A Kiss

A sketch I did of Ocracoke's Silver Lake - July 2020

 

Tempest skies chase the moonlight, 

deliver a felted-gray morning sky

where windswept seagrass and mermaid murmurings

awake me from a slumber - drizzling rain, a serenade, 

in this cottage by the sea.

Vanilla-creamed coffee and baguette in hand,

I stroll the docks, sunflower faces tilt toward a hesitant sun 

as seagulls and pelicans balance like marble statues 

silhouetted against a crystalline sky.

A slash of red draws my eye.  A millionaire's cottage

hugs Silver Lake - a battle between past & present,

humble & posh.  I stroll past shop windows,

spy artisan jewelry; find I desire far more

gifts of early morning's tide.

I meander the day away, enjoy iced deserts

and fish fresh from the sea, settle oceanside,

beside salt marshes offering pink sunsets,

where blue jasmine collides with raspberry skies

and pensive moments accompany

soft breezes filtering through sea-salted hair;

leave an irresistible kiss

upon smiling lips,

a witness to all that is quiet.

by Margaret Bednar, August 5, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #31 - What Makes You Smile"

The Beckoning

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A July moon softly glows through my window-screen, barricaded, unlike the night's breeze that cools my skin from the day's humidity and shapes the draperies into ghost-like apparitions.  Beyond the sill, Willow beckons me with her long, pliant branches and dangling, whispering leaves tinkling like gentle wind chimes.  I tiptoe down hallway, past my parent's room.   Find me beneath Milky Way, Dippers, and North Star, face upturned.  Feel a bit dizzy with the immensity of it all.  I run, steal myself beneath Willow's feathery strands, the tickling about my shoulders and neck a sensation comforting me as I listen to the cicadas and toads (both of which I am afraid) hopefully chirping far off in bush and field and not here beneath umbrella'd security.  Silhouetted, an owl hoots from my old tree fort, its large stout limb juts out into the field and I imagine the owl feels as adventurous as I do midday imagining I'm a cowboy or Indian; whichever takes my fancy.  I wonder, does the owl ever dream of being something other than he is?  I tiptoe towards split rail fence for a better view, climb up and lean over just as a flash of shadow and whir of wings sends my heart a-flutter; sends me scampering back inside.  Screen door slams, my backside hits pillow and mattress as Mother calls my name and Father gets out of bed as the July moon softly glows through my window-screen.

Moonlit shadows glide
Caution is thrown to the wind
Young rabbits tempt fate

by Margaret Bednar, March 30, 2020

This is linked with "dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday - Snapshots of our Lives"

Take an old autobiographical poem and rework it into a haibun.  HERE is the one I used.

Longing

Longing

My rhododendron leaves curl in upon themselves,
frosted with light snow; count the days 'till beachside.
For now, the taste of Myrtle honey
flavors my tongue; thank the industrious bees
that gather nectar from salt marsh shrubs -
horizontal thickets joined by Holly, Bayberry and Elder.
They lean and give to ocean winds, salty spray, and burning sun;

a harsh existence I won't acknowledge until summer.
I will also miss spring blooms beneath the Oak, Sweet Gum,
and Sassafras; witness not white innocence, lavender toadflax,
violet bull thistle, and green life everlasting.

Instead, I will ponder coast’s blue, shimmering surface come June,
above soda straw worms, knobbed whelks, moon snails,
and lettered olives.  A few will be tossed with the tide
upon the sand, collected along with angle wings, heart cockles,
small colored clams, and the rare chipped sand dollar
and sea star.

But for now, I wrap my sweater snuggly about my shoulders
and sigh, honeyed myrtle warming my tongue.

by Margaret Bednar, January 22, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #3 - Salt-water poems"

Reflected

Reflected

Beneath lily pads, clouds cavort above sunfish, bluegill, and bass,
as mountain laurels and rhododendrons showcase green
upon water's smooth surface,

no resplendent flash of pinks or rosebay as high summer has passed,
chicks have grown, and swan seems to have lost his mate
as solitaire he soldiers on about the lake.

I can hear babbling brook, as summer without rain is unheard of,
feel sun's heated brand upon my back as it peaks between clouds
blanketing sky in a downy fashion,

and peer between tall grasses at water's edge, enjoying blues,
emeralds and golds reflected and rippling, circles drifting,
disappearing beneath lily pads and dancing clouds.

by Margaret Bednar, August 21, 2019

This is linked (LATE) with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Wordy Weekend Mini-Challenge - Messages in Water" AND "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday Platform".

And "The Sunday Muse/Wednesday Muse: The Beach".  We were given permission to use a lake scene as well, so it is not as oceany as the image offered in this prompt... 

