"Beneath the Magnolia Tree", a poem

Beneath the Magnolia Tree

Alluring fragrance
cloaks my senses with desire
my thoughts full of you,
I anticipate your kiss
'neath the magnolia tree.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, June 22, 2011

This is a Tanka - a count of 5-7-5-7-7 and usually has a reference (sometimes indirectly) to a season...if a  Magnolia is in bloom it is either spring or summer.  I submitted this to One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday".   Click to see between 100 - 200 poetic efforts!

I entered the above photo in "Your Sunday Best" - My favorite post/photograph of the past week.  Click to see other selections!

I adore these flowers and love that they come in different colors.  I stood under a tree the other day and was BLOWN away with the overpowering fragrance... no kiss, but maybe this will give my husband a few ideas... I can just imagine a romantic picnic lunch under such a tree as this...

"Gone with the Wind" is celebrating it's 75th anniversary this year and this novel and Magnolia blossoms are forever linked in my mind with the South.  A blog I enjoy "Recollections of a Vagabonde" has highlighted a bit of trivia and/or nostalgia about GWTW.  (Click on the blog's name to read her post).

The photo below is for "Black & White Wednesday".

Poetry Jam - "Temptation & Forgiveness"

Photo Courtesy of Poetry Jam

Temptation and Forgiveness

A trickle of sweat defies
the rapidly moving paper fan
imprinted with the Savior's face.
My red tongue licks the salt
from my upper lip, almost
giving away my secret.  His eyes
remind me of my transgression,
but I cannot resist temptation.
I pop another sinfully sour
red explosion into my mouth,
careful not to swallow the pit.
The perfumed shade and the
stickiness of the imperfect
ones upon the ground
make me think, for a moment,
that I am in heaven.  I stop
fanning and look into His eyes
and ask forgiveness.  He understands.
I hope my grandmother will, too.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, June 14, 2011

One of my earliest memories is of my grandmother's cherry trees and our family picking cherries in the summer.   My mom canned and I'm sure my love for cherry pie began with that tree...

This is for the "Poetry Jam".  Click and check out the other participating poets.  I also submitted this for One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday #50".  I was the 115th entry!  I guess it is the place to be on Wednesdays!  :)

The Phone Call, a poem

Photo Courtesy of Rob Hanson for One Stop Poetry

The Phone Call

I close my eyes and

hear your voice, faintly.

My memory flutters

and skips like an old

movie reel, your voice

distorted; static and distantly

urgent, you told me

you loved another.

I clasped the receiver

for hours.   Did I think

I was holding on to you?

An antique now,

it gathers dust

along with my dreams,

ripped out of the wall,

its purpose, its life

ended.  As mine did

the last day you called.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, June 12, 2011

This is for One Stop Poetry's "One Shoot Sunday".  Rob Hanson is the photographer that was interviewed.  My week has been so hectic and I had hoped to spend more than 15 minutes on this!  But the midnight hour is upon me so... it is what it is! 

Magpie Tales #68, "The Nursing Home Visit", a poem

Photo Courtesy of Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales

The Nursing Home Visit

His gaze rests upon me,

seeing me not as I am.  His

shaking hand caresses my cheek

and tugs upon a non-existent

ponytail.  I look into his moist eyes,

sadly trying to imagine

how it would have felt

to see this devotion

when I was a little girl

desirous of his affection,

and not an image conjured up

by a doddering mind,

years too late.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, June 7, 2011

This is for Magpie Tales #68.  I also submitted this to One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday".  

Magpie Tales #67, "The Longing"

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales

FOR REAL:  THE FINAL VERSION!:


The Longing


I searched for eyes dark
as the coming winter storm
Your light touch desired
ravishing my yearning flesh
like a fine lute, gently played

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, May 25, 2011

Hmm.  Is this any better?  I waffled between skin and flesh.  I thought the "f" in flesh and fine blended nicely.

I KNOW one isn't supposed to "explain" a poem but this is the way I understand my poem above:
She is not interested in the lute player, the music has made her think of her lover, who never showed up and this is a letter she wrote the next day.  She is surrounded by men that she doesn't have the least interest in (that's what I read in her face).  This is what I have been trying to convey with all my attempts...

This is for "Magpie Tales #67".  I was stuck for inspiration for the longest time until I searched the archives of "One Stop Poetry" for a poetry form.  I found:  One Stop Poetry Archives "Tanka". The Tanka poem is traditionally a poem used to convey a message to a lover.   Click on the highlighted "OSP" post above if you are interested in the details.

