Friday, April 29, 2016



Cameoed against close of day
horses' shadows stretch
upon evening tide's gentle cleansing
of field and grove.

I close my calendar,
honor this candlelight hour
when birdsong settles
and Primrose awaits her Sphinx.

by Margaret Bednar, April 29, 2016

* a night pollinator, the sphinx moth pollinates Evening Primroses.  I also took artistic liberty as primroses aren't quite blooming yet - I believe they start in June and July - maybe May but not sure.

My pencil has been quite busy filling my calendar in these days - year-end school performances & commitments - not to mention trying to stay on track to finish up homeschooling my youngest two by the end of May - AND prepare for our household move to the mountains come mid-June.  I apologize for not visiting and commenting on your blogs as much as I like.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Instapoetry"

I invite you to Listen:

Monday, April 18, 2016


Lake Lindley

Sun and shadow
twist upon Lake Lindley's path,
display spring's fine muted tapestry
of leaf and limb

as birdsong and bicycles
intertwine, become
my meditation.

Pedal boats bob gem-like
upon the stillness
of late Monday afternoon,
a pair of ducks the only ripple.

by Margaret Bednar, April 18, 2016

You're Invited to Listen:

Pedal Boats
This is linked with "dVerse - Quadrille - 7 "twist"

Also linking with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

I must beg forgiveness - I have two poetry challenges from last week I need to visit and comment on. I am in the middle of two musical productions - my daughters are in - "Thoroughly Modern Millie" and "Mary Poppins" and this keeps me hopping.    I was able to get out for a three laps around the lake today - and jot down his quick little 44 word poem.  

It also means I have "sole duty" of Oberon, our horse, and I "have to" to get out to the barn and make sure he is brushed (spring is a huge shedding time) and exercised.   "Poor" me.

If I don't find time before this Saturday morning, I will finally be sitting down Saturday morning to visit and comment on all the prompts I have participated in from last week and this week.  I'll enjoy my coffee (I'm trying to give it up during the week) and poetry reading.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Haibun - An Island's Secrets

Ocracoke has secrets.  For those who have time, she may unveil herself slowly while her tide plays with the moon and her sun rises with an avian chorus.  She never expects a routine.  The Algonkin Indians fished and gathered; pirates Vane, Rackham, and Teach rationed, recovered, and rested; a fishing village sprouted.  Now, as then, the estuaries, salt marshes, and grasslands quietly speak, soothe.  Broad-leaved evergreen trees once canopied large swaths, now cool a few paths, share roots with the Tidal Red Cedar and Live Oaks; gnarled, ancient silhouettes that still rest against a horizon far-flung.  My favorite shrub is the Magnolia Virginiana or sweet-bay (some say swamp-bay but that negates the romance).   Ocracoke’s voice today is slowly being eroded by nature, more quickly by man.  Some say one mad hurricane will sweep all away.  Until then, I'll kayak past Teach’s Hole, bask in loblolly pine's leaning shade, walk white-sand beaches wind-swept clean and crisp, tilt my ear for incoming breeze upon heated neck and perhaps capture a few of her blue trembling secrets before my footprints wash away.

Horizon and dune cradle a blue trembling(s)
promise to cleanse secrets and souls

by Margaret Bednar, April 12, 2016

You are Invited to Listen:

My attempt to fulfill the requirements for "dVerse - Haibun #11" - Reach Out"  \

Also linked up with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

"The Photograph"

The Photograph

There's a photo, black and white,
rests upon Mother's bureau;
a girl with blond, straight bangs,
fair of skin.   Used to think she was me.

But how could that be
as she was older
and I didn't recognize
the plaid, button-down shirt.

Today, blood transfusions would cure,
but she had only months to count.
Colored and drew pictures instead,
hand-drawn, cut-out paper dolls and clothes;

now cherished upon my wall.
Often ponder her wish of becoming nine;
so grown-up sounding, you see.
Yet it wasn't to be.

Eight was all she had
and blue eyes and a smile
within a frame
that still reminds me of me.

by Margaret Bednar, April 6, 2016

This is a work in progress... a draft poem of sure.  I really look nothing like my sisters, or I think, my parents.  The photo of my sister, Susan, always mesmerized me when I was young.  She looked a lot like me - but no one spoke of her. I finally found out who she was when I was maybe... 8.  I really don't know how old I was when I gathered the courage to ask - (there was something I picked up on - that we weren't to really talk about her, I guess) I just remember always being confused by the photo and shocked when they told me she was my sister.  Come to find out, she couldn't wait to come home from the hospital and visit and see the "baby"... me.  

"Of a Tail Feather"

Image shared at Magpie Tales #311

Of a Tail Feather

A tail feather once slid
beneath fervored brow bent low
above ivory black,

love seductive, passion wet
upon parchment held and delivered
between strong hands.

Sun and time
have turned iron ink brown;
words whisper softly now

of an urgency not flashy.
No need to peacock love
as ornamentals are temporary,

worn upon a hat
or in the hair.  His words
were a songbird's, meant to surround

and help me fly.

by Margaret Bednar, April 6, 2016.

This is linked with "Magpie Tales: Mag 311"  

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

"The Outer Banks"

The Outer Banks

The Outer Banks

Of shifting sands, waves, currents,
occasional nor'easter;
of coastal plains slanting in homage
toward haven of estuaries and sounds;

all a crescentic barrier's lot
to woo sun and moon's spring tide,
to lean against low sloping salt marsh,
embrace sea level's rise.


The science of it all
my son does not know,
points out decaying seabird
covered with sand;

questions how close
man has built.
Asks if hurricanes still exist.


Unprompted looks skyward,
raises arms; wind swirls his hair,
flaps his jacket, carries his laugh
as sea gull hovers.

Over-wash and storm-surges;
things to ponder tomorrow.

by Margaret Bednar, April 5, 2016

The Outer Bank

Spring Tide - is has nothing to do with the season of spring.  It occurs when the moon is new or full and the sun, moon, and earth are aligned.  The collective gravitational pull on the water is strengthened.  A Perigean spring tide occurs three times or four times a year - when the moon's perigee (its closest point to Earth) coincides with a spring tide.  This combination when it occurs can have disastrous results.  In some countries it is known as a "king tide".

I found this interesting - if anyone adores a barrier island, this may be of interest.

The Outer Banks of North Carolina (U.S. Dept. of the Interior U.S. Geological Survey) First Printing 1986

This is linked (late) with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - April Poetry Month Day 4 - Nature" and "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform".