belated Friday Flash 55 & Fireblossom Friday "Longing"

My youngest - five years ago...

Longing

To sink into
a creampuff cheek,
inhale powder fresh,
nuzzle featherdown,
gaze into eyes
constantly seeking mine.

Motherhood still soars:
fragile, full, fierce,
but I long for an embrace
fully protective,

not this searing longing
I stamp down, heart skipping,
summersaulting,
leaving me breathless,
as they rush out the door,
distracted kiss upon my cheek.

by Magaret Bednar, June 30, 2013, revised July 1st.

Late to Friday Flash 55's party, but hey, I'll help clean up :)  Also linked with "Fireblossom Friday - Loss".

I've been absent a bit from the computer these past weeks spending summertime with my children.   I saw a young couple holding a tiny baby - felt my hands and arms tingle - I ached so for a little one (and I've already done the puppy thing).  - funny thing is my youngest is only 5!  (but I know how fast time flies - my oldest is almost 21).

I reworked this poem a bit from its original.  I had it a bit more fearful of letting them go and that really isn't the case.  I enjoy watching them spread their wings and I have full confidence in their abilities.  

IGWRT's About Face - "Tradition"

Photo courtesy of Peggy Goetz

Tradition

A scarlet halo
crowns her "indigenous"

woven motifs
hint of ancient Maya -

tourists point, take photos.

I linger, look into eyes
deep with unshaken belief,

walk away, feeling guilty
for having trespassed.

by Margaret Bednar, June 26, 2013



I did not go to Guatemala, the photo was taken by Peggy Goetz during her travels.  I do remember going to Indian Reservations here in the United States as a little girl and it was all a game to me.  Seeing "live" Indians, an "Indian village".   I feel it was probably more "sideshow" than truly informative or respectful.  Perhaps it is different today.  I know when I tour Southern Plantations today, much is made of the "slave tours" today and presented in a respectful and educational format - I'm sure it wasn't 40 years ago.

This is linked with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "About Face".   It is really a challenge to write to a portrait I know nothing about - and a good exercise.  Thanks, Peggy.

IGWRT's Sunday Mini Challenge "My Totem"

My Totem

We are riders
on the storm of life,

paths crossing, pausing

to bask in china blue sky's
gentle breath.

For but a moment
you lean into me, content,
heartbeats shared.

Submissiveness
is often considered
weakness,

but your spirit,
gentled, is truly
a powerful guardian.

by Margaret Bednar, June 23, 2013

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge".  Susie showcased two poems written by him, which I found very interesting.  For the challenge we were given several Jim Morrison song titles and needed to use one in a poem.  I selected "Riders on the Storm".

I don't own Sebastian anymore, I only have one horse, Oberon.  But I get to see Sebastian all the time as we are at the same barn.  HERE is a recent post from my horse blog - it has a video of Sebastian as a baby!  He was adorable.

Also linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Open Link Monday".

IGWRT's Friday Challenge with Herotomost "Blindness"

Blindness

We seek rare,
exclaim over exquisite,
admire abstract,
live for tomorrow,

insensible
to nature's simple gift
of a flower unfolding.

by Margaret Bednar, June 21, 2013

This if for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's "Friday Challenge - Life, Love & the Pursuit of a Really Profound Thought".

Have YOU ever enjoyed watching nature fully awaken?  Have you done it more than once?  Perhaps this is where peace truly begins...

IGWRT's - Get Listed "Transparent"

Transparent

A playground punk
careens with speed
down a slippery slope,
sports a James Dean pout
when told to "SLow DOwn!",

a tattooed rebel
with energy explosive
his mother agrees.

He scrapes, clutches
bloody knees, tears glisten,
unshed, slyly glances her way,

observes tenderness
and drops the act,
becomes the sweet little boy
his mother needs.

by Margaret Bednar, June 20, 2013

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's "Get Listed" with host Helen Dehner of "Poetry Matters".  I used the words:  punk, tenderness, clutch(es), and transparent (the title).

I will also link up with Friday Flash 55 - a story (poem in my case) in 55 words.

The Mag #173, "Together"

The Promenade, 1918, by Marc Chagall

Together

I'll hold tight the bluebird,
you aim for the sky.

Together,
invincible's within our grasp.

by Margaret Bednar, June 18, 2013

Marc Chagall & his beloved wife, Bella

Marc Chagall and Bella were passionate about one another.  HERE is a little bit about his life, her early death AND Bella's small sketchbook of Yiddish poems she translated into French with Marc Chagall's sketches and paintings.   He continued to use it for 20 years after her death.  The sketchbook was up for auction at Sotheby's in 2011, estimated sale price 600,000 - $900,000.  I wonder what it ended up selling for. 

