"Take Note"

Take Note

I grace your bed,
an ornamental
all rosettes, ruffles
and lavender.

Its true,
some find me bitter -

I say taste and see
and offer a tip:
it's all in the way
I'm handled.

by Margaret Bednar, October 23, 2013

This is linked with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Wednesday Challenge - The Language of Flowers - "turn to flowers for inspiration, not simply as beautiful objects, but as symbols of deeper emotions and human qualities, or as magical ingredients".

I was intrigued recently to find the hardworking Kale sold next to fancy roses and other such flowers.   I did plant this in my garden along the border a few years back  - as I thought them beautiful, but found them bitter to eat.  Since then, I have learned how to cook with it.  

IGWRT's Wednesday Challenge - Gods in Celtic Nature "Niamh"

An Irish Postal Stamp based on the artist P. J. Lynch HERE

Niamh

I gallop a beauty white
wing over a western sea,

remember strength
turned to dust, hear my name
exhaled upon Oisin's lips...

Beloved!

I gallop a beauty white
listen for faint druid verse
of ancient celtic tongue
praise fearsome warrior queens,
fertile, wise and learn-ed...

wing over a western sea,
search for feminine hand
upon the hearts of man,
seek just one
who whispers my name 

among yellow iris and swaying birch,
green clovers and summer moon -
find silence.  Fear my name
in the hearts of man is but a myth...

to Tir-na-nOg!

I wing over a western sea,
gallop a beauty white.

by Margaret Bednar, September 19, 2013


This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Gods in (Celtic) Nature. Specifically to write in the first person of a god or goddess as if he/she were contemplating existence in the modern day.  (Niamh's beauty was often likened to yellow irises, birch trees, green clover and the moon.)

I was thrilled to find that the goddess (and mortal) I chose to write about, so did William Butler Yeats - but he wrote an epic poem, "The Wanderings of Oisin" a dialogue between the mortal, Oisin and St. Patrick, about his 300 years spent in the magical land of Tir-na-nOg.

HERE is a nice (short) retelling of the story.

Below is a rather silly puppet (marionette) video which my five year old son thought was funny ... but I recall no dragons and pink barbie-like princesses in any of the versions I read:)

IGWRT's Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - Nocturne "Charleston Harbor"

My family and I often enjoy "Ghost walks" in historic towns, and this was in the back of my mind when I wrote "Charleston Harbor"- how the harbor might come alive with the past as the tidal surges at dusk and sometime around midnight (and with the receding tide) the "spirits" once again fade away beneath her surface.  I consider this poem still in a rough draft mode. 

note:  Sullivan Island and James Island are on either side of Charleston Harbor.  The Ashely and Cooper are the two rivers which flank Charleston and merge, as the southerners claim, to form the Atlantic Ocean.

Charleston Harbor (rewrite)

She flaunts a gown of shimmering dusk
her escorts, palmetos and oaks,
seductively charms Sullivan and James

as gently swaying seagrass cloaks
her banks, and gentle moon winks
and nods a lazy waltz to which

she glides with eager rising beaus,
Sir Ashely 'n Cooper, bewitched
by ghostly reverie upon her breast:

of pillaged, glist'ning gold
(ol' secrets oyster shells still keep
of stories dark and gloomy told)
and pirates dangling twilight's jig to hell --

of summer-eve idyl's tempting path,
a lover's kiss and trickling sweat
beneath a darkened shadow, wrath
was chanced with passion's risk --

of union blue and glorious grey
of clashing families 'n nightly prayers
and southern sympathies displayed
for brav'ry true, for brav'ry daft --

of opulent castles near her shore
whose darkly-framed windows
with warmth aglow from ev'ry floor,
did slowly seep secrets to starlit skies --

of yesterday's wishes 'n dreams
do trysts and tragedies flirt
with time:  a chance to be redeemed
upon pages of tales told and tales to tell.

'Til yellow-crested night heron signals midnight
and glittering sails flicker and fade,
a dancing card collected, faded names a delight,
beneath a belle's receding tide, do ghosts abide.

by Margaret Bednar, June 6, 2013

Yellow-Crested Night Heron, Battery Park, Charleston Harbor

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's, Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Nocturne  Poems are requested to be lyrical NOT narrative.  I know now, currently I am far more a narrative poet than lyrical.  (sigh)

View from the Schooner we sailed on for our 23rd wedding anniversary in Charleston's Harbor

IGWRT's & Friday Flash 55 "Acceptance"

South Carolina Beauties

Acceptance

I see the day's heat
reflected in sugar brown-eyes,

watch it caress
massive cinnamon shoulders,

tickle a torturous path
beneath rounded bellies,

allow a moment's gasp
beneath buzzing magnolia blooms

before gentle beasts press forward
toward a destiny weary.

