve
silently stand alone,
magic hovers upon my lips,
pluck an unripe berry or two,

dare not breathe nor move,
but listen -
have yet to see magical faeries
and elves hidden within, or receive
the gift of second sight.

by Margaret Bednar, December 14, 2014


This is for the poetic challenge at "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday's Mini-Challenge - poet James Wright"  I used the following excerpt from his poem "Beginning" as inspiration to spin my own poem:

"…I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen…"

The elder tree (or shrub) is rich in folklore, superstition, and Christian legend. 

"In Remembrance"

In Remembrance

Damp and dreary today dawns,
settles 'round my shoulders with a weary sigh.
Her mourning tears mist my glasses
as I shuffle through leaves fast becoming brown,
contemplate life slipping away
silently, without fanfare.

No trumpet call, no pretentiousness;
just color ebbing, leaving behind
something once vibrantly splendid.

Even the lake's silvery stillness
indulges our mood,
reflects an egret's gliding grace,
angelic white wings soothing
as a sweetly sung southern hymn.

Canoes stacked, red, blue, green upon yellow;
hunkered down for winter's bite
yet able to yearn for spring's gentle caress
and summer's bold laughter -

but not these leaves.  They must dissolve
into the earth from which they came.
I pick one up.  Pocket it.  Hesitant to let go.
Find myself looking back, remembering
the glory that was autumn.

by Margaret Bednar, December 10, 2014 (Dedicated to the memory of Galen Haynes)

This morning I heard the news that Galen Haynes (aka G-Man) passed away.  I am deeply saddened and will miss this intelligent and generously kind man.   This poem if for him.  I will always remember him fondly.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Words Count with Mama Zen".  We had to include at least one homophone and be 75 words or less.  (This poem is way over the word count … I hope I am given a "pass" in honor and memory of Galen - (although, editing it to 55 words probably would improve it!)

My homophone is "leaves" and "leaving" hope the different endings are OK.

This is also linked with "Poetry Jam" contemplating "quiet".

"Late Autumn"

Late Autumn

High crimson has faded
to cadmium & ochre,
slashes of burnt umber
pirouette and plie a mirrored reflection

an image so lovely
even Narcissus would see
beauty beyond himself.

A dark eyed Junco hops along,
scratches, stirs soggy leaves,
rustles his way beneath graceful arms
of the bog's grand ballet

oblivious of solo performance
and his brief moment of fame.

by Margaret Bednar, December 9, 2014

This is linked (a tad late) with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Open Link Monday"

"Moon Before Yule"

Moon Before Yule

Loblolly pines

court the Long Night Moon
whose frosted eye
peeks from behind curtained clouds,
arcs a wandering path,
weaving silently, stealthily
above field and stream;
appears in full splendor
as if a eucharistic offering.

I hear a warbling songbird
as I night-walk familiar forested path;
humbly receive December's thanksgiving.

by Margaret Bednar, December 6, 2014

It is also known as the Gemini Moon - whatever the name it is gorgeous.  We have had a rainy day and the sky is cloudy, but I walked the dog tonight with only a sweater on as it was a pleasant 50 degrees.  I was shocked to hear a songbird sing out - perhaps it was confused by the bright light of the moon.  Either way, it was a joy to hear it around 11 pm.

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Flash 55" - a flash fiction or poetry in 55 words - no more no less.

"So much for 18th century proverbs…"

White-breasted Nuthatch

"The Nuthatch"

Early to bed,
early to rise,
he's been advised

Even believes
early bird
catches the worm

But who cares
when the seed man
arrives at two?

by Margaret Bednar, December 2, 2014

White-breasted Nuthatch

This is linked with dVerse - Poetics "Winners & Losers".  So… is this cute little Nuthatch a winner?

"Youthful Enthusiasm"

Youthful Enthusiasm

Virginia Nightingale flashes cardinal red
amongst elderberry and beech,
flutters about, orange beak tilted over wing and tail.

