"The Rape"

Italian Sculpture sketched by my daughter Chelsea Bednar

The Rape

It's an illusion
the softness of flesh, elegant line
of breasts and buttocks.

I marvel
at the sinew and curve
captured by the sculptor,

momentarily forget
the screams, tears, fears,
marble renders silent.

by Margaret Bednar, May 29, 2014

This is for "The Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations with Margaret" (that's me, I am the host)

You are welcome to join in the fun - it starts at midnight (May 30) and goes through Saturday, (May 31) noon.   Please swing by with a poem of your own, or just to simply read the poetry!  

"The Artist"

The Artist

I turn my back, throw a coin
over my shoulder, "splash"
ensure I'll be back

to this city arching over me,
thrilling me like gelato
on the tongue,

but no peanut butter.

The people are golden
like sun-kissed stucco, features stamped
with strength of the ages.

I just want to sit

timeless as La Fontana Di Trevi,
sketchbook open,

capture the enchantment, gather the love.

by Margaret Bednar, May 28, 2014

My daughter is studying abroad for two weeks.  She just left Rome and is in Florence, Italy today.  I included her musings journaled above, obviously her drawings, and the fountain "La Fontana Di Trevi" which she highlighted on another page of her sketchbook.  (people surround the beautiful La Fontana Di Trevi "HERE" and toss coins one their shoulders - ensures they will come back someday:)

I will be hosting a poetry challenge over at Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations with Margaret"  starting Friday, May 30th, at 12:00 am (midnight) and ends Saturday, May 31, at noon.    Please hop on over and join the fun.    The challenge will be based on what I call "Sketchbook Poetry".  

"The Allegory"

The Allegory

I imagine the Messiah will come
draped in luminous light,
will cast pernicious shadows aside
with ferocious winds.
I believe redemption will one day come,
will face this epochal moment with southern reserve.

As day's warmth covets my soul,
I lift chin, heavenward,
ocean breeze my afternoon salvation,
celestial cloud of creamy magnolia white
swathed above me.  Surely the breath of eternal spring.

by Margaret Bednar, May 27, 2014

Linked with "dVerse Poetics - In Haphazard Fashion"  a word list of which I used 7 of 12.   My attempt to create some sort of cohesion amongst randomly selected words.   The host, Anthony Desmond, loves abstract poetry and this was his little "shove" to do that… sorry - 'tis not my thing :)  Hope you don't mind my more pulled together "painting".  :) 

"Escape"

Escape

"Inexperience can be overcome, ignorance can be enlightened, 

but prejudice will destroy you."  Mercedes Lackey, "The Black Gryphon"

I shouldn't have looked back
upon the inlet, solemn church,
historic homes of contaminated,
over-ripe minds

smug in their righteousness.

Even after three-hundred years
Witchduck creek still bleeds,
still feeds this little town.
The only difference is they'd prefer

a sorceress to the "likes' of me.

by Margaret Bednar, May 24, 2014

This is linked to "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it Again, Toads".  I am resurrecting "Fireblossom Friday - Loss".

This is a poem pondering how people seem to always hate what is different, or more to the point, what they don't understand.  Our prejudices may have changed, but that evil vice is still alive and well.

This painting by my daughter reminds me of many historic towns in Virginia.   In the 1700's, Virginia Beach area farmers found themselves in the midst of various unfortunate events - cotton fields were wastelands and the cows had dried up.  Not to mention an excessive amount of men were being unfaithful.

Grace Sherwood's familiarity with herbs and her pretty looks were a bad combination and they deduced she must be a "witch".  She was sentenced to a "ducking".   Her thumbs were tied to her big toes and she was ducked into the Lynnhaven River on July 10, 1706.  Grace Sherwood freed herself from her ties and swam to shore in an effort to save her life.  The town concluded an innocent person would have sunk and died.    Grace Sherwood was found guilty and spent several years in jail.  When she was released, she lived out her days with her three sons on Pungo farm.  She died at the age of 80 in 1740.

"The Island"

On the Hatteras to Ocracoke Island Ferry

The Island

Like lips pursed, red roofs beckon,

whisper enticements while seagulls
draw halos upon a dreamy sky.