(Bluebird represents happiness)

This was written for "The Mag #173".

dVerse Open Link Night "The Scryer"

The Scryer

My little Nostradamus peers trance-like
into his own mirror of Galadriel
visions reflected for but a moment

before he's off throwing
a pebble into another scrying pool
changing the color, ebb, and flow

of nature's Magic 8-Ball
of fate once again.

by Margaret Bednar, March 24, 2012

* * * * *

Today I am linking this with dVerse Poet's Pub Open Link Night.  I wrote this over a year ago.

Scrying - a  magic practice of seeing things physically in a medium (cyrstal, stone, mirror, water, fire, smoke)

Nostradamus - A famous 16th century scryer.

Mirror of Galadriel - a basin filled with water in which one may see visions of the past present and future, appearing in The Lord of the Rings.

dVerse Poetics - Beauty is Everywhere "Bloody Lane"

Bloody Lane

A coverlet of verdant green

lies nestled between quiet fields

of swaying golden wheat

and stalks of ripening corn

which are first to yawn and stretch,

offer up a prayer,

as dawn's mourning is greeted

with glistening tips of bayonets

hidden beneath harmless cotton clouds,

a nightmare resurrected

of fear-filled hate, where duty

becomes a river flowing red

of brothers, fathers, cousins,

bonds of love, ignored,

sacrificed for Old Glory's cause.

Ideals don't matter much,

death has no bias

as heroes quickly become 

gloriously, tragically dead.

With the setting sun,

all will rise, walk and laugh,

put strife and conflict to rest,

and plan for next year's celebration

of the day romanticism died

a gory death, September 1862,

upon this coverlet of verdant green.

by Margaret Bednar, June 16, 2013

"Bloody Lane", Antietam National Battlefield

This is linked with "dVerse - Poetics:  Beauty is Everywhere".  Try to use metaphors, adjectives and adverbs - create something beautiful contrasting it with something ugly.   I worked really hard on this... only to read the instructions further that the contrast wasn't necessary.  ha!

I'm still glad I struggled (and it may need tweaking).  What immediately came to my mind was Antietam National Battlefield, the bloodiest day of the Civil War.  Every year it has a reenactment of that day, and last year its 150 anniversary was celebrated.  The grounds are spectacularly beautiful and the day of reenactment quite exciting and fun.  I'm sure 1862 was quite different.

Also linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Open Link Monday"

Poetry Jam - It's All About Flowers "Guidance"

Guidance

Faith I found
by the ol' bog garden
wrapped in a lavender gown.
A show-stopper she
draped across trail's path,
nature's fleur-de-lis, displayed.

Sword-like guards
warned "Just admire",
so I sat and listened
to secrets softly shared
of truth-filled beauty,
promises of love,
and spirituals gently sung.

Wisdom comes in many forms
and grateful I'll always be
to have happened upon
this rainbow's drop
beside still waters
of the ol' garden bog.

by Margaret Bednar, June 15, 2013

This is linked to "Poetry Jam - It's All About Flowers"

I researched quite a bit about these spring flowers and I learned that the Iris was named for the Greek goddess of the rainbow.  Iris was the messenger of the god's and rode the rainbow to and from the Earth in her multi-colored robes.

The iris stands for many things: honesty, devotion, sophistication, sensitivity, loyalty, a bit of passion... and all the other things I mentioned in my poem.  The iris is the state flower of Tennessee.

The fleur-de-lis is a stylized iris which has been used for centuries as a symbol for royalty and is a symbol of France and appears on many coat of arms. 

dVerse Form for All - Rondel "Dark Sentinels"

Dark Sentinels

The raven's rock
is often sought, dark sentinels
these ravens, squawk
visions, this night form of the hawk
tells truth to those who seek their ills
and hidden thoughts - symbol all's well
this raven's rock.

by Margaret Bednar, June 14, 2013 (corrected 6-14-2013: added line 4 and changed slightly to better follow the form of a Rondel -)

The raven is often heard to cackle utterances that sound like "cras cras", which in Latin, means tomorrow.  This helps the legend that the raven was able to foretell the future and reveal omens and signs.  It was also believed by the Indians that a person's hidden fears could be revealed by a Raven.

This is for "dVerse - Form for All - Rondel" which is a VERY hard poetry format and we were given the go ahead to play a bit with the format.  For a detailed explanation of what a rondel is, click on the link.