Upon woodland path two feet still, finger points,
a first entry upon his list, checked.
Sketches Daughter of the Sun, flips page and says,

"Now for a Bald Eagle!"

by Margaret Bednar, November 25, 2014

He has quite the "birding" hat, doesn't he?

My youngest and I are beginning a new hobby - birding.  My youngest daughter made the comment it was for "old people" but I know my 7 year old son surely enjoyed it.   We stilled ourselves and waited for the forest activity to resume.  And boy did it!  A squirrel almost dashed into us and we saw two types of woodpeckers as well.  I will post photos and a poem I'm sure soon.

My son said he thought he saw an Eagle !!!!  and then said "Nevermind.  It's a plane."   I might have to get him better quality binoculars.

"Daughter of the Sun" is a Cherokee name for the cardinal and another name is "Virginia Nightingale".

And so… I've started a birding journal blog "(not merely) Ornamental" click or find it on my sidebar.

This poem is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday"

"Pink Moon"

Pink Moon

Mountain phlox have sprouted
once again drape forest edge & meadow
stem, petal, and leaf
absorb the full moon,
moss pink.

April nights find me longing
to release gossamer silk,
balloon into night's sky,
ride a jet stream,
celebrate Spring's arrival.

They say desire
ebbs and wains once fulfilled;  question
whether Time exists without change.

All I know is come Blackberry winter
I still thrill when woodlands
yawn, stretch, & bloom.

by Margaret Bednar, November 22, 2014

This is for the "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it Again Toads #10".  I chose to accept Kenia's Metaphysical Question challenge.  I attempted to work in "Can there be time without change?" (science is SO not my strong point - so I had a hard time grasping even the simplest question let alone rising to a poetic challenge!)

The Pink Moon is not really pink - it references the appearance of the first spring flowers - wild ground phlox which is often pink.  It is also known as the Sprouting Grass Moon, Egg Moon, Fish Moon, and the Paschal Full Moon.  

"Forbidden, Sacred, & Symbolic

detail "Still Life with Fruit - Severin Roesen

Forbidden, Sacred, & Symbolic

Beneath leathery skin is flesh tartly-sweet as cranberry juice.
If they'd known it's bitter taste would Eve have faltered,

would Persephone still bring forth the Spring?

Adorning Persian spears bold warriors marched for victory,
Solomon poetically penned his song likening fruit to veiled bridal cheeks.

Buddhists proclaim fertility, abundance, posterity,
Islam's heavenly gardens hail a hidden seed in each.

I break open and place in water, watch seeds sink, inedible pulp float.

Imagine medieval "wounded" unicorns, dripping blood-red juice
from alabaster flanks, tamed by virgins and chained to pomegranate trees,

a reminder of Christ's imminent incarnation.

I pop seeds into my mouth enjoy explosion of tartly-sweet,
notice I've stained my new white shirt.

by Margaret Bednar, November 21, 2014

Still Life with Fruit (1852) - Severin Roesen

I struggled with the ending.  I am amazed and in awe of the rich symbolic history this fruit enjoys - but I often bypass it in the grocery store as I have stained one too many pieces of clothing.  I might come back and change the ending, but right now I'm too tired and lazy to think any further.

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations" Still Life with Fruit (Severin Roesen) 

"I'm Thankful"

I'm Thankful

Bittersweet twines,
grasps a hold of bricks and posts
as kale flashes lavender corsages;
no deferring to colors smoldering.

I'm thankful for these competitors
of late fall's seasonal color,
splashing vibrant hues
amongst backdrop of waning glory,

for tyrannical crows
who claim field and fence
where little bluebirds and cardinals
mid-summer freely danced and swooped.

I'm thankful for the westerly sinking sun
quietly draping hills and valleys
with soothing shades of velvety grays
and crystal kisses,

for crisp air that chills my cheeks,
makes me hurry homeward
toward promises of smoldering hearth,
entwined arms and legs.

