"Sanctuary"

Sanctuary

Effervescent and plaintive -

a contradiction or so it seems,

my song, undeciphered

left behind as I rise,

sail into clouds upon ocean's spray

a spirit suspended -

almost an Assumption...

but with one last breath

I mercifully plunge, a gentle behemoth,

back into deep blue's silence

of bubbles, sunbeams, and vibrations -

an underwater sanctuary.

Can you hear my plea?

by Margaret Bednar, March 28, 2017

My dear friend, Toril, is an artist living in the driftless region of Wisconsin.  She can be found on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/torilfineart/ and these fine fellows are for sale (there are actually three of them!) and many other new paintings she will be selling this spring & summer. 

With such beauty, it is daunting putting words to the feelings these images evoke... I am my own worst critic, I'm afraid... 

This is linked with "dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: From Natures Point of View"

"Springtime Quest"

Springtime Quest

The curve of his neck seems a metaphor,
not "clothed in thunder" (Job 39:19)
but something serene and comforting -
perhaps more akin to soft summer rain.

His nose tickles, comforts
like no words ever can; lips inquisitive -
searching for sweet treats
I gladly offer.

Ears flick backward, forward
as I test iambic pentameter -
his head nods, warm brown eyes
seemingly approve.  He's easily pleased.

Trees brim with birds, mint green grass
is sprouting, and words flutter & tease me
to reach out, grasp, frame them
within lines and margins.

I lean forward ever so slightly,
send Oberon off into a gallop -
challenge this budding spring day
to escape my poetic lasso.

by Margaret Bednar, March 28, 2017

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Thought Animals"

The challenge was to write this poem in quadrille form - I thought that meant four line stanzas - not a total of 44 words!  So not to be accused of not following the rules, here is a 44 version:

Curve of his neck's a metaphor

not "clothed in thunder"...

more akin to soft summer rain.

His ears flick backward

as I test iambic pentameter

mint green grass & words flutter -

tease to be tamed within lines & margins

try to defy my poetic lasso

And also with "The Tuesday Platform" 

Home

Home

I close my eyes,
brush away illusion of yesteryear

  smell sweet dandelions 
  and fields of alfalfa & clover,

  hear Sugar barking, 
  warning of Katy's imminent wanderlust
  and roving ways - my father whistles - 
  saves me an afternoon of searching the tracks 
  and riverbed for wayward hound.  

  Mother hums, 
  garden pail full of vegetables I detest, 

  chickens cluck, ponies stomp their hooves; 
  horseflies are especially pesky come late July. 

  I'm busy weeding glorious flowerbeds with my sister
  (we laugh and bicker simultaneously) 
  not sure if what I've unearthed 
  is intruder or poesy.  

  But then,
  I adore the sweet dandelions...

Vignettes such as these shimmer within me;
settle me, center me, shelter me;
create a strength I believe I've fostered
in my children.

A home in their heart,
better than money in the bank.

by Margaret Bednar, March 22, 2017

This is linked with "The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge - Home" and "The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

Of Quilts & Killing Fields

Of Quilts & Killing Fields 

Come spring they'd stretch
between birch and pine,
dappled light dancing lovingly
upon tufted ornamental stitches;
billowing sails filled with earthly fragrance.

Beneath snowdrops
lay twisted and mangled;
a killing field begun
by a twitching tail
and a desire to please.

by Margaret Bednar, March 17, 2017


linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Fireblossom Friday - Incongruity"

note:  Snowdrop flowers are white and represent purity.

As a child, every spring my cat couldn't wait to spend more time outdoors and start hunting - he was always so proud to show me his efforts...  I don't deal with this now as my three cats are all permanent indoor cats.

"Produce Aisle"

"Produce"

Produce Aisle

I've always longed to melt into Monet paintings,
feel his strokes of color upon my skin
warmer than any summer sunrise.

Renoir's eye for intimacy,
Cezanne's bright shapes,
Picasso's creative boldness -
all these things I see as I mingle amongst the produce,

fondle golden beets, caress cantaloupe's contours,
relish the idea of organic beauty upon a canvas,
my brush creating a world of swirls and dashes.

I arrange delicata to the left, a radish's greens
hail from the right, red peppers and aubergine eggplant
centrally featured, shift the pomegranate around,
imagine it outlined with sure, dark Van Gogh-like strokes...

frame these produce divas as they seductively pose,
swear the pear's channeling Marilyn Monroe
(perhaps the butternut too), sungolds pout their red,

and the kaleidoscope mix of carrots claim best dressed
in their gowns of atomic red, cosmic purple,
and lunar white. I take a quick photo of my market still-life,
sweep them off their "red carpet"

take them home to be boiled, baked, chopped, devoured -
fate unchanged, yet destined to be remembered,
perhaps with a brush stroke of summer sun.

by Margaret Bednar, March 9, 2017

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Rommy's Challenge - Synesthesia"  The idea as to swap sensory imagery - What does a sunrise taste like? Does the sound of crickets have a tactile feel?  were examples.  I think I got off track - comparing the produce to divas and a glamorous red carpet type of walk...  Or maybe my sensory is the visual (imagination)?

Delicata?  a delicious squash.  Here is a link to 15 fantastic pumpkins and squash recipes and I have used a number of them... Not only cute but yummy.   https://www.thespruce.com/winter-squash-and-pumpkins-2217736