Chopin

Image used for "The Sunday Muse #97"

Chopin

Her right hand touches her neck,
left hand expertly plays the chords,
melody suspended for a moment,

but not memory of kisses
skimming, teeth nipping, thrilling, 
freely flowing over her body; 

hands over piano keys, notes repeated,
sometimes traditional, sometimes revolutionary,
waltzing heroic... like a good lover.

She often plays the night,
an escape, when structure unwinds
and romance tilts the room,

enshrines emotions as moon and stars outside
cast shadows upon the lake, twinkling,
willing him back safely into her arms.

Only then she'll allow clasp to be unfastened,
ring taken from delicate chain and placed upon her finger.
When his promised return will be answered with "Yes".

by Margaret Bednar, March 3, 2020

This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #97".

Also linked with Instagram: "A Skylover Wordlist".  I used enshrines (shrine), teeth, escape

I invite all of you to consider my new bi-monthly challenge "Artistic Interpretations".  All are welcome!  

The Rooster

I invite you to listen to me read my poem (below)  photo: 123rf

The Rooster

Rhode Island Reds, Plymouth Rocks, and Leghorns
pecked, chirped, picked their way through Mother's compost pile,
a source of faint clucks of contentment
and a flourish or two as hens fought over a delicacy.

It was the rooster, red with inky black tail feathers,
chest foolishly thrust forward, strutted about with a chip on his shoulder,
bright red comb and wattles a warning of sorts,
that taunted and threatened my childhood existence.

I learned to scan the yard before opening screen door,
summer sunshine beckoning, tempting me to forgo due diligence.
Once is all it took, scaled pasture fence faster than a speeding bullet,
stranded forever and a day beneath scorching midday sun,
he marching below as if a member of the Queen's Guard,
all pomp and circumstance; temperament, however, unbecoming.

Oh, but it was a classic case of pride before the fall.

The day he chose to chase Mother
was the day he fell from grace, bought a pass to the Underworld.
His body seethed with righteous indignation as the long arm of the law
aligned his head upon crescent-shaped stump,
my heart faintly sympathetic as Father's ax dealt the fatal blow.

Hens can be broody sitting upon their nest,
flattened out upon the straw, clucking, almost purring,
pecking hands gathering eggs; a small price to pay
for carefree days, backyard claimed once again as my own.

by Margaret Bednar, February 10, 2020

The bane of my childhood existence and a response to A Skylover Wordlist.  (can be found on instagram).

I changed it up a bit (I believe for the better) with the addition of the following challenge:  This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #6: Turn Cliche into Poetry or Prose".  I used more than one:  faster than a speeding bullet, forever and a day, pride before the fall, fell from grace, long arm of the law, dealt the fatal blow.

I invite you to listen to me read my poem: