"What to Wear"

What to Wear?

Year 'round I wear

crucified Jesus about my neck

but come All Hallow's Eve

I might be Lazarus wound in white gauze,

Padre Pio, black eyed, palms stigamta'd,

St Sebastian, body plundered with arrows,

St Agatha, bloody breasts on a plate.

Wisely avoid "sexy" Mother Teresa,

... Some things are just too horrifying. 

By Margaret Bednar, November 1, 2105

Miranda Sings & Dracula

Miss Piggy

(All pumpkins my children's original designs)

Fall Leaf & NYC skyline

Puking Pumpkin

"Miranda Sings" Pumpkin!

Hallow means Saint. Who says Catholics can't do guts and gore with the best of them. When my kids were young, I did dress them as saints a few times (not the blood and gore I noted above, but perhaps I should have!)

Googling costume ideas for this year, I saw a Mother Teresa with a short, tight dress with lots of cleavage.  I would be so afraid lightening would strike me!  Ha. 

We had fun this year. My youngest was Dracula, and my oldest a skeleton in NYC.  

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Flash 55."   My internet connection is mainly not working at my house and I will be hit and miss until we can have the cable company come and work its magic. Trying to do everything from my cell phone is not ideal. 

Wint'ry Night

Wint'ry Night

A waxing gibbous is tonight's moon,
glow to the east, Jupiter -
court each other above our heads,
illuminating March's waning wint'ry sky.

Necklaced through naked tree line
they invite us to linger,
admire velvety silhouettes
faintly seen in this blue darkness -

the only noise
mud splattered boots and hooves
slowly making way towards the barn.

by Margaret Bednar, March 3, 2015


This is linked (although a bit late) to "Imaginary Garden of Real Toad's -  Flash 55 Plus" (add a color is the added challenge) and to the "Imaginary Garden of Real Toad's - Tuesday Platform"

This was hastily written to try and capture the magic of evening of March 2 - what a beautiful sunset and night sky!  The light from the moon and what I now know was Jupiter was breathtaking.  I hear Venus is the only thing that shines brighter than Jupiter!  

The Blue Jay

The Blue Jay

Rather rakish, this dandy
with flashes of shimmering blue,
tilted head, and confident air.

Boldly strikes a pose
for no one but himself;
non-chalance part of his charm.

If I approach, he's off -
no time for dalliance; cocks his hat,
struts about important business,

no sweet song offered.
Yet each morning,
I'm thoroughly charmed.

by Margaret Bednar, January 5, 2015

My backyard butts up to a small forested edge and I have a Blue Jay that is walking and pecking away every morning through the leaves and twigs.  I have only been able to photograph him through my window.  If I go outside he flies into the woods behind twigs and logs and continues looking for food - and where my camera has a hard time capturing him.  I have a songbird feeder and I have not seen the Blue Jays eat from it.   I am reluctant to buy a blue jay "open house" feeder as it would just attract the many squirrels I have.

Makes me almost wish for snow, as wouldn't he look magnificent silhouetted against a bit of white?

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Flash 55".  

"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.

"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 "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.

"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 :)

"Domesticated"

Domesticated

Imperially
she owns the tufted
Redgrave chair,

flicks not a whisker
as she saunters past three dogs
who diligently avoid eye contact -

no contest
the early morning sunspot
belongs to her.

A world encased
about her protectively,
yet she's drawn to the kill -

chatters and stalks,
tense behind glass.  "Domesticated"
or so we tell ourselves.

by Margaret Bednar, August 3, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Flash 55" a story or poem in 55 words - no more, no less.  The images above I took on my iPhone and then used an app called "Waterlogue".  

"My Dearest,"

My Dearest,

Monarchs migrate along Highway 12,
flutter between Atlantic's relentless push
and Pamlico's slick cam, saltwater lagoon.

Pelicans, seagulls wing from morning's horizon,
feast on fisherman's leftovers and soar away…

yet I wait, rooted where you surprised me
with a kiss.  Every morning, glance through lace
towards white picket gate, dream of finally kissing you back.

by Margaret Bednar, July 5, 2014

This if for Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations - Life on an Island 

& Flash Fiction 55 a story in 55 words, no more, no less.

