"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.