I'm thankful for celebrating together
the richness of another season's
coming and going and the bountiful gifts
that life and death provide.

by Margaret Bednar, November 20, 2014

This is for The Gratitude Quilt over at "Shine the Divine".  I will post a link to the 6th annual offering of thanks once it is up on Laura Hegfield's blog.

"Nourishment"

Nourishment

"The tree seemed already dead, bowed on the slope and all I know of miracle…"  Salvatore Quasimodo

I fear a flick of his tail might shatter
afternoon's stained glass golden glow,
that his nervous fingered fidgeting,

reminiscent of a child during Mass
(eager to run, eyes mischievous)
will break the reverent silence

of deer grazing beneath dry fallen leaves
and startle the crows to cry a warning
as I've yet to be noticed -

But before I can genuflect,
squirrel scampers, deer turn tail,
and crows wing away, "caw, caws" fading.

So I resume my litany through forest cathedral,
pay homage to life's feverish withdrawing
so next season's miracle may spread its grace.

by Margaret Bednar, November 12, 2014

This is hopelessly late, but for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge: Salvatore Quasimodo".

"November"

November

November's a flamboyant dame,
flourishes rouged cheeks,
kisses with pouting lips.

A beauty crystalline -
her whispers rustle
beneath our feet,

frigid fingertips slide our spines
shiver quivering notes,

whose beaver moon

heralds a quickening pace -
callused palms, reddened nose,
one backward glance toward summer

before we burrow down
beneath grandmother's quilts
wearing hand-knitted woolen socks.

by Margaret Bednar, November 4, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Flash Fiction 55".  A poem or story in 55 words - no more, no less.

What does your early November look and feel like?

"The Performance"

The Performance

Passionately unrestrained
her nightingale voice transforms,
blindly simmers, burns fury

while coal-dark, tumultuous eyes
skewer those who dare
cause grievance,

unjustly question her command.

The audience gasps, "Who is that?"
and I note to ask my little songbird
this very question after the show.

by Margaret Bednar, October 31, 2014




Most talented and successful actors find a personal connection with the characters they play.  Just where did my 6th grade daughter pull this character from?  Perhaps I shouldn't ask :)

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration" and
"dVerse Meeting the Bar - The things we see" and
"Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Write Something Spooky".  

"Another Autumn - Mountain Farm, 1890"

Another Autumn - Mountain Farm, 1890

  With protective shoulders, stained complexion
Humpback Mountain sweetly chirps, trills, rustles, and woos;
  Serenade so tranquil, I forget
          she's also
     a tempest possessed
of blustering, tumultuous song.  I listen
as sun-drenched basil waltzes, balmy breeze conducts.
     Observe stoic thyme
          still standing
  sentimental over yesteryear

  faintly blooming tints of simplicity.
Sacrificial herbs hanging upside down dying,
  drying in upper loft, children's beds,
          clapboard walls
     thin split shingles squint,
almost glare as I, judge and jury, heavily
question slits of sky blue, beautiful today, but
     bold January
        isn't known
  as a gracious, understanding host.

  Hand hewn, these old logs still standing, recall
voices raised in melodies I cannot quite hear.
  hands of tobacco, wool, apples, milk,
          eggs, walnuts
       chestnuts, clucking hens,
razorback pigs.  Minds of great ingenuity,
of necessity.  And I try hard to listen
     while grey squirrel wastes
          little time
  pondering a mountain people's past.

by Margaret Bednar, October 27, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it Again, Toads".  I chose to give a slight nod to  Dylan Thomas.  HERE.

I used the structure of "Poem in October" - paid close attention to his line count, but I do not even suggest I come close to his AWESOME inventiveness with image and emotion.  I also HAD to punctuate and just couldn't begin every line with a capital letter.  I'm sure it has to do with being unable to "flow" as beautifully as Dylan Thomas - for that is what his poetry seems to me - to just flow.  Do yourself a favor and google him if you have never read him.

