Make Believe

Make Believe

I imagine I'm a southern belle,
strolling jasmine scented pathways,
besotted beau beside me
as I smile charmingly after saying something coy.

Practice a hair toss, lashes lowered,
glance over shoulder...
find elderly gentleman watching me
as I blush (yes, 50 year olds can blush),

mutter to myself, attempt dignified exit
across arched bridge, past live oaks;
impromptu theatrical audition witnessed
by one other, a chipmunk, who scampers away
almost as quickly as I,

my sketchbook not as forthcoming
as this poem (years later).

by Margaret Bednar, October 23, 2018



This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini Challenge - Notebook Poetry".  We had an option to handwrite our poems ... but I hate my handwriting so I thought I would show you a glimpse into my sketchbook.  The top two are colored pencil, the chipmunk is watercolor and pen.   I talk to myself a lot (especially when in a creative mode) and historical places always get me dreaming and imagining things...

Weko Beach

Weko Beach

Renegade leaf summersaults across boardwalk,
braving, (more like) defying, Lake Michigan's headwind,
seemingly determined to forge a path of its own.

Grandpa's behind me, leaning heavily upon my husband's arm,
determined but cold.  Body, like the leaf, frail, life slowly ebbing,
yet spirit still seeks that which he holds dear.

Grandchildren, evergreen with fiery daring of youth,
plunge toes into frigid water, laugh and scream
when waves splash with abandon,

laughter tumbling leaf-like, hitching a ride upon its back
as it pirouettes out of sight.

Melodious chords mix with surf, songs strummed by The Balladeer,
while my youngest causes my heart to flutter as he defies "Keep Off",
challenges Mother Nature as she licks pier's edge.

Grandpa's cold.  My voice calls out, boomerangs back
without reaching them.  The sand is fine and soft, but
unlike the skipping leaf, I plod towards shore in my shoes,

gather them in, cheeks full of colour and life.
Slowly walk Grandpa to the car.   He's shivering, tired
from sitting bench-side.

Just last year he was walking dune's wooden stairs;
today, empty.  Legs unable to carry his spirit to a favorite lookout.

Memory will have to suffice - and yet even his abundant,
bounty-filled life is becoming misty, crumbling into fine fragments,
compost enriching a path we will tread one day as well.

by Margaret Bednar, October 20, 2018

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Get Listed - October edition"  my list of words:  fiery, plunge, colour, leaf.

Also linked with "Poets United Midweek Motif:  Abundance"