I also am entering this into One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday".  Flip over there and check out over 100 poems which will be submitted by midnight tomorrow.  It's the "Place To Be" on Wednesdays!

BTW - I recorded this on "Garage Band", but now I am trying to figure out HOW to upload it to my blog.  Does anyone know how? I even signed up with divShare and I still can't figure out how to upload to my blog.  (I'm so ignorant when it comes to computers!)



LAST VERSION


The Longing
I searched for eyes dark
as the coming winter storm
Longed for your sweet warmth,
Your ravishing stroke desired
like a fine lute, gently strummed.

TWO EARLIER ATTEMPTS below, before I realized the last line was only 5 syllables (it is supposed to be 7)  Hopefully you like the above final version the best...  A "Tanka" has a syllabic count of 5-7-5-7-7.


The Longing
Searching for eyes dark
as the coming winter storm
I long for his warmth,
His ravishing stroke enjoyed
like a well played lute.


OR


I searched for eyes dark
as the coming winter storm
Longed for your sweet warmth,
Your ravishing stroke desired
like a well played lute.

I kept switching between "Your" and "His" in the 3rd and 4th line.  And then I wasn't sure about the "tense".  So I have two, slightly different versions.  Which do you like? 

"Field of Wildflowers", a poem

Here we are again at Sea Pines Forest Preserve, Hilton Heaad, SC.  I got down on my belly, with all the bugs and braved the mosquitoes which weren't quite so bad now that I was in the sun.  I was snapping away and didn't realize I had photographed a bumblebee's landing.  I have entered the photo above into a weekly photographic challenge I just learned about:  "Perseptive Perspective".  The challenge this week is: Signs of Spring.  Click HERE to see other entries.

This was the first nature walk I took at Hilton Head and I did not bring along any bug spray and the mosquitoes were terrible.  I love to hike, but the scenery and animals are unlike anything this "northern" girl is used to.  Although I now reside in NC, I have yet to experience much of this beautiful part of our country.

Sea Pine's Field of Wildflowers

Paint brush splatters
cover this canvas
haphazardly creating
texture and pattern
unaware of rules
and structure,
restraint unheeded.
Mother Nature's
creative design
a "DIY" project,
her focal point scattered,
color scheme varied.
A fool proof education
at everyone's fingertips.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens, May 5, 2011

The above poem is submitted to One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday".  Click HERE to see 100 (give or take a few) poetic entries!

The orange and reds and violets and splashes of pink shouted SPRING! ... although temperature wise, it felt like blazing steamy/hot summer (it was only April).

"Time Stood Still", a poem

This is a Great Blue Heron I spied at Sea Pines Forest Preserve at Hilton Head, SC.   Even though I live near a lake in North Carolina and see these birds often, the few times I have come close to one, they have been startled and have flown quickly away, just like this fellow did. He quickly crossed the water (which was full of alligators - but that is for another post!):

  

But the fellow below was quite unique.  He not only didn't fly away, he seemed almost as curious about me as I was him (her?).  Has this ever happened to any of you before?  He wasn't injured and didn't seem addled in the brain... I googled and now realize that in Florida some of these instinctively shy birds beg for food from fisherman and do get quite close.  

Well, it was a unique moment for me.  And I have tried to express how I felt in the short poem below.

Time Stood Still

Unnaturally close we stood
Expectantly you looked at me
with eyes unwaveringly bold.
Amazingly I felt befriended;
I walked closer, tempted to touch,
but dignity and awe prevailed.
A joyous lightness stirred my heart.
The ocean breeze encircled us
as tidal waves awashed our feet;
A moment shared, remarkable!
So grand you slowly walked away...
My breath exhaled and time resumed.

By Margaret Bednar, Art Happens, May 4, 2011

Admirable Women - a poem, 152/365

Margaret Bednar's archival family photograph - early 1900's

Admirable Women


Post victorian women, 

sidesaddle adventurers,

educated and free.

Dared to partake, a bit,

in a man's world.

Exceptional individuals

who forged paths

 mostly forgotten now

except in sepia images,

looking old fashioned and quaint.

But look closely and you will see

energy, determination and spirit.

Three qualities still valued today.

by Margaret Bednar,
03/01/2011, Art Happens

For "In the Moment" Challenge
Please click to find out more about this monthly photography, art, poetry and writing challenge!

