Sunday, September 30, 2018



Heat of day sways
a delicate beauty with resolute spine

but don't confuse lace
with weakness

or drops of blood
with defeat.

Spirit, wild and free
is nature's way;

so why so often do we seek
to tame and bind?

by Margaret Bednar, September 30, 2018

Note:  In the second year, Queen Anne's Lace has a red or purple center which legend says is Queen Anne of Great Britain's spilled blood from a pricked winter while tatting lace.

linked (late) with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman - Earth Grief"

Sunday, September 23, 2018

A Golden Touch

123RF Stock Photo
A Golden Touch

A bit of powdered bronze, a flush, a blush
is all she needs to lure 'long path and curve.
Kissed golden are sprouting reds, yellows,
oranges.  Even green glows as if glossed,
sun-dappled, unabashedly exposing
hill and valley to anyone longing
to embrace such a beauty unfolding.

Find myself wishing I'd left earlier,
put away dust pan, broom and mop,
allowed dishes to remain thricly stacked.
Accept swaying birch trees' offer to dance,
skirt myself along trails just beginning
to color outside lines as leaves flutter
and skit downward, one landing in my hair;

decide to wear it as if I’ve been crowned. 

by Margaret Bednar, September 22, 2018

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Mini Challenge - A Rainbow of Sonnets"

Great liberty here as I have created my own "Modern Sonnet".   14 lines (but I added the last single line as a "clincher", tried to use internal rhyme as much as possible as I don't have ending lines rhyming, and tried to use iambic pentameter when I could and... I tried to keep each line to a 10 syllable count (I think one is over by one, and another line short by two).  

Saturday, September 15, 2018



How important is conjugating a verb
or mastering Algebra?
How inspiring is a brand that stifles?

Charting impossible is adventurous,
but what of resistance from those who diagnose,
chose from labels pre-set, who resist possibilities,
accept excuses?

Hail those who prod, inspire, dare to dream
of glass ceilings shattered,
who seize the day,
rules changed; mother bears
ferociously guiding, challenging.

Burning is talent unrecognized, world at peril
as Einsteins in basements
collect government assistance
neglected of inspiration and an equal place
to live for today so we have tomorrow.

Why is "different" only applauded
when it's outwardly beautiful?
Why are we unable to see within -

why does it scare us?

Margaret Bednar, September 15, 2018

It isn't that being "labeled" is bad, it is what comes with that label.  Back in Grandin's childhood days, it would have meant institutionalization - and look at her today because of her strong-willed, highly educated mother - who fought the "establishment" and in my opinion, a hero.  A significant percentage, perhaps, of computer "nerds" and people like Einstein have changed our world - are (were) most likely somewhere on the Autistic spectrum.   What miraculous discoveries are not being fulfilled because of coddling, "sympathy", or labeling that thwarts their genius?   In my opinion, today our school systems, college degrees, etc. are set up to do quite a bit of harm to these individuals (to anyone who learns differently - my son might be mildly dyslexic) ... who need to have education personalized, learn differently from the majority...  What will our future be missing because "administration" and government regulations stifle their progress?

I watched the movie "Temple Grandin" (a "watch now" movie on Amazon Prime) and then just couldn't let this woman go and I googled her and have listened to many of her conference talks and interviews. HERE is her specific web site.  Below is an interview you might enjoy:

This if for two prompts.  One is "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Music with Marion - Made for Now" a Janet Jackson video and have applied the sentiments to this poem.

I also hope it qualifies for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Challenge - Resistance".  
Of which I apologize as I think I missed the actual point of the prompt - to delve into that which blocks us from our inner poetic voice - what do we avoid saying, feeling - therefor not writing our best truth... ?  I think it's a bit too deep for me to figure out ... 

Monday, September 10, 2018



A chilled martini glass
is a vessel for indulgence,
sometimes solace:
vanilla vodka,
Godiva chocolate (liqueur and grated),
dash of cream and ice, shaken.

Heralds back to scraped knees,
summers on the porch,
Nestle Quick triple scooped, stirred,
chocolate milk mustaches

better than bands-aids any day.

by Margaret Bednar, September 10, 2018


Image found on Pinterest HERE

Heavenward is skyward, as a child
I'd search past clouds, past stars at night
and moon's consecrated light.

In my room, St. Michael
fiery Seraphim
fighting for souls
sword steady



while others,
words mispronounced,
some out of order;
youthful fervor, devout -

billowing curtains, white wings
fluttering, soothing.  Window screen
my confessional, eyes seeking God.

by Margaret Bednar, September 10, 2018

This is for (submitted rather late) "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads-Fussy Little Forms - Nonet".

Thursday, September 6, 2018

The Fisherman

They say fly fishing's been 'round
since the Macedonians; red wool,
two feathers from under a cock's wattles,
six feet each of rod and line - and there it is:
200 A.D.

Grandma said angling's in Grandpa's blood;
once, while napping, I saw his fingers working
as if tying on flies; he awoke in the best of moods.

Weekends often found us amongst hill country's
gently moving streams, numerous lakes,
he explaining (for hundredth time)
how to read water, knots, flies, casting tips.

Remember how he ceremoniously handed me
well worn rod and reel,
adjusted float line, backing, leader.

Allowed me to choose (probably the wrong one,
but certainly the prettiest) my favorite of his feathery flies
and with sun and plenty of grass behind my back,
I cast.  Cast again, and again...

Grandpa was proud, pointed out to many passerby's
his granddaughter's natural ability.  I wasn't so sure,
glad the day's success wasn't rated with ice box bounty
but with laughter and sharing of ancient ways.

Standing upon the banks today
I find myself listening for him as I cast,
sure he's singing my praises to the angels about him,
the twinkle of his eye upon me.

by Margaret Bednar, September 6, 2018

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday Platform"   WAY late joining, but I will swing around and visit this challenge in the morning and comment then.

Saturday, September 1, 2018



Poe, Picasso, Van Gogh
enjoyed Absinthe, but I don't imbibe,
my green fairy no illusion.

I'm choosin' to be lured
by doe & fawn at forest's edge

and a trickling stream
whispering mysteries of an

emerald world surrounding me.

Leaves and bark,
braille beneath my fingertips,
cheer me forth.

Meadowlark's song draws me near,
yellow breast full and bright,

little sprite upon his back,
melodious.  I stay out of sight

emerald world surrounding me.

by Margaret Bednar, September 1, 2018

Offering up a bit of (mostly internal) rhyme and somewhat of a "going" theme for
"Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Going, Going, Gone with Karin Gustafson"   At least I tried!

Not happy with this poem and will revisit it - i like the idea of the trees being braille beneath my fingertips...