In doing research for this post, the host had a hard time finding traditional examples that followed the rules.  It seems that "back in the day" this form wasn't very popular.  Hence, the leniency for which I am very grateful.

I will hesitantly link this up with Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Artistic Interpretation - Cowboy Poetry (hosted by ME).  The image is Merri Melde's photography for her website "The Equestrian Vagabond".   And her horse BLOG of the same name.    This poem is not traditional "cowboy poetry" but it does deal with the west and a western symbol - the Raven, which is often seen as a symbol of death, not light, as Native Americans believed.

IGWRT's Artistic Interpretations - Cowboy Poetry "Death of a Dream"

Death of a Dream

Her beauty reflects
the land she rides,

a harshly seamed mosaic
of repentance and pride,

and as the haunting cry
of a crow's lament

oft' does signal
a songbird's death,

so too womanly dreams
of hearth and home

dashed to bits,
forever to roam

due a jealous rage
and a forty-five,

with the blackbird's caw
her ode does rise.

by Margaret Bednar, June 14, 2013

This is for Imaginary Garden of Real Toad's "Artistic Interpretations" - Cowboy Poetry LITE.  Click on over and sit a spell :)  I'm hosting and this is my second poem writing to the fabulous photography of Merri Melde of "The Equestrian Vagabond".  She also has a horse BLOG.

IGWRT's Artistic Interpretations - Cowboy Poetry LITE "Heated"

Heated

Beneath calloused hands
she sighs, heat rises,
tune whistles softly,
time languid as he
rubs, bathes, soothes
his pretty little filly.

From beneath straw brim,
I blush, pretend it's Montana's
scorching summer sun.

by Margaret Bednar, June 14, 2013

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Artistic Interpretations with Margaret - Cowboy Poetry"  (THAT'S ME!)   I am hosting today's challenge.

This is what I call "Cowboy Poetry LITE" as most of us responding do not live out west, nor live the life of a cowboy/girl.  This is a contemporary piece as, believe it or not, traditional cowboy poetry has meter and rhyme.  If you are at al interested in learning more about cowboy poetry, click the above link.  And I invite you to give it a try.

The photographer we are writing our poetry to is the incredibly talented Merri Melde of "The Equestrian Vagabond".  Her horse blog can be found HERE, her photography for sale HERE.  She also sells jewelry and artwork! 

IGWRT"s Out of Standard - Film School Drop Out "Searching"

Searching

What is golden under a sky, grey?  What is valuable
in a city, lavish?  Where to find a gem, flawless?

From beneath tombstones bedecked with plastic red bouquets,
he rises, devil's leprechaun staggering, searching

for eyes dark with empty perfection, for a prize
he can drag below the dirt to serve a soul, degenerate.

by Margaret Bednar, June 13, 2013


This is linked and created specifically for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Out of Standard - Film School Drop Out Edition.  The Challenge:  Watch the clip and write a poem inspired by it.

So, before you think I have lost my mind... WATCH THE CLIP!   (and try it yourself!)

This also happens to be 55 words if you include the title!  So, I am happily linking this up with Friday Flash 55 (a story in 55 words, no more, no less).  

dVerse Open Link Night #100!! "Letting Go"

Letting Go

Yesterday and tomorrow
are acquainted with today,

where youth,
feet firmly planted,
watches destiny surge forward,
apathetic of bygone days,

while I watch yesterday's ripples
interplay about my feet,
realize how unpredictable,
dreams can be.

My hand grasps her wrist,
warns of my fear,
but she,
entranced with the dawn,
resists the connection,

and I, as all mothers must,
embrace sunset's splendor,
and let go.

by Margaret Bednar originally written 12-30-2012 (updated slightly 6-11-2013)

This is linked today to "dVerse's 100th Open Link Night".  Two years of opening the doors for poets to share work - to read and learn.  Hooray!

IGWRT's Open Link Monday "The Tobacco Farmers"

Farm Security Admin.,  Jack Delano, photographer

The Tobacco Farmers

Back in the day

he was a dashing young man, 

I a country girl, willowy and strong,

both of us full of zest and glee,

first generation polish stock, we.

Toiled side by side, 

he decapitating flowers 
and suckers stalk after stalk, 
stooped, sometimes crawling

between row upon row 

of never-ending filth.

I hoed and hoed, 
black calloused hands 
better than gloves.

Every hour or so, 
his glance, a smile

would lighten my load.

Mid morning break, 8:45, 

already exhausted

somehow kept going 'till high noon,

clothes soaked through,

we’d lean our backs 

against solitary bleached barn.