With a burden twice as heavy,
I straighten my shoulders,

and seek a disposition
as accepting.

by Margaret Bednar, May 9, 2013

This is for Imaginary Garden with  Real Toad's Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: The Prelude.  It is a poem that is set up as an introductory - a poem not meant to be finished, does not tell the whole story... I hope I succeeded.  Flip on over to the Garden to read much better attempts.

This is also for Friday Flash 55, a story for the G-Man in 55 words (no more, no less).

I am taking a BLOGGER BREAK for perhaps a week.  I will be catching up on my visiting and commenting (of which I am dreadfully behind!), but will not be posting any new poems or photos.  I will be on a mini-vacation celebrating my 23rd wedding anniversary and then moving my daughter out of her school dorm and watching her graduate!    How can I be this old?

IGWRT's Wednesday Challenge - Existentialism "Aquarium Alligator"

This is Alabaster, 1 of 50 known albino alligators.  He lives at the SC Aquarium in Charleston.

Aquarium Alligator

Thirty-seven million years and me,
five feet apart, eye level.

I fog the glass, tap,
unblinking he floats.

"Evil" I think, but ponder...

Territorial predators, we,
both possess powerful jaws,

he rips, I gossip.  He eats,
nourishes.  I destroy for fun.

Perhaps he's afraid of me.

by Margaret Bednar, April 7, 2013

I started thinking of the topic for this poem while visiting the South Carolina Aquarium this past week while on spring break with a few of my children.  The challenge for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's is "Existentialism" which can be described as:  individual experience, sense of isolation, indifferent environment, responsibility for choices made, the grappling of the meaning of life...

IGWRT's - A Botanical Word List "Full Immersion"

Full Immersion

Seductive ice apples
have overcome
springtime shyness,
berries first blush
turned snowberry vixen,
arch voluptuously,

ignore Jack in the pulpit's
strong, bent contrivance,
maroon striped cape
draped with a preacher's flourish
shades his bright-berried heart.

Temptation is the forest's
allure, a red-light district,
heralding Trumpet Creepers
proclaim hidden fruit within,

no reform, no conversions,
just full immersion
entering this paradise.

by Margaret Bednar, March 13, 2013


This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - A Botanical Word List"

This was really fun.  An image of a Jack in the Pulpit is HERE and a Snowberry HERE (also known as ice apples).   Snowberries are pink in the spring but turn white in the summer and Jack-in-the-pulpit is a flower I hear is in North Carolina woodlands although the maps don't show that... I will be on the lookout for him this year.

IGWRT's Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - Open Letters "Dear Petoskey"

Dear Petoskey,

Lapis, emerald,
and Queen Anne's Lace,
ornamentals
I carefully tuck away
each time we depart
your four square miles.
Quaint and charming
quiver in rearview mirror
as southbound we travel.

Quite different our arrival,
six youthful heads
shout, "We're home!"
It's all I can do
not to crawl back inside
your protective cocoon,
wings forever clipped.

Small is often ridiculed,
considered inadequate,
but often a gem is prized
for memories held.
You're our dear treasure,
a small town
we'll always call home.

Love,

the Bednar's

This is for Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - Open Letters.  Petoskey, Michigan is where we lived for over seven years and leaving was the hardest thing I have ever done.  We try and return every summer.

IGWRT's Wednesday Challenge "Susan"

Would you like to hear me read this poem:

Check this out on Chirbit

Susan

I have long admired
deep cherry red

roses.  Foliage blooming
with life, like your

eyes.  I reach out to
run a finger along youthful

cheek.  But, some things
must be carressed with the

heart.  I gaze upon precious
faded images, make a

vow.  Despite early pruning by
Master Gardener, you'll forever grace my

life.  Artistry from one held dear,
will inspire, will be remembered.

by Margaret Bednar, 11-28-2012

I was about one and a half when my sister died, just shy of nine.  I wish with all my heart I could remember her, but I don't.  However, I have always felt a very strong pull towards her images in the photographs my parents took of her, their first born.  I was told when she came home from the hospital, she always went straight towards my room, to see me, the baby sister she so loved.