I also submitted it to One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday" Poetry forum - literally over one hundred poets tend to enter their work - it is quiet an array of talent!  I think this also fits in with "Poetry Potluck's" theme of "Idols, Role Models and Mentors"

The above is also my quick reflection loosely based on the theme "camping" for the "March Challenge".    The host noted that Yellowstone National Park was established on this day in 1872 and it sent me hunting for a shoebox of old photos.  My grandmother traveled from Northern Illinois with a group of friends when she was a young lady to I thought Yellowstone National Park.   I need to question my mother about this as I have numerous photos and post cards from early 1900 similar to the one above.  I plan on doing a future post about this.  My grandmother is front and center on the mule.

The photo is a picture taken in the "Garden of the Gods" in Colorado Springs, Co.  Click HERE to see google images of this amazing place.  I'm thinking this might be a formation known as "balanced rock".  The proportions are a bit off from what I can find on the website, but it has been over 100 years and maybe the elements have been at work.

In my very brief research, I found out that the song "America the Beautiful" was inspired by the beauty Katherine Lee Bates saw in 1893 while she journeyed in private wagon to the summit of Pikes Peak.   Katherine Lee Bates was a long-time professor at Wellesley College in Massachusetts, and lectured at the summer session at Colorado College.

* * * * *

My 1st and 3rd photos below are for today and tomorrow's "Movement in March".  The second is for "The Creative Exchange".  I remember sitting and enjoying the sun as my girls kayaked in the little pond.  They had just spent a day horseback riding at Boyne Highlands Resort - 20 minutes from where we used to live in Northern Michigan. 

I have been unable to carve out time to visit all my blog friends sites and it is killing me.  I hope to swing by and see what creative energies are flourishing out there this evening.

Magpie Tale #50, "The Seasons of Love", 116/365

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales

The Seasons of Love

Predictable, love is not.

What's around the bend, unsure.

If love were a season to select

Which one would you choose?

Passionate Winter?

Quite a swaggering affair.

A tempest one minute,

Beautifully serene the next.

Invigorating Spring?

Full of hope and wonder.

Everything exciting and new,

Instilling life and energy.

Languid Summer?

Warmth seeping into the soul.

Agreeable and content,

Wrapped in comfortable silence.

Sensitive Fall?

Bursting at the seams, ready to

Explore and live life to its fullest.

Not wasting a minute, full speed ahead.

For most of us, love is a journey,

A back and forth of the four.

Truly blessed if we experience the 

Beauty and challenge of each.

by Margaret Bednar

The above is for "Magpie Tales".  The top winter scene is the photo prompt.  Please click HERE to be transported to either join or read other submissions. I also submitted it to One Stop Poetry's - "One Shot Wednesday".


And speaking of love, who wouldn't want the faithful AND forgiving love of a dog...  This is for "Partially Seen in January" and "Black & White Wednesdays."

...and the following photo is for "The Creative Exchange".  I have always loved this silhouette and love the fact that Canadian geese mate for life (it kind of fits in with the theme of the poem).  One of our favorite family movies is "Fly Away Home" (1996). It stars Jeff Daniels and is about a father, daughter and a flock of Canadian Geese.  

Magpie Tale #49, "The Grand Ol' Hat", 111/365

 My Great Aunt, Jennie Beckington, 1905

My Grandmother, Marguerite Hutchins Beckington, born 1892 
I apologize if you have already read this poem.  I am submitting it to One Shot Wednesday #30 of One Stop Poetry.  Please check out the other submissions!

                       The

           Good

‘Ol

Edwardian Days

When swirling skirts gracefully 

Swept the floor, ankles carefully hidden.

Puffed up like a proud pigeon and resembled

   An instrument measuring time.

Oh, how to show

Individuality? Dare

We suggest such a

Thing?  A prim and

Proper young

Lady

Must wear her hat squarely

Upon her head; no silly feather, please!

But, if one had a desire for a bit of frivolity, well a trip

To the Hat Maker might just do the trick.  A feather added and tilted

To one        side, a splendid ornate hat to promenade.  A       multitude 

Of other       frivolous items could grace the crown:  A poppy,      a plume,

How         about a large cabbage rose?  A bit overwhelming?          Well,

 That was         the very idea!  To have fun, live a little, after all,             it was

 Just                           a hat.  The only thing exposed                          was 

Hair!                        Sometimes splurged, and added a                     bird?

Well,                                 Not a whole bird,                                   nor 

Even                                             a                                           whole
Wing.                                       For                                      many
Years,                             Twenty                           in fact, 

The               Audabon Society            fought

To outlaw such animal cruelty!  

Even hat pins were subject to the law!

Why, they could only extend so far - dangerous

Weapons they.  Known for poking, scraping and stabbing!