Humpback Rocks Mountain Farm is a preserved part of Virginia's history along the Blue Ridge Parkway (Appalachian Mountains).

"Tastes Like Cider"

Tastes Like Cider

An attractive faint flush
pinkish red blush

Oh to feast upon
firm, fine, cream colored flesh
a bit precocious some say
medium sized, excellent flavor.

Tastes like apple bread, crisp, or cider
a delight rarely denied
whether trick, ritual, or disguised
a vampires insatiable desire.

by Margaret Bednar, October 23, 2014

For "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Get Listed - Ghost Stories"  I used 5 of the listed words.  Not exactly a ghost story, but I tried to sprinkle in a bit of creepy.

I was determined to use this photograph today - and I think I made it work.  I bought a bag of these apples in Blowing Rock, NC - just off the Blue Ridge Parkway.  So tasty! 

"Mabry Mill"

Mabry Mill

On its way toward Meadows of Dan
a mountain road ribbons its way
past blacksmith and gristmill,
where laurels still curtsey
and fresh spring still gurgles
a slow and steady welcome.

Survival now a tourist's delight -
a fascination with buckwheat pancakes,
cobbler, and pond
rippling with a pair of white ducks.

A destination
where a third grade education
fostered ingenuity, industriousness,
and a simplicity almost forgotten.

by Margaret Bednar, October 20, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday"  I recently have spent two weekends enjoying the Appalachian Mountains in North Carolina and Virginia.  The Mabry Mill was built and operated by Ed & Lizzy Mabry - They also built a charming two story house which is no longer standing.  I purchased a book about the Mabry's written by park ranger Michael Ryan.  It was a short, but thoroughly enjoyable read.  It fleshed out this destination for me, made me really appreciate how much this place meant to the community, how much love and hard labor went into making it so.

HERE is a nice article about the mill in "Living Virginia"

Meadows of Dan 

"Days of Grace"

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 absorb 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, reflect 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, originally written October 13, 2013 - updated October 19, 2014

Every year I delight in the fall season.  This is a poem I wrote last year and I made two slight changes.  I hope everyone is able to get out and enjoy the day!  

"Tempted"

"Eve Tempted" Marble @1877 by Hiram Powers

Tempted

Frozen in marble,
a single moment should not define her.

Reveals not a tender, mothering hand
nor a life of toil and togetherness

but deep seductive longing;

an Eve whose glory and sorrow
resides in each and every one of us.

by Margaret Bednar, October 18, 2014

For "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations - Poetic Marble"

I had a hard time deciding which word to use:  shame, sorrow, guilt - and a whole handful of others.  I finally (I think) chose sorrows as guilt and shame do lead to sorrow.  I liked the single syllable sound and the two hard "g's"… but I think it says more with the word sorrow.   Hmm… I may change my mind, though.

"Appalachian Night"

Appalachian Night

Blue haze drifts o'er mountain's back,
chords strummed, tempo set

rhinestones polished.  "Get out the try"
a game lovers and losers play

roll the dice, game faces on,
husky voices, hidden feelings

as moon's shadow hides a kiss.
Another sighs as stakes are lost,

mountain's blue dips into black
and love loses its shine.

by Margaret Bednar, October 10, 2014


for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Music with Marian - Donna the Buffalo "I See How You Are"  Listen to the clip below and follow your inspiration…   I had 10 minutes to "play" with this - and it just so happens I was up in the mountains this past weekend where Bluegrass was born.

"Down a Mountain Hill on Misty Evening"

Down a Mountain Hill on Misty Evening

Whose hills these are I think I know
His barn is down the grassy knoll;
He waits quite patently at end of day
as we meander, make our way

toward open barn doors, refuge dear,
we tread through mist and dampened air.
Between the hills and evergreens
beside the gently flowing streams.