She was an artist, I have a few of her drawings, her creations of paper doll clothes, etc.  My first daughter's middle name is Susan - and she is the one who is so artistically gifted; I can't help but think Susan is smiling down from heaven, her spirit still painting.

Below is some of her art she did while in the hospital.  I feel so blessed to have it.

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Wednesday Challenge "Personal Relationship" inspired by the poetry of Ingrid Jonker.


and a school project my oldest daughter did years ago.  I was truly amazed, as I hadn't showed her Susan's paper doll clothes at the time:

IGWRT Kerry's Wednesday Challenge "Dreams"

Photo courtesy of my daughter, texture applied by me.

Dreams

I remember a girl with yellow daisies
tucked behind a dainty ear.
Grass tickled her pink painted toes
as starry eyed she spun, unbridled.
Tresses caught in the corner of her mouth,
face flushed with hope and sun.

Mirrors don't lie.  She let me go.  Doubt,
fear, time, mark her unrecognizable.

And what about you?  Have you
stopped dancing with me, too?


by Margaret Bednar, 11-14-2012

This is for Imaginary Garden With Real Toad's - Kerry's Wednesday Challenge, Breaking the Fourth Wall.    Can the fourth wall be broken for rhetorical or dramatic effect?  I tried.

I am also linking up with Kim Klassen's Texture Tuesday (top photo) applying the texture "kirsten".  The theme was "dream".  How coincidental was this as I wrote the poem before I checked the prompt.

Photo courtesy of my daughter

Magpie Tales #138, IGWRT's Wednesday Challenge, Friday Flash 55 "So,The Maiden says"

So, the Maiden says...

"He ravaged me sir!  I was
bathing in the pond,
stepped out to dry.  I had
no "designs", sir!  No knowledge
he would spy my private sanctuary.

Yes, his eyes ravaged me!  Left
me breathless, quivering, I fainted.

I remember nothing...

I'm sure you are wise, Father. He must 
marry me, for I've been violated."


by Margaret Bednar, October 11, 2012

This is for Magpie Tales #138 and IGWRT's "Kerry's Wednesday Challenge" - an unreliable story teller (credibility questionable) and Friday Flash 55.

IGWRT's "Kerry's Wednesday Challenge "Little Traverse Bay, Michigan"

Would you like to hear me read my poem? (please disregard my dog's toenails on the wooden floor in the background :)


Check this out on Chirbit

Little Traverse Bay, Michigan

She reflects my image, but I don't see myself; I'm in search of her secrets, some of which lie glistening, imperfect gemstones, beneath my feet.  Chillness laps my toes, my fingers, as I plunder her beauty, like a tourist, in search of six-sided mementos to nurture, lest I forget.  Forget serenity. Forget to enjoy the moment.  Forget to step off the path and get wet. Forget to greet the rising sun and breath it in as it slips beyond the western shore.  Six months from now, when I pause and hold a part of her in my hand, I hope I will finally see myself.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, August 1, 2012

HERE is a bit about the Petoskey stone and below is a photo of three polished stones.  We just came back from vacationing in Petoskey, MI and our family will always consider it "home".

This is linked with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Running the Brush".  It was an exercise with Zuihitsu - a genre of Japenese literature.  I am not sure if I successfully accomplished a zuihitsu, but this is what transpired. 

Magpie Tales #124 "Purging" & IGWRT's Kerry's Wednesday Challenge & Poetry Jam

Ophelia by Odilon Redon

Purging

I wish
for a lone teardrop;

a final vision, reflected
of our summertide heat.

Between my fingertips
I'll crush

spine tingling endearments
and heaven's hands,

toss your abandonment
towards darkened sky.

Blow, blow,
though winter wind,

freeze these eyes,
purify this heart,

for all seasons
must come to an end.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, July 1, 2012

Would you like to hear me read this poem?


Check this out on Chirbit

This is for The Mag #124 the challenge is to write a poem to the photo provided above.

Also linked with Poetry Jam -Mood Swings.

I also linked this to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Kerry's Wednesday Challenge (Very) Old School.  The challenge to find a phrase or quote from Shakespeare and write a poem.  The phrase I used is:  Blow, blow, though winter wind.

http://www.enotes.com/shakespeare-quotes/blow-blow-thou-winter-wind

IGWRT's Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - On the Road "Harnessed Speed"

Historical Racetracks and Harness Horses HERE

Harnessed Speed

We'd often see
a cloud of dust
rise and linger
upon the horizon,
knew father's fine pacer
was sweeping
the winding road
back towards our farm.
He'd arrive
eyes a-twinkle,
hair askance,
us eagerly awaiting
the buggy switch.
Head back into town
proudly, sedately steer
the Pierce Arrow
down Main Street;
no matter our urging
for speed. We knew
Race Street paralleled,
but the early morning's action
wasn't for young ladies.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, July 17, 2012

Here is my great grandfather (my grandmother back row, left) with his four girls in perhaps ... a Pierce Arrow?

