"Sisters"

Sisters

This as youth we learned:

Link hearts and hands,
rely upon instinct and not a little charm,

loose hair to flow upon open air,
spin freely as summer abundance blooms

embrace mother's words to never forget
how happily together we do skip.

by Margaret Bednar, June 25, 2015

Yes a bit cheesy, but I tried to rise to the occasion for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Words Count with Mama Zen"  A word list (of which I used six I think) and write a poem of 60 words or less.

We recently traveled to the mountains for the day.  My girls (and a friend) love photo opportunities.  They love to put on summer dresses and pile on LOTS of charm and dance, swing, twirl.  A few ladies in their 60's were inspired and held hands and skipped like my girls were - they ended up giggling and saying how young it made them feel.  Their men WERE smiling as they walked behind them... :)

To get out in the summertime and enjoy the days, to breath in the air, notice the new flowers blooming, the sheep and cows dotting the hills... yes.  I hope they always find time to do this together.  

"No Such Thing as Small Mercies"

No Such Thing as Small Mercies

I can destroy it

with a flick of a booted toe

or a swipe of my shovel

yet today

decide to let the sun flicker light

upon intricate patterns

that must have spun all night.

I remember the spider

two summers ago

outside dining room window

(a truly huge southern variety)

that mesmerized us

scurrying across woven web,

wrapping assorted victims;

(looked at our own dinner plates -

similarities unseen).

Lucky I couldn't reach her,

blessed was she my son became "attached",

that my mother's heart responded in kind.

Must have known a sanctuary

when presented as she stayed all July -

until one day she was gone,

morning dew preserving her lacy artwork 

a while longer.

How often 

do we unknowingly teeter

beside a precipice, unaware of mercies granted?

How beautiful is the foundation I weave,

how strong its construction?

How benevolent the Being

that watches over me?

Margaret Bednar, June 20, 2015


This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge - Ode to the Quotidian" aka "mundane, daily.  Start with something lowly and scale whatever heights or fancies you wish".

I see spider webs every day at the barn and I don't always see them in a wondrous light.

Pictures of Emanuel

Pictures of Emanuel

Embraced within the womb of
Mother Emanuel, evil sat
And listened to voices praising -
Nine faces looked into hatred,
Undertook a martyrs call to
Evict hate from the game, allowed
Love to rule the day.

Perhaps we'll learn from voices
Rallying together, honoring
A path flashed upon TV screens -
Yearn, reach, achieve true healing.

For are we all not a patchwork quilt
Of ornately different patterns, textures,
Rich colors?  God's tapestry of

Undeniable beauty?  Will we ever find the
Sense to grasp tightly and hold all dear?

by Margaret Bednar, June 20, 2015

My feeble attempt to express myself regarding the 9 lives murdered in Charleston SC due to racist hatred - and the moving, and truly heroic voices raised by the victims' families during the bond hearing.  I will do my best to never forget their example of what true Christian mercy looks like.

NY Times "Charleston Shooting".

The following is an excerpt from this NY Times article:

At Morris Brown A.M.E. Church, just a few blocks from Emanuel, the mood of a packed house alternated between grief, hope and resilience. Calls of “enough is enough” echoed as the Rev. John Richard Bryant called for an end to gun violence.

“You look like a quilt, you look like patches,” Mr. Bryant said. “You all fit somewhere.”

Hundreds of people packed the pews of the white-columned Second Presbyterian Church on Thursday evening in a vigil to remember the victims of the shooting. Pastors read Scripture, the congregation sang and the Rev. Sidney Davis delivered a rousing sermon, his voice cracking at times. After reading a passage from the Bible, he said, “Last night, Satan came again. Satan came to say white and black cannot raise God.”

Later, he told the racially mixed congregation that the bullets were not simply penetrating the people who died in the church. “It was all of us dying last night,” he said.

Linked with "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday: Picture This"   I hope this is close enough to the prompt challenge - I have really been moved by the voices and images of the people declaring "Hate won't win".   And if we take their lead, it won't.

"The Descent"

The Descent

Indian tobacco and snakeroot have yet to blossom.
Folklore, myths, and trails beg to be explored -

yet I find my eyes clinging to haloed light
filtered between slits of ridge top pines;
yearn for sun's blessing upon my skin -

descend into darkness,
enveloped by a trembling reverence.

Find a bit of salvation
in pocketed fingertips lightly caressing
Seymour's "Wildflowers of Mammoth Cave" -

quietly murmur "Amen".

by Margaret Bednar, June 12, 2015


This is linked with the challenge "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Herotomost's Friday Challenge - the Cavern of My Thoughts".

About 20 years ago I descended into the depths of Mammoth Cave in Kentucky.  As much as I was mesmerized by what I saw, I also have never repeated it - I had mixed emotions - perhaps the fear of going down with my young children had something to do with it.  I will admit, given a choice, I will happily explore the flora and fauna of a forest as opposed to what's below its surface.  

The Apology

The Apology

Implied devotion
spirals from my palms
vase of flowers plucked to thorns
hastily written words
left unread.

by Margaret Bednar, June 5, 2015

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - Floral Explosion".  I used this quote for inspiration ""by plucking petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower" Rabindranath Tagore

Hold Tight

Hold Tight

I lightly caress

soft curve of cheek and chin,

a nose boyish,

a brow silky smooth

like the surface of a gentle pond.

My finger paints his morning face, 

tickles tips of lashes long,

gently circles soft brown eyes 

reflective of hopes and dreams 

of we who love him.

Soak in toothless smile

and arms fervently hugging,

close my eyes;

hold tight this moment
of seven year old boy.

by Margaret Bednar, June 2, 2015

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

Undaunted

Undaunted

Broad-winged hawks cartwheel and dive 'til caught
by chosen mate.  They spiral down, a hymn,
it seems, whistles upon mountain air; God
and prayer shimmer and shine.  No clouds dim
their joy.  I stand beneath mighty wing's shade
for a brief flutter and feel blessed.  There goes
spirits free of guilt, of burden.  Glazed
with honesty and true righteousness; flaws
not apparent at this distance.  'Tis lies
I've lived - that one will sink like heavy stones
in disrepair if unwilling to dye
one's soul to conform to tenor and tone
of what others think.  Hence forth, I'll stretch 'n yawn;
greet each day with courage, no longer a pawn.

by Margaret Bednar, June 1, 2015

Of course, humans are more than just instinct, or so I believe.  And as a Catholic have had my share of guilt... but as a Christian, I believe once forgiven we need to let "it" go. Soar in blessed grace and to follow what we know of truth...  which is a life long journey - one full of many voices - and a true challenge to listen to very few of them :)

I've taken quiet a poetic break - just busy with family and life - but I have missed my blogging friends and those who partake of the many awesome challenges of the "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads".

And I'm swooping back in with quite a difficult challenge - a "Bout-Rimes" (which is French and means rhymed ends).   The ending words are pre-selected.  We have been given leeway to use homophones or slant rhymes to the original list and I did accept that offer.  The original order and words are:

caught, him, got, dim, shade, goes, glade, flows, lies, stone, dies, tone, lawn, gone.

I tried to "resemble" a sonnet in style - but played loosely with word count and iambs a bit... Hey, I'm a bit rusty.

Flip on over and see the wonderful efforts of fellow poets:  "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Challenge Bout-Rimes"