Regulations on how far they could protrude without hat-pin

Protectors. Some were banned from public transportation, in fact.

So, no whole birds, but how about bunches of cherries, blackberries

Or ribbon rosettes?  Hats made to whirl, flow and dip; some swathed in

Tulle.  Some glorious hats mysteriously rested upon the hair, thanks to 

The secret of “wadded” hair saved from thy very own brush to make the 

Grand pompadour!   Possibly a bit of mystery might be desired; was that

Even allowed?   It could be arranged with a bit of cobweb trim hanging

Over the face.  Social gatherings were not complete without one’s hat,

In fact it was part of proper etiquette.   Quite disgraceful to be seen

Without!  Even the little widow could not step out... all in black, of

Course.  No feather for that would be too gay but the veil was ok.

Oh yes,  the good  Ol’ Edwardian Days!  Most likely styles to never 

Be seen again. Glimpsed by some of us still alive as we watched

Our grandmothers step out.   Those wonderfully grand ladies who knew 

How to dress in style, held on to their "vogue" until the very end. White 

Gloves, snap purse dangling at the elbow, and perhaps, the hats a

Bit smaller, but there non-the-less.  Ornate glasses framed many of 

Their smiling faces, pearls circling their necks.  Still buttoned up with 

Proper skirt line maintained; although a few inches shorter.  How “modern”

They must have felt.  So here’s a nod to the grand ladies of old, who wore

Those hats with such style and grace.  How were they able to carry off

Such hats as these? Looking at the photos, their eyes might offer a clue.   

The                    Women's
Suffra                     gette's
Atti                        tude?

 In Courage                 And Honor.          

This "shape" poem is for Magpie Tales #49.  (I made a few changes after my first post - had to go in and correct the mixed up tenses) The original photo prompt is at the bottom of this post.  I have also submitted this to One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday".  I remember going through the hat boxes in my grandmother's attic.  They were piled atop one another and these "ancient" hats were packed amongst newspaper.  By the time I was born, I don't think she wore them anymore - and I had a hard time imagining her in them.  How I wish I had those hats today.  At least I have a few photos.

In the photo above, I love that all the ladies have their "automobile" hats on.  My grandmother is sitting in the first row, third from left. (or first one sitting on the right)

In this photo, my grandmother is with her friends.  She is the one in the center with her purse in the crook of her arm and ... one of two with a head piece on.  It was taken in the year of 1961. 

Below is the grand photo that was the inspiration for this Magpie Tale, taken by Tess Kincaid of Willow Manor:

"Photo taken by Tess Kincaid"

At the Mouth of the Bear River, a poem, 99/365

St. Francis Solanus Indian Mission Church, established 1859

At the Mouth of the Bear River


Where the light shines through the clouds
Is a sacred burial site, now fully restored;
The final destination for a few of Chief Petosega’s native tribe.
Legacy now honored, historic interest attained.


Symbolic crosses gleaming white, proudly stand, listening 
Prayer-like as the gentle waves beat an age old rhythm
of worship to the designer of all mankind.  Heritage and 
Language at first denied, now a battle underway to preserve.


Oh Ottawa spirit, ringing out majestically,
Overlooking the shores of Little Traverse Bay,
Is it possible to see memories reflected through the windowpane?
Can a seeker gaze through and see shadow spirits lingering?


Were many a head bent in prayer, before the snowshoe priest?
Was your soul uplifted reading holy words from the white man’s book?
Or, when the bell tower majestically rang did your spirit rejoice,
Revived and refreshed, due to the rays of the morning dawn?


At the mouth of the Bear River, perhaps “The Little Church by the Lake"
Embraced both the heritage of the red man and the white man’s faith.
Like the Petoskey stone washed clean and smooth, your spirit too, but by 
Grace and the circle of the rising sun which still warms this land of renewal.


by Margaret Bednar


This is my submission for A Bowl of Random Words.  This weeks five words are: destination, windowpane, seeker, reading, circle.  I also entered this in One Shot Poetry Wednesday.


The above mission resides in the small Northern Michigan town of Petoskey.  It is
nestled along the Little Traverse Bay shore and a wonderful bike path.  I often
paused here and wondered about this place and was very happy when it was
renovated.  Limited tours during the summer are offered.  I am also posting this
as my 99th of my 365 Photographic Journey.  This was taken this past
summer... I'm cheating a bit, but I'm busy bringing my daughter home from the
hospital after her appendectomy.  