Full Pardon

My son racing up and over the sand dune to Broadkill Beach, DE
(I was right behind him... the sand felt SO lovely...)

Full Pardon

Cumulus clouds are a siren calling "Surrender"
to the strand of sand shining beneath midday sun,

soon the heat beneath my feet, quickly filling in,
erasing all evidence of slipping away.

Blame it on a cotton-blue sky and swaying grass either side;
curling sea-hook grasps my waist, pulls me forward,

hair whips about, blouse fills up as if a mainsail,
arms outstretched, one windward, one leeward,

as I tack left, turn through courting wind.  The path leads me
over arched sand dune; first glimpse of endless beach

and a horizon smudged; multiple brush strokes
of variegated blues and greens upon a canvas.

Blame it on the seagulls, their soaring akin
to blue-grass ballads rife with riffs, grace notes, improvisation;

not so much their squawking, wailing songs
alerting the flock to a possible food source.

Yet I rejoice in their audacity, their surrender to summer.
Blame this escapade on my own rogue self;

for the day won't wait, can't be replaced.  The time is now
and I grasp it with all I've got.  Unapologetic.

by Margaret Bednar, August 8, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Music with Marian - Juice".  The prompt really screamed for a "sassy" poem, but I used the phrase "Blame it on the..." minus the sass.  I have just returned from a week-long trip to NYC and I am SO glad I had a bit of my ocean for two days - it is a little longer for me to take the coastal route, but so worth it.

I believe Grammar Heads will squirm as "unapologetic" should be "unapologetically" (I think that is the case, but I'm no grammar head)  I just like the way it sounds with no "ly" added so I used my creative license :)

I invite you to listen to me read my poem:

Night Sounds

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Night Sounds

A weeping willow talked to me as a young child,
her soft summer whispers beckoned through window screen,
one midnight stole to her side, leafy strands about my shoulders, listened;
cicadas (of which I was afraid) and toads (of which I was afraid)
chirped far off in bush and field.

First time hearing an owl hoot, not from barn,
but an old tree I'd fashioned into fort.  Full moon offered light,
so I tiptoed forward, (left Willow's safe embrace) leaned over fence...
a flash of white, whir of wings sent my heart fluttering,
feet scampering back to bed; head between pillow and mattress.

Night sounds muffled and muted.

by Margaret Bednar, July 27, 2019

This is linked with "The Sunday Muse - Wednesday Muse - Night Sounds"

Nostalgic

My original books from childhood

Nostalgic

This summer's eve is reminiscent of bedtimes long ago, Mother's voice rhythmically soft,
screen window flung wide, toads and cicadas a backdrop to book's pages slowly turning,
coaxing eyes to blink, lashes to droop; (summer of '73 - Misty of Chincoteague & Sea Star).

Perhaps it's the birdsong winding down as the cricket's chorus begins,
occasional shadow passing overhead (realize it's bat, not swallow), back deck, screenless,
mountain breeze soothing, book in my lap as if the effort to hold aloft is too much...

Awakened by muffled bark of a neighbor's dog, mine at my feet, his rumbling
a feeble attempt at a warning (he's as somnolent as I); invite him beneath cotton-worn quilt,
our cozy haven as darkness tucks us in and Mother's voice resumes.

Margaret Bednar, July 27, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Mini-Challenge - Let Evening Come".  Seriously, this happened just the other night ... I was hard-pressed to make it to my bed.  I think we will soon have the lower back deck screened and I will spend nights on a true, southern summer porch.  Below, I invite you to listen to me read my poem.

Only the Good Die Young

Only the Good Die Young

His hair and eyes were surely as dark as the devil's
but his laugh made me forget
he was no saint -
was pretty sure 100 mph
with windows rolled down and speaker cranked
was a sin on any back country road...

I learned summer nights
could be exciting; even dangerous
for this Catholic girl.
I did fall in love that night,
but not with him.  Just now,
had to think hard to remember his name,

but Billy Joel's still a favorite on my playlist.

by Margaret Bednar, January 9, 2015

I originally wrote this poem in 2015 but am posting again as this song came on the radio and I felt young (and reckless) again for a few minutes... sigh.

Today, linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday Platform"

Also linked with "dVerse Poetics - Cry me a River" - I hope this qualifies - I don't cry over this poem, but I might have shed a tear or two over this boy... or at least wasted too many hours "yearning"...

The song was "Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel.

This is a true story - some details have been left out as I'm sure they would bore everyone :)  … I do remember running out the door before he could get out of the car - I did not want my mom and dad to meet him.

If you love Billy Joel, you might find THIS l-o-n-g article interesting.

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Herotomost's Friday Challenge - Road Trip"

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.