Wednesday, October 21, 2020




Beeswax, His body -

wick, His soul - flame, His divinity;

my voice, soft and low,

eyes upon blessed candle,

lips caressing holy words,

my fingers familiar with beaded bone.

"Old family heirloom, a relic from the Holy Land."

Grandpa would wink (an antler he'd whittled),

but we allowed Grandma her antiquity

as she held me in her lap and told me

of relics: the holy grail, Eucharistic miracles,

incorrupt body of St. Bernadette...

and I, entranced, felt her breath on my neck,

her soft bosom better than any pillow,

and her voice, like incense, filled the room.

I pray from my heart; Mary brings the Trinity, 

and I relax into peace and hear 

Grandma singing with the angels.

by Margaret Bednar, October 21 

This is linked with "Poets & Storytellers United - About those bones"  

Write poetry or prose which explores where the bones in the poem below might've come from.  (poem written by  HERE)

fingers framed by light
clutching an old rosary
carved of human bone

Tuesday, October 20, 2020




A satin cape cascades off a shoulder,

branches drape, sequins and diamonds sparkle

beneath sun's tickling touch; diaphanous 

a new word to explore. 

Mermaid gown, ivy embroidered,

travels upon forest floor, resplendently elegant;

more a ball gown than evening bedecked as she is

in swags and tulle, edged with flowers, rosettes,

vine-like lace.

Oscar Da La Renta bows to such as these,

grand dames and sprightly, willowy youth 

showcasing bustles, bouffants, A-line, and tiered.

I'm underdressed, Timberlands and jeggings practical,

but certainly no competition.   I think of tonight,

scratch the burger joint off my list, make a reservation 

where newfound desire to shine will be appreciated.  

by Margaret Bednar, October 20, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - #42 Autumnal"