The farmer's voice does call to us
to make our way as dusk descends
and chestnut oaks, maples and pine
do whisper mountain's nighttime threats.

The hills are misty, vast, and deep
but nestled sweetly we do sleep
in our shed of comfort and straw.
in our shed of comfort and straw.

by Margaret Bednar, October 9, 2014




This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - If only they could talk"  I chose to use a famous poem by Robert Frost "Stopping by Woods on Snowy Evening" (I wasn't able to be as tight with my rhythm and rhyme as Mr. Frost) and re-imagine it a bit from the gentle point of view of these cows I drove by (stopped and photographed of course) while on my weekend getaway this past weekend exploring the Blue Ridge Parkway a bit with my daughter who was on her college fall break.

The "To Do" List Can Wait

The "To Do" List Can Wait

Against the smell of sun-drenched fields
and freedom I lean,
summer wound tightly against my back -

I'm loath to move.  I can't afford
to indulge, but cocooned in knitted wonder,
blue sky upon my face, I cave -

especially when the rickety fence,
threadbare barn, and old southern oak
gleam as if a rainbow's bounty.

by Margaret Bednar, October 3, 2014

This if for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Flash Fiction 55" -  which will be up and running Saturday afternoon.  I'm a bit early - I have a busy day ahead of me as (confessed above)  I spent my day lounging and enjoying this gorgeous day.    The "knitted" wonder (in my poem) is a taupe hand-knitted shawl with 3 large buttons.  I might not take it off until spring :)

And nothing smells better, in my opinion, than a fresh bale of hay.  Except maybe homemade apple pie.

"October"

October

Each year you shed your corset,
tilt sunflower head, wink.

Display contours of peaks and valleys
I love.  Intimately hold my hand,
invite me to suckle from swollen breast
all the nourishment I need -

bolster me for November's
stinging slap.

by Margaret Bednar, October 1, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Words Count with Mama Zen" - the personification of October in 53 words or less.

"Seasonal"

Seasonal

"The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes
from the summer cottons into its winter wools."  Henry Beston

Leaves have yet to fall,
yet to flush golden, crimson, fire.
Horses yet to shed summer coats,
stand nose to tail beneath heavily laden trees.

Rose-purple blazing stars, rioting asters
drape field and valley.
Bees absorb Autumn's sun
as storm clouds gather.

Cattle tagged and fattened;
idyllic days slumbering - numbered,
as are canopies of olive, lime, and jade.

A flip of the calendar page or season's first frost.
Security and fate change as quickly as that.

by Margaret Bednar, September, 29, 2014

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday"

and Magpie Tales #239 where the image prompt is below.  I pondered the "security" offered beneath grand old trees and the change from summer to fall …

Autumn in Madeira by Jacek Yerka used with Magpie Tales #239

"Shades"

Shades

Silver Lake whispers seduction
beneath summer's cloudless sky,

shades of green, yellow, blue
dapple warmth behind closed eyes.

Seagulls cry, pelicans glide,
blond haired boy strums shades

of cool 'cross my skin.
Rope hammock swings to and fro

   shades of light
        shades of blue
              shades of cool

and I'll be damned
if I ever move a muscle again.

by Margaret Bednar, September 28, 2014



My son playing his ukelele and performing a song he wrote while we vacationed on Ocracoke Island this past summer.

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it Again, Toads"  I chose to attempt Isadora Gruye's "Out of Standard - Invoking the Goog" - use the Google search box, type in a word, and use in the order listed - but they can be broken up with other words.  My word:  shades

"The Hoarders"

   A

bandid

woolly

bear

inches toward wintry

crevis, waylaid momentarily, tossed,

turned, by terrier nose and toddler toes, curious

to see where it goes.  Indignant squirrel shakes its tail

as unearthed is its precious stash and toddler laughs to see

the little brown “bedtime” cap -   Buzzin’ bees dart to and fro

between goldenrods and astor,  gentle noise disrupted

by six legs and a tail blazing a trail off the beaten path.

