Thursday, February 6, 2014

"Birthing A Poem"

Birthing A Poem

Rarely is it a bursting desire
or a secret unearthed,
more often it's a pausing,
a quietude that invites reflection.

It's an image often glimpsed,
captured with film, sometimes quickly,
other times background, lighting,
composition agonized over.

It's words poured forth
as if ruptured, flowing effortlessly,
other times doubled over,
labor pains so intense I swear it's the last one -

but after a few days my eye sees an image
my heart wants to hold,
and well, I've rarely been recognized
for my discipline and restraint.

by Margaret Bednar, February 6, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Find Your Creative Space".  These photos are examples of me taking my time, and getting lucky with the birds that happened to be flying by.  


Mama Zen said...

Love that ending, Margaret!

Marian said...

hahah love LOVE that last line!

Ginny Brannan said...

Very rarely do mine "pour forth," though I love it when that happens! Mine need a little more prodding, perhaps like a dance of the 7 veils in reverse, where each line or stanza reveals a bit more of what I'm trying to convey! Love the metaphor of "labor pains," a very apt description!! Well penned Margaret! And thanks for suggesting I stop by IGWRT!

Anonymous said...

and to think I thought you were a model of decorum, Margaret :) ~

Lolamouse said...

Love those last lines too! I wasn't sure that my poem fit Kerry's theme, but after reading yours, I feel a kindred spirit. One of my labels is "birth of a poem!" I think we were on the same wavelength!

Kerry O'Connor said...

more often it's a pausing...

I see this characteristic in your poetry, as in your photography, when something beautiful of meaningful catches your eye and you stop to capture the moment.

Kathryn said...

Love this Margaret, how it enfolds.

Helen said...

I love the cheekiness at the end of your poem Margaret!

G-Man said...

Birthing a Poem
Burrying a 55
Taking your time
I see a disturbing pattern here Margaret
Oh so sought after she is
Don't spread yourself too thin Sweetie
I'll still be here

Margaret said...

Ha ha. I'd never forget you! I look forward to my 55's

Anonymous said...

Great sense of how poetry gestates and is born. St. Brigid of Ireland was the patron saint of childbirth and poetry, and you make it clear why the two are connected. You nailed the creative process as I experience it in the last stanza when you write, "after a few days my eye sees an image / my heart wants to hold ..." Amen.