Most cities and towns have a "Main Street", but back in the day, many had a "Race Street" and/or "Trotter's Alley" as well.

This poem is loosely based upon my Grandfather, Herbert Hutchins.  (How I wish I had a photo of him with his fine horses!  I do have a few of  him with his plow horses, but not his pacers).  My grandmother said he loved his horses and was one of the first to purchase a car.

I do not know what kind of horse he had, and whether he had a pacer or a trotter.  If he owned a Standardbred, here is a little history on them:  The name originated because the early trotters (pacers would not come into favor until much later) were required to reach a certain standard for the mile distance in order to be registered as part of the new breed.  The mile is still the standard distance covered in nearly every harness race.

The first Standardbred races were contested along long roads, with men challenging their friends to     see who had the swifter steed.  Often the streets of major cities were cleared and races conducted.  That's why so many American cities have a "Race Street".

If you are interested, HERE is a link with some nice old photos of historical racetracks and harness horses.

This post is linked with and a response to  "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - On the Road"

IGWRT's Wednesday Challenge - "Endure" & Friday Flash 55 "The Ocean"

For "Mr. Know-it-All" two Friday Flash 55's this week!

Endure

My world often tilts
out of control.

"Endure", whispers Granny
willing me strength.

The next time

I'll grasp hold
of branches bent low

fall, roll
with the hedge apple,
thorns and lances
protective,

swirl, spin
upon Red River's current

or arch through time,
flung skyward
by tree's nimble bow,
and soar

towards a future,
free.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, January 26, 2012

* * * * *

This is my contribution to Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's "Wednesday Challenge" prompt, which is to write a "futuristic" poem.  This first brought to mind space ships and aliens, but I decided to try to use my photos from my recent walk to "Tannenbaum Historical Park".  The portrait and hanging fruit photos are from two years ago.

I am not sure if I truly did a futuristic poem.  Is longing for the future enough to make it so?  It seemed to me that poet Nazim Hikmet did this - wrote about a better future.  Click on IGWRT's link to read about him.  

If you would like to know more about this intriguingly hardy fruit tree (Hedge Apple or Osage Orange), click HERE.  This unique fruit is most bountiful in Oklahoma and Texas along the Red River.  The Osae used it's strong, pliant branches for bows and the settlers often used it for a "living" fence.  It must be carefully maintained (trimmed) or it's fruit and thorns will overtake an area.

* * * * *

The following image and poem I wrote for a Poetry Jam prompt (topic: sensual) and reposted here for  Mr. Know-it-All's "Friday Flash 55" - a non-fiction story in 55 words, no more, no less (I will link up Thursday after 8pm)

The Ocean

Sinewy arms, pail laden

I sleepwalk towards the barn.

Nature's morning breath

inhaled,

moistly kissing me awake

from a dream

I'm unwilling to release...

   like sandpaper

   against my flesh

   his memory,

   passion aroused,

   long buried

   endearments

   tickle my ear,

   needs whispered,

   upon my tongue

   his saltiness...

a single tear

escapes

joining an ocean of regret.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, January 25, 2012

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Kerry's Wednesday Challenge

My Man

Swaying to and fro
her bright pink curves
beckon my man,
(a bit too leggy I dare say)
her allure a stigma
I try to ignore.

Her influence
will be short lived
a month, maybe two.

Her sweet nectar
distracts my man
all too eager to stand erect
and spread love around.

With a little rest I will reclaim
efflorescent bloom
and he will once again
tell me what I want to hear.

In the mean time,
I'll do my best
to pluck her ugly.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, January 12, 2012

* * * * *

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads" - Kerry's Wednesdays Challenge:  Write a flowery poem in an un-flowery way: include at least one reference to flowers, either literally or metaphorically, in as non-cliched a way as possible.  

I didn't succeeded here as I see cliches all over the place (I guess I didn't read the directions thoroughly enough).  Well, I'll post it, but I will be keeping my thinking cap on as I really think this is an awesome idea and want to try it again someday.