Dearest Friend

I see Mac, our Goldendoodle in the formation over
the mountains here... (side of his face upper right,
ear flapping, body stretched out in a run)

Dearest Friend

I swear I've seen you
from the corner of my eye,
slip by on your way to the water bowl
or toward open front door to gaze
down curving, mountain road.

Seen you in clouds, fluffy ears flapping,
in the stars, jumping the gorge,
staring through the window to come inside -

for it’s hard to let you go.

* * *

I watched as you gazed
into the children's eyes, head resting
upon their knees.  You were happy,
day filled with love, bacon,
a very slow, wobbly walk, lakeside.

Last look at all of us,
eyes still alert, but body too weak
for your big heart.

* * *

In those few seconds
when you looked at me, I could only try
and convey how much you meant

to my Mother's heart,  thanked you
for loving my children all these years,

a gentle presence when I scolded,
a nudge when they needed a friend,
a tail that always said "Let's play!"

* * *

A blessing to be surrounded
by all those you love,
who love you, to have our smiles,
our voices, our hands over you
as we stayed and said

"Thank you, Dearest Friend",
as your spirit rose above us
and surely said the same.

by Margaret Bednar, December 29, 2018

RIP Mackinaw - our friend of almost 15 years.   Joined the angels on 12-27-2018

Mac with his beloved children & two little buddies Gimli & Mojo.  RIP 12-27-2018

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Artistic Interpretations with Margaret - Alcohol Inks"

This is why dogs are so important!

Um... Dogs were not allowed in bed... right.

As she says ... a very exclusive club of 2!

He was the CUTEST puppy!

He put up with a lot!

Tasmanian "Tiger"

About the Tasmanian tiger (click)

Tasmanian Tiger, (Wolf)

My reputations fierce,
outward appearance
a defense, a sheltering

for if you had taken the time,
looked into my eyes,
ignored battle scars, set jaw,

you might have glimpsed
the me inside,
shy and solitaire -

may have fended off fate
and sepia photographs
that mystify, more than reveal.

by Margaret Bednar, December 20, 2018


This Tasmanian "Tiger" was hunted to extinction as farmers believed their chickens were threatened.  And some of them were, but they were trigger happy and humans obliterated this species.  It was actually a marsupial - not related to a tiger or a wolf.   It is actually closely related to the Tasmanian Devil.

Expedition Unknown (Josh Gates) had an episode exploring the belief this animal may still be alive in Australia - but very elusive... the finding was inconclusive but very intriguing.  HERE

Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Lament for the Thylacine"

Harmony

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Harmony

The old oak's limb offered escape,
a perch not too high to foster insecurity
but protection for solitary idleness
during sweltering summer afternoons.

Yet how long does youth crave inaction?

Intoxication's more like it, of speed, of air,
of freedom.  Muscles gripping, balancing,
leaning low, soaring, embracing excitement
and a strong back, straddled,
pretending I was an Indian, confined braids flying
in unison with tresses dark and willing,

Still, it's not all about urgency, about daring.

Forty-five years later, beneath billowing clouds, 

rhythmically swaying as if a baby in a cradle,
I surrender pathway to scrutiny of another
become soothed and settled, 

still harmonizing with a spirit never truly tame;

submission their offering, care and gentleness, mine.

by Margaret Bednar, December 17, 2018 

Note:  This went through a re-write on the 19th.

The challenge here for my monthly poetry group here in my hometown is to write about something (I think they wanted a texture but I obviously chose something else) without naming it, but trying one's best to describe it.  Obviously, the photo (I did not take it) gives the answer away, but I will not print this photo when presenting it to the group.

I am linking this with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday Platform".