Two heads together, tousled and weary, lick and giggle 

as they reminisce, regale day's numerous adventures,

tongue and cheek no longer flushed, but cooled

against cotton pillow, softly breathing their way

to sleep, dreaming of a tomorrow of down-

filled coats and well stocked pantry

their hoarding a little 

less urgent.

Zzz

by Margaret Bednar

Just thought it would be fun to repost this poem.  

"The Gathering"

Photography of Brooke Shaden

The Gathering 

Early dusk reverberates
with geese trailing petticoats in the sky
restlessly following horizon's light

and I among swirling leaves
spin, lift sensitive chin,
absorb Autumn's fulfillment

before fields whisper winter's song,
willow surrenders bare limbs to weeping,
and I burrow into silence.

by Margaret Bednar, September 23, 2014


This is for "dVerse - Poetics - Passion of Brooke Shaden" - a photographer gracious enough to share her art with us and allow us to write to her images.   I selected "the leaves of linden avenue".   Please give yourself a treat and visit her website "Brooke Shaden" and her blog "Promoting Passion".

"Lantana"

Lantana

What good will it do to offer September
miniature nosegays kissed with morning's dew,

beg her hold at bay Autumn's chilly hand?

No.  She'll caress with biting breath
all the pretty colors.  Offer one last dance.

I've learned to be a wall-flower come Winter,
guard happy thoughts.

No matter how pious, grayness finds me
spiraling Lantana's roots

questioning once again if Spring will set me free.


by Margaret Bednar, September 21, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Swedish poetry and Karin Boye"

This is a response to my reading the poetry of Karin Boye - a Swedish poet.  HERE are some of her translated poems.  I found much of her poetry sad and depressing in a beautiful way - she wove nature into her poetry, as well as rhythm and rhyme (which I did not do). If you want to learn more about her follow the above link.

This was a hard poem for me to write as I don't often write with so much despair…  I do know some people who can't abide the grayness of winter and get depressed if they are surrounded by the color gray.  (I love gray as a neutral color - it soothes me - mix it with creams and a touch of green or blue…HERE is a room I think is cool - it just needs a bookcase)  Which is funny, because I currently have a lot of red in my bedroom and traditional furniture - which is completely opposite this room.

Where I live in North Carolina, Lantana blooms in summer and fall and if we remain frost free, it should act as a perennial.

Note:  nosegay - (or posy) is a small flower bouquet.

"Pokemon"

Pokemon

It's about strategy,
this training for battle;
of knowing one's weakness

one's resistance, of retreats and
tactics behind eyes bright with ardor

for water, fire, grass,
art painted on every card,
soft pocket monsters tenderly held

whose theme song
inspires a rallying cry

for unifying hearts,
building an alliance,
capturing destiny.

It's about six year old warriors
playing the game.


by Margaret Bednar, September 17, 2014


This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Get Listed - The Art of War",  I used nine of the words - two I slightly altered.

I've been hearing the Pokemon theme song now for 19 years.  I DO know how to play this complicated card game - how many mom's can say that?

One thing I like about Pokemon is they don't kill each other.  And they are rather cute.

"Overload"

Overload

Tucked away amongst tombs and palaces I wander,

become one with exotic and frenetic.
Inhale lentil soup,
sesame-covered peanuts,
dried apricots piled nine feet high,
figs, snails, pumpkin seeds, dates,
splashing fountains, citrus trees, mosaics,

and fetid disguised with sprigs of mint.

Resist goat head, brains,
and snake charming vendors
from stall number eight,
dodge overloaded donkey carts,
duck into labyrinths of textiles, herbs,
metal work, silk and leather.

Brand my skin with henna

as musical notes ride swirling dust,
follow scents of warm flatbread, honey,
and fresh squeezed juice of orange,
loose myself in filtered light, unnavigable souks,
dead-ending in spicy reds, golds, browns,
rustic oranges, tropical greens, pulsating blues.