Ocean's breeze swoops ahead,
christens our lover's nest
as we arrive, embraced by sandy shore

and a haven's warm, salty kiss.

by Margaret Bednar, May 22, 2014

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's "Kerry Says - Let's Include Pathetic Fallacy"

T.S. Eliot, whom my oldest son was just talking about today, used human emotion and action to personify all aspects of nature.  I remember on the ferry boat taking this photo and trying to figure out why it intrigued me so… well, I gave it a shot with this poem and rather like it!    I hope you do to.  

"Sisterhood of 1976"

Me far right in light blue jacket

Sisterhood of 1976

"Growing apart doesn't change the fact
that for a long time we grew side by side;
our roots will always be tangled.  I'm glad of that."
-Ally Condie, "Matched" 

The only thing that disturbed
unending summer days
was Father's whistle come dusk.

Betwixt cereal spoon
rattling in the empty dish
and his sharp twill,

we urchins ran wild,
or as wild as we could imagine.
I remember getting lost

in cornfields, kicking pebbles
into the quarry, heads a bit dizzy
from the sheer drop.

Slyly pocketing change from places
off limits - gorging on forbidden
amounts of candy.  Experimenting

with matches, watching leaves,
twigs go up in smoke,
found cigarette butts, resurrected.

Running barefoot, forging trails,
putting ears to railroad tracks,
listening.  Counting time by the sun.

Each night we'd wash off
the day's adventures, secure
in our sisterhood of secrets.

I look back at our freedom, our rascality -
compare it to today's overprotected kids
and wonder which is better.

Margaret Bednar, May 20, 2014


I had a great time growing up… we weren't exactly well behaved all the time - but not the worst of miscreants either.   I know that we were not supervised like the children of today and my parents had no idea of all the things we did.   There was an interesting article (long, but really thought provoking) about how children were raised "back in the day" and how they are raised today.  It is "The Overprotected Kid" - click HERE to read it.

I was too late to join Poetry Jam's "Friends" challenge.  But go take a look at the efforts of other poets on this theme.

Also linked with "dVerse - Poetics - It's Qutoable" 

"Seraphine"

Seraphine 

Heavenward from Picardy might take a lifetime
of prayer and paint, of paradise inspired
by voices in the night.

At the feet of Mary, ever-virgin, beneath windows
stain-glassed, she envisioned canvases of splendor,
jewels of fruit, suns likened to God.

When did tentacles and eyes overtake
the tree of life?  When did the Good Lord's Garden
echo with discordant voices?

When did the orphan child stop singing?

by Margaret Bednar, May 11, 2014

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Seraphine Louis" - hosted by Fireblossom who did a great job reviewing this artist.   I need to learn to read the "directions" before I go off and take on a challenge - I hope this roughly fits in the "write about the thin line between genius and madness".

Another excellent review of the artist, Seraphine Louis, is HERE.  The movie, "Seraphine" can be found on Netflix.  A French film with English captions.  (NOTE:  I did watch this movies with my oldest daughter who is an artist and we loved it.  It is slow-moving… my husband thanked his lucky stars several times he wasn't forced to watch it)

"Lacemakers of Old"

"The Lace Makers" 1885 by Robert Frederick Blum

Lacemakers of Old

Plain, often lauded
as steady & true,

more often bows
to flourish & desire -

A straight stitch,
simple & steadfast

fades beside a peasant's
delicate rosettes, tissue thin

twists & plaits, under, over,
left, right, slipped, pulled.

Declared priceless
yet a pittance delivered

to bleary eyes & weary palm
of its creator.

by Margaret Bednar, May 7, 2014

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - Lace" hosted by Susie Clevenger.  I never knew lace had such a "dark" history - hop on over to the above link and read all about it.

Other art by Robert Frederick Blum HERE

"The Ferry Ride"

The Ferry Ride

He turns leeward,
profile takes on salt-splashed wind,
fading light.

My eyes trace familiar
over brow, nose, lips, chin.

Eight thousand sunsets
and love still soars
like the seagulls journeying
from one port to the next.

Safe passage almost guaranteed
with this man of high moral compass,
gentle heart.

All this swells within me
like the waves splashing ship's bow.

If I were to tell him,
he'd make a funny face and I'd laugh.

by Margaret Bednar, May 6, 2014


This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Vignette".  I am posting late as it was last Saturday's challenge.  My husband and I were celebrating our 24th anniversary with an extended stay on Ocracoke Island, NC.  

I hope to share a few photos and inspired poems from our anniversary trip over the next few weeks.

The winner of my personal book of poetry and photography for April's National Poetry Writing Month 2014 is … Lisa Gordon.