Blessed shade, our haven 
in the middle of hell,
consider ourselves lucky

if we sighted a snake, devil himself,
bigger the better, reassured us
the monstrous rats 
would be held at bay for another day.

Precious minutes, we rested

hands tingling, swollen

blisters burst, pink, tender.
My skin didn’t stand a chance 

of ever being baby soft.

Back into the field, 

never enough water

to quench our thirst,

often feeling dizzy 'n nauseous,

flamethrower upon our backs. 

Times were tough,
possessions few,

but my Matka she tell us

“Enjoy this freedom.” 

So we did.  Dignity, Self Respect, 
and Laughter filled all our days.

by Margaret Bednar,  originally published January 12, 2012:  EDITED a bit June 10, 2013

This was originally linked with Poetry Jam.  I am now linking it with Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's Open Link Monday.  

Kim Klassen's Friday Finds & Poetry Pantry #153 - "A Healing"

A Healing

Enchantment comes my way
as I walk the garden path,
a kind of whimsy, flushed pink,
extends an invitation

to slide, to spiral, and spin
into a world of purity.

A realm as fragile as raindrops,
where one tiptoes a luscious trail,
imagination still exists,
indulgence is embraced.

It isn't hard to fantasize
while admiring Calla Lilly's grace.

by Margaret Bednar, June 8, 2013

How would you describe the world of your favorite flower?

This is for "Kim Klassen Cafe's - Friday Finds" Kim's website says "Where texture, type & photos unite" and boy, does it ever.  I can't wait for next year when I have some time to take an on-line course again - she is organized and a wonderful teacher.

I had been bummed today as I hadn't "found that "daily" sensational photo.  I walked into the house after taking the photos below and noticed the raindrops on the tip of the Calla Lily and raced back outside.  I'm thrilled that I got such a great shot with my iPhone!!  (my battery was dead on my Canon)

Also linked with Poetry Pantry #153 - a very nice, supportive community for poets, AND
Shine the Divine's I Heart Macro Week #4 where Laura asks us to slow down and see the mini-miracles of nature.  

IGWRT's Music with Marian "Lady with the Ring"

Lady with the Ring

It's not so much a prayer
as a plea:

See me!
Light the votives,

petition prayers
for my soul another day.

A grave robber's Lazarus
am I, not a sign,

but praise the Lord
just the same.

Through flickering light
I appear

not spirit, but flesh
for your loving eyes to caress,

your hands to wash clean,
to tuck between cotton sheets,

your lips to kiss the golden ring
that brought me back to you.

by Margaret Bednar, June 7, 2013

Our family loves to sit around a bonfire and tell ghost/scary stories.  I've never heard this story before, and a summary can be found here:  Lady with the Ring.  (a husband buried his beloved wife with her wedding ring on.  That night a grave robber digs her grave up.  He is about to cut her finger off and steal the ring when she wakes up!  She had been buried alive by mistake!)

Below Tim Eriksen sings his version of this tale "Leave Your Light On".  (Facebook page HERE)

This is linked with and for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's Music with Marian "Hardcore Americana"

I also had to link his cool banjo version of "Amazing Grace" (I think it's a banjo)

Friday Flash 55 "Adirondack Bliss"

Adirondack Bliss

Every day I pause,
wish to sit a spell
upon cedar and cypress,

enjoy spring's labor
and sip a tart lemonade (spiked),
shaded by a floppy straw hat,

soak in the warmth
a southern spring serves,
while lilies and angelonia

wave colors bright,
a novel cradled upon my lap,
a dog beneath pampered, pedicured feet.

by Margaret Bednar, June 6, 2013

Every word of this wish is true... sigh.  I'm hoping SOME DAY... !  This is linked with the fabulous Friday Flash 55 - a story in 55 words - no more, no less.

IGWRT's Kerry's Wednesday Challenge - Nocturne "Charleston Harbor"

My family and I often enjoy "Ghost walks" in historic towns, and this was in the back of my mind when I wrote "Charleston Harbor"- how the harbor might come alive with the past as the tidal surges at dusk and sometime around midnight (and with the receding tide) the "spirits" once again fade away beneath her surface.  I consider this poem still in a rough draft mode. 

note:  Sullivan Island and James Island are on either side of Charleston Harbor.  The Ashely and Cooper are the two rivers which flank Charleston and merge, as the southerners claim, to form the Atlantic Ocean.