Sun-Kissed

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Sun-Kissed

Do you remember when childhood summers seemingly stretched into forever?  Endless sun-drenched days where Mother's voice was heard behind window screens, worlds partitioned, pardoned at lunch-time, banished soon after.  Sometimes our gravel-hardy bare feet fleetingly crossed hayfield and tracks to river's edge, threw sticks into swift current, contemplated chances of survival if dared cross.  Never did, water so dark and dirty we really weren't tempted.  Scampered up bank, balanced on hot railroad irons, one dirty foot in front of the other, imagined train's whistle in the distance, bravely waited for it to round the bend.  Never did, but we knew we'd have stared it down, made it come to a halt, disrupt its earnest progress toward Chicago.  With hats pulled low, unrecognizable, we'd escape, make way into forest preserve whose dirt trails were narrow, grasses brushed fingertips as we scouted along old Indian trail surely forged by Blackhawk and warriors.  Looked for arrowheads.  Never found one, but we picked up sharp stones, pretended.  When summer's sun dipped to four o'clock, we'd head home, wash hands (and feet), eat, listen to Mom and Dad share their day.  Look at sister across table, know my freckles were expanding across my nose and shoulders too.  Sun-kissed we were, life ripe with imagination, with youth, with forever.

by Margaret Bednar, December 14, 2018.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Mini-Challenge - Life is Ripe"  We were asked to write a poem centered around a childhood memory which brings us joy as an adult.   We could write in any style but were also asked to possibly write in prose.  I did.  We were asked to keep it under 131 words.   Well, I did edit, but 214 words are the end result.   I did implement the "Life is Ripe" motto into my poem.  Hopefully, that will make amends.

My Ordinary

My Ordinary

The geese have long since
v'd their way south,
bare feet have been replaced with boots,
yet I still

sink footprints into chilled sand,
tide fills them up,
makes them disappear;
a wonder of which I never tire.

My heart pounds yet isn't heard
above roaring surf,
an exhilaration that is commonplace,
at least for me.

I pity the ones who never know
the wonder of a flock of seagulls
lifting in unison, filling horizon with swoops
and angled wings, riding ocean's breeze

beneath clouds that tell me
it's time to settle inside, before a warm fire,
before the snow descends,
book in hand, cat on lap,

all the while thanking God
this is my ordinary.

by Margaret Bednar, November 28, 2018

This is for "dVerse Poetics - Magic of Ordinary Things"  I was too late in linking with this to post my poem but others have nice poems at the link for this challenge.

I did link with "dVerse Open Link Night #234"

Conditional

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Conditional

Love often whitewashes sin,
"redeems and uplifts" the trespasser
as he focuses on the one he's "saving".

The one who believes
every word heard,
every look of disappointment,
every "I love you, if..."


by Margaret Bednar, December 13, 2018

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Music with Marian - Revelation"

'Tis the Season

'Tis the Season

As a Northerner, I call it a southern chill,
days dip below thirty-two degrees,
an inch or so of snow (if lucky) gone in three days.
Songbirds flit and flutter 'round ol' birdhouse,
a bit more furry in their flurry,
posturing reminiscent of the O. K. Corral

 - - gaze unwavering --

slightly narrowed as I scan from balcony
for Russian dancer, towhead,
performing before Nutcracker and Clara,
flourishes of gem-colored fabrics
reminding me of songbirds and him
a Black Capped Chickadee, so charming, so dapper.

by Margaret Bednar, December 9, 2018



This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fussy Little Forms: Puente" (Three stanzas.  1st and 3rd have equal number of lines.  Middle is a "bridge" of one line  (serves as a last line for first stanza, first line for third stanza.)

The Dreaded Christmas Photo Shoot

The Dreaded Christmas Photo Shoot

"One more," and they groan.

Eyeballs roll, backs slouch,
Hammy Ones take center stage
as dogs squirm, cats bolt ...

"forget them," I yell
as it isn't worth any more scratches.
Sneak 'round back of tripod,

peer through lens, adjust light,
shout "Places!", hit delay button,
run back into frame... know I blinked.

"Another!" and they groan.

Perhaps this year
I'll fill Christmas cards with bloopers.
Show the real face of us.

by Margaret Bednar, November 29, 2018

We are at a stage now where most are of drinking age.  I will ply them with promises of mixed drinks and good beer.  That should appease them.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Camera Flash!"  The inspirational photo is below... and she has an uncanny intensity (and determination) about her that reminds me of myself trying to get the perfect family photo each year!

Jessie Tarbox Beal