"Exalted"- a poem, 96/365 Photographic Journey Challenge

Exalted

Exposed and naked

Arms uplifted as if

Pleading forgiveness

Reaching, stretching towards the light

Gnarled and bent with age

Each knot a tribulation endured

Soft green innocence fallen away

Life, seemingly prostrate upon the ground

A solstice curtain descends, embraced

Inner rejuvenation unseen

A fresh generous coat of sparkling white, 

Blemishes erased, exalted by grace.

by Margaret Bednar


I entered this poem in "One Shot Wednesday".(Week 27)Please click on it's name to be forwarded to see other entries.

Magpie #46 (a second poem), "Memories"

This is my second poem for Magpie Tales #46.  The photo is Tess Kincaid's. This poem, "Memories", is the one I originally had in mind but needed time to think it through.  (The poem in the post below is a fun one I did for my kids after we went driving around the neighborhoods exclaiming at the Christmas decorations.) 


I have entered this poem in "One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday" - week 33.  Over one hundred submissions of amazing poetry. Please click and see for yourself.  


Memories


The gentle hands of a strong man
Are what she noticed first
His teasing smile and keen wit
Not too far behind.


They reached out and selected her,
Through the pulsating room of beauties
Slightly calloused and warm
Reluctant to let go


She truly saw his hands on hers
Before she looked up into gaze, intense
Admired his features, his presence
In that crowded room, it seemed just them


He hadn't let go, fingers wrapped around hers
Tucked under his arm and walked outside
Under the stars they talked for hours
The intimacy of their hands, enough


Over the years those hands taught her love,
Caressed their children's tears, soothed
many a fevered brow.  Hands always willing to
Lighten her load, and lead the family in prayer.


***


She noticed his leathered gloves upon the floor
An avalanche of memories were invoked 
Slipped her hand inside, the warmth familiar
and laid the softness against her cheek.


by Margaret Bednar

Magpie Tail #44, "Life's Run", by Margaret Bednar, 75/365

My submission to Magpie 44. (Magpie photo at bottom of this post)  Click HERE to see other entries.  This is actually my 2nd version - I need to learn to massage a poem, alter and ponder the words, and make changes before I post it.  I have submitted this to Wednesday's One Shot Poetry.  Click HERE to see other entries - you won't be disappointed if you do.

Life's Run
Grant me a moment to indulge in reminiscence, of
An earlier time displayed by this fading image of youth.
A moment to relive the joy of exuberant bumps,
Unexpected bounces, graceful glides and surprising finishes.

Vigor slowly seeping from these hands of mine, I

Fondly recall their firmness and courage as they

grasped the Roman shield of life and descended

Life's hill, engaging in battle, in search of just rewards.

My heart faintly beats with fond recollection of

Youthful force careening and bold.

Strength of convictions and destiny held the

Keys to reason, untutored but sure.

I preferred the path of a clipper, sporting and fearless

No dainty cutter, I.  Cherubs and beauty no lure, that is

Until knocked off, tumbling and lost half way in life.

Grasping for a hold, seeking a descent, controlled and safe.

Steadying and slowing the pace of life, your

sweetness and joy created newfound momentum.

As unique a design hand-painted on dear Rosebud, you

A cutter after all I rode, with new precious cargo aboard.

A twisting of the previously "foreseen" path, I proudly

Showcased you, my "top-of-the-line" model, steerable by small degree.

A bit of a wild ride ensued on your very own red painted Flyer

Gradually my own runners worn, I watched you speed ahead.

Gliding towards the finish line, heart-bounty secured,

My life's force grateful and content, with

Vintage paint crackling, vibrant no longer, I

Resplendently slide to a stop, anticipating the ascent.

by Margaret Bednar

The above photos are ones I found in my boxes that desperately need organization.  The top is of my oldest sister who passed away when I was two years of age.  The poem is obviously not about her, nor anyone actually - just made up in my head.  The bottom is my husband with two of his brothers - he is sandwiched in between.  I think this is my first unstructured poem - not rhyming or counting syllables.  Not sure what it is called... freeform?  


When researching for the above poem, I learned that Roman soldiers used their shields to sled down hills during battle.  In the late 1800's and early - mid 1900's, sleds were designed specifically for boys (clippers) low slung and fast, and for girls (cutters) dainty and "safer".  "Rosebud" is a reference to a line in the movie "Citizen Kane"... Many say this is one of the best movies of all time...  Before mass production, many sleds had hand-painted designs - and this is what makes them highly collectable today.  The "Flexible Flyer" was one of the first sleds that touted some control with steering.  

Magpie Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid who ALWAYS supplies awesome reference  images.