Charleston Harbor (rewrite)

She flaunts a gown of shimmering dusk
her escorts, palmetos and oaks,
seductively charms Sullivan and James

as gently swaying seagrass cloaks
her banks, and gentle moon winks
and nods a lazy waltz to which

she glides with eager rising beaus,
Sir Ashely 'n Cooper, bewitched
by ghostly reverie upon her breast:

of pillaged, glist'ning gold
(ol' secrets oyster shells still keep
of stories dark and gloomy told)
and pirates dangling twilight's jig to hell --

of summer-eve idyl's tempting path,
a lover's kiss and trickling sweat
beneath a darkened shadow, wrath
was chanced with passion's risk --

of union blue and glorious grey
of clashing families 'n nightly prayers
and southern sympathies displayed
for brav'ry true, for brav'ry daft --

of opulent castles near her shore
whose darkly-framed windows
with warmth aglow from ev'ry floor,
did slowly seep secrets to starlit skies --

of yesterday's wishes 'n dreams
do trysts and tragedies flirt
with time:  a chance to be redeemed
upon pages of tales told and tales to tell.

'Til yellow-crested night heron signals midnight
and glittering sails flicker and fade,
a dancing card collected, faded names a delight,
beneath a belle's receding tide, do ghosts abide.

by Margaret Bednar, June 6, 2013

Yellow-Crested Night Heron, Battery Park, Charleston Harbor

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's, Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Nocturne  Poems are requested to be lyrical NOT narrative.  I know now, currently I am far more a narrative poet than lyrical.  (sigh)

View from the Schooner we sailed on for our 23rd wedding anniversary in Charleston's Harbor

The Mag #171 "transfiguration"

Waking, Walking, Singing, in the Next Dimension?  1979 by Morris Graves

transfiguration

A devotion
repeated, lived

by minutes, days.  Years
accrue.

Haloed perfection
sought,

though seldom gifted,
and then

only if
the burden can be borne.

by Margaret  Bednar, June 4, 2013

This is linked with The Mag #171 offering a different visual each week.  The image above was a difficult one for me.

The Transfiguration is the moment Jesus revealed his divinity to Peter, James, & John.

My title is with a lower case "t", signifying how we are called to accept the divine within us.  Reading the lives of the Saints, I'm always amazed by the crosses they were asked to carry.  I believe we are all called to be saints, to ponder vices/virtues, to better ourselves and the lives of those around us.  I also believe God will never ask more of us than we can give, more than we can bear.

I Heart Macro Challenge & dVerse - "Simplicity"

Simplicity

A fragrance
crushed, steamed,
dabbed behind an ear.

A beauty
domesticated, snipped,
arranged in Waterford Crystal.

An artistic statement
of love, passion,
absolute perfection.

A rare joy
to see a rose simply be
wild and free.

by Margaret Bednar, June 3, 2013

The first photo is linked with "Shine the Devine's - I Heart Macro"

Also linked with dVerse Poet's Pub #99.

Poetry Pantry #152 "The Greatest Gift"

The Greatest Gift

Gentleness is
a gift far greater
than strength,

like filtered sun,
seeps bone deep,
settles the heart

and peace is born.

by Margaret Bednar, June 3, 2013

This is for Poetry Pantry #152.   Also linked with Imaginary Garden with  Real Toad's Open Link Monday.

IGWRT's Birthday in June - "Sweet Thang"

Fried Pickels, Hushpuppies, & She-Crab Soup - Hyman's Restaurant, Charleston, SC

Sweet Thang

I've never had a soft
nor flirtatious voice,
just a matter-of-fact,
tell-it-like-it-is
(I prefer to call it) honest
approach to life.

My manners aren't rude,
though that label's
been thrown at me
a time or two.

I'd love to think
"Darlin'", "Shuga", "Honey"
unnecessary bedazzlements
that need never tickle my tongue,

but moving South, I've learned:
to quench my thirst with sweet tea;
appreciate coleslaw in my barbecue;
praise hushpuppies and she-crab soup;
enjoy okra, pickles, tomatoes - fried.

Why not learn to bat my lashes,
hover a smile about my lips,
purr, "Well, bless your heart,
Sweetie"?

They say a Southern Belle
is a gentle soul.  I see her
as a damn fine actress.

by Margaret Bednar, June 2, 2013

This is my RANT for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - A Birthday in June - Get Ready to Howl" celebrating birthday boy, Allen Ginsberg.  My rant is not political, but personal.  If I wasn't SO STUBBORN, I'd have made life a lot easier for myself and embraced a bit of southern charm.  Maybe a few more mint juleps and we will see...

How to Make a Traditional Southern Mint Julep Cocktail: