Sunday, August 9, 2020

Howard Street

 Howard Street

I’ve a brimmed hat affixed low upon my brow,

step quickly between dappled live oak and cedar shade;

try to avoid midday’s scorching sun.


Sandals fill with crushed shells, dirt, and gravel

as I pass famous Howard Street signs nailed to gnarled tree, 

pass burial stones slanted one way and another, 


walk beside peeling white-washed wooden fences 

adorned with whelks and weather-beaten decoys, 

dangling decorations, silent and still.


Angry waves have washed beneath my feet, this very spot 

trying to be claimed, perhaps reclaimed, by the sea. 

Perseverance; a character trait paraded time and again;


one in which I admire as I sketch old humble cottages

along this path, pencil imagined families, pets, 

Sunday dinners shared outside, 


perhaps a waterfowl whittled beneath these very trees,

family cemetery next door; flowers watered, vines cut back,

stories and escapades retold, prayed over, 


remembered.  Such as Blackbeard’s quartermaster, 

a fun subject for “haunted walks”; whether folklore or fact,

the first William Howard. 


My belly growls; sixteen miles of fabulous beach

isn’t the only reason people flock to Ocracoke.  

Around the corner awaits fresh seafood, refreshing drinks, 

friendly banter.  


Some things never change.


Margaret Bednar, August 9, 2020


This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Writer's Pantry #32"

Wednesday, August 5, 2020

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