HERE is an incredible photo of Highway 12!!  I've driven it many times - sand drifts onto the roadway quite often.  Each fall, Monarchs migrate south to Mexico along Highway 12, often stopping to gather nectar from goldenrod at such places as Pelican Island (south of Nags Head), etc.

Ocracoke Island is my favorite vacation place as to date for relaxing.  I usually prefer bigger, historic cities with things to tour and do.  But for pure down-time - nothing is like this gem of the Outer Banks. HERE is a pretty good history of the place - it also was the site of WWII training base and combat information center.  It closed in 1946.

The Ocracoke dialect, or brogue, is unique to this area, and "slick cam" means a very calm water - usually referencing the sound.  If you click on the IGWRT's link, there are many words given as example - Dingbatter, Meehonkey, & Wampus Cat to name a few.   Below is a brief trailer where you can hear what it sounds like.

"The Artisan'

The Artisan

Spinning.  As a child,
I enjoyed becoming dizzy,
falling to the ground,
grass tickling my neck,
eyes skyward -

imagined a time the waters
reflected heaven alone,
earth spinning shades
of just blues and whites,
a drop of green, suspended.

Marvel I,
in some small way,
am part of God's artistic finger

and so are you.

Margaret Bednar, April 22, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Whozits & Wahtzits Galare" with Lolamouse.  She recently traveled to Portland, OR, and found herself in a store with lots of curious things.  I chose the above photo and let my mind wander back a few years.   I don't like spinning any more, stay away from any rides that involve it (and heights) … I'm really no fun at a theme park.   I was watching my girls spin the other day and I guess it helped trigger this poem.

This is also linked with Flash Fiction 55 - this week over at Mama Zen's.  In a short while it will have a permanent home at the Imaginary Garden of Real Toads -

For the month of April, I am participating in NaPoWriMo2014 or National Poetry Writing Month.  The website is HERE.

In celebration of this year's challenge, I will be giving away a free book of my poetry.  If you are interested in participating in this drawing, please click the red logo at the top of my side bar and leave your name and a means to reach (blog, email, etc) you in the comment section.

PLEASE INDICATE YOU WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN THE DRAWING OR I WILL ASSUME YOU ARE JUST COMMENTING.  THANKS. 

"The Bluebird's Path"

The Bluebird's Path

Redbud and jasmine are waking,
sap's begun to rise

upon old fence rail he poses,
heralds dawn with sprightly song

his mate upon six eggs of blue
within their nesting box -

Sky upon his back, joy
within his throat "Turee, turee"

floats nature's pulse
riding springtime's breeze

over farmer's rolling field,
beside bluebird's winding trail.

by Margaret Bednar, April 8, 2014


* (I have always loved Henry David Thoreau's "The bluebird carries the sky on his back")

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's "All About Abodes" with Helen.  I took a bit of liberty as I wrote about a bluebird dwelling.  I usually see them on a pole, but this one is attached to a tree - more susceptible to black snakes - but they also nest in old woodpecker holes, so I guess this is natural.

I read the bluebird is in decline and people are putting up bluebird houses.  I realize I have two in my yard - one in the front and one way in back.  I read they are supposed to be cleaned out each season after nesting.  I never knew.  I'll have to do that and see if anything transpires.

Also linking this up with Flash Fiction 55.  The party is now hosted by Mama Zen & Fireblossom (G-Man is just one of the "regular" guys now :)

For the month of April, I am participating in NaPoWriMo2014 or National Poetry Writing Month.  The website is HERE.

In celebration of this year's challenge, I will be giving away a free book of my poetry.  If you are interested in participating in this drawing, please click the red logo at the top of my side bar and leave your name and a means to reach (blog, email, etc) you in the comment section.

PLEASE INDICATE YOU WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN THE DRAWING OR I WILL ASSUME YOU ARE JUST COMMENTING.  THANKS.