Unmindful if I ever find my way back.

by Margaret Bednar, updated September 16, 2104

This is for "dVerse Poetics - Travel Poetry" - I updated a poem I wrote over two years ago about Morocco - or kind of.  About the only experience of Disney World I DID enjoy was Epcot.  I think I spent the most time in Morocco.  

"Indian Summer"

Indian Summer

Barefoot with a cool breeze,
Indian-summer kissed my shoulders
and my pony's rump.  It meant
reclaiming farmers' fields
shorn and stripped of summer's glory.

A golden-green canvas yawned
beneath our slow-rhythm tread,
and unlike spring's bursting frenzy
release was reflective, a weekend's respite
from school uniforms and social status -

where tears couldn't be seen,
voice raised in song, not heard,
and my wish to stay a child, sheltered.

It never lasted long, but sufficed
as the temporary fortification I needed
to persevere.

by Margaret Bednar, September 14, 2014

Middle school and high school were not easy for me.  I was very shy and a slow-bloomer.  Thank goodness I overcame shyness as it is quite a crutch and some who know me know might wish for a quieter me.  :)

This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge: September Sky".

"Sagittarius"

Sagittarius

Little girls worship purple,
adorn bedrooms
with lavender, violet, and grape,

but I'm a woman now,
arch over wandering days
with amethyst in my pocket,

tender as a petal, fierce as a storm.
Yes, soothe me with air,
but earth and water beware.

by Margaret Bednar, September 12, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads" Artistic Interpretations - Mineral Rainbow".

Also linked with "dVerse Open Link Night September".

Note:  Zodiac symbol for sagittarius is "the archer" as well as the "traveler" of the zodiac hence my second stanza.  The zodiac signs don't all get along, supposedly.  Sagittarius is fire - hence the last two lines.  

"Irresistible"

Image used for Magpie Tales #236

"Irresistible"

In the heat of the night
I swoon, become a moth,
abandon indiscretion -

flutter towards the icebox,
press Ben & Jerry to my breast
and indulge.

by Margaret Bednar, September 7, 2014

This is for Magpie Tales #236.

"Preparations"

"Preparations"

Caramel drizzled apples, wood stacked,
bonfire ready.  Evening's still too humid,

yet a leaf spirals down, crimson tipped -
heralds, "Soon.  Soon".

I fickly proclaim Autumn "my favorite",
weary of sun-filled,  heat-drenched days.

Beneath my kitchen window
the fawn's still speckled, buck's antlers fuzzy.

Just a pane of glass divides
sweet green grass and apple pie.

by Margaret Bednar, September 7, 2014

Fall is around the corner (September 22) and I am ready - the pool has lost its charm and I can't wait to hear the sound of crinkled leaves beneath my feet.

This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Flash Fiction 55.  (or non-fiction - prose, poetry - but it must be 55 words - no more, no less)   For my way of counting, hyphenated words count as one :)

"Gratitude"

"Gratitude"

Grandness often seems far beyond my reach,
often overlook simplicity, plainness
as frugal providence.

I'm guilty of shallow breathing, of peripheral vision
instead of clear eyed perseverance.

A steady, four-mile mountain trail up, up, up… I tread slowly,
pause, wipe sweaty brow, battle fatigue, defeat;

inhale deeply soul-invigorating Virginia air,
notice nature's unpretentious ornamentals -
their unique patterns, bursting colors.

You forge ahead, undaunted conquerer,
but come back.  Offer water, encouragement.

Reward this day will not be the noble, majestic view
but the struggle of achievement and appreciation
of your steadfast soul which helps me along the way.

Margaret Bednar, September 4, 2014

 

This if for "dVerse - Meeting The Bar - a nod to Rilke"

McAfee's Knob, along the Blue Ridge Parkway, Roanoke, Virginia - (I think I saw your house, Brian:)