Sunday, February 24, 2019

LIfe's Blood

"Ireland" by Emily Soto, fashion photographer
Life's Blood

The stone wall is old, perhaps not as ancient
as the glens of Glengarriff, Cork, but very old.

The path itself winds its way
past patches of snowdrops
and daffodils, past a few Oystercatchers,
harbingers of light in the yawning days ahead.
I can smell the sea but am not up to braving
strong winds, stick to hedgerows' protection
on the way to Church to collect rushes
to fashion Brigid's Cross I'll place upon hearth
for good luck and fertility.  Tomorrow
I'll take candles to be blessed.

But for this moment, I bury myself
against noble wall, colonized with ivy
(a mad, victorious battle won long ago),
soak in the deep greens of February,
let it invade my veins, seasonally;

the reds of autumn,
which flushed my cheeks and spirit,
I've absorbed and my veins seek
another infusion of my ancestors
from this venerable, climbing vine.

by Margaret Bednar, February 24, 2019

This is linked with "The Muse #44" written to the image of "Ireland" by Emily Soto.

Also linked with "Poet's United #441"

Invade ... or infuse.  Pondering.

Saturday, February 23, 2019

Late February

Awaiting the Cherry Blossoms...
Late February

Ice-blue eyes melt
as she softly blushes pink,
wraps herself in mourn's veiled mist.

Swollen streams caress her curves,
geese serenade upon arrival,

while returning songbirds
content themselves with preening
amongst camellia and bramble,

await crowning glory
of blooming cherry blossoms.

by Margaret Bednar, February 21, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Challenge - Season Your Poetry"

For Toni - an attempt at a haiku:

ice-blue gaze cracks
wrapped in mourn's veiled mist -
Geese serenade blushing blossoms

Thursday, February 21, 2019



This poem is a fresh breeze.
This poem is a comforting hug.
This poem sheds a tear.

This poem is morning's mist
ascending mountain's valley,
buoyantly poising upon her crowns
before soaring freely skyward.

This poem is a mother's arms,
reassuring, a tender stroke
upon weary cheek, soothing words
gently whispered, eyes adoring.

This poem is a light
that doesn't flicker, memories
fostering confidence, a love
that nurtures, guides...  lets go.

This poem soars upon a fresh breeze.
This poem heartens with a comforting hug.
This poem nurtures as it sheds a tear.

by Margaret Bednar, February 21, 2019

Morning's mist is also supposed to be a metaphor for a child...  The poem is a "Boomerang Metaphor" poem created by Hanna Gosselin a few years back.  I have linked up with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman - Hannah's Boomerang Metaphor Form".

I am a bit behind in visiting and commenting on a few poetry challenges and I will be getting to that today.  I have been busy organizing and getting ready to pack for the move to our house we purchased - our back yard is a beautiful view of the Blue Ridge Mountains and I can't wait to share them with you.   I also have two new puppies - Irishdoodles, 13 weeks old and they are keeping me hopping as well!

This is Red with my son.  Irishdoodle - we also have his brother, Blue.  

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

February Is

February is

shades of grey and tan,
dull sage green
with etchings of black;

like a bashful beauty
wrapped within woolen coat;

or a cardinal flashing through
forest's canopy.

I take my cue,
plump pillows of grey & tan,
swipe soft-green upon lids,
slip on little black, paint lips red -

drop my robe, remind him
spring's almost here.

by Margaret Bednar, originally penned February 9, 2014

A bit of fun with Valentine's Day fast approaching...  I'm a bit behind in visiting and commenting - will be hopefully catching up in a few days.  I am BUSY packing as we bought a house - our backyard is literally the Blue Ridge Parkway!

We also just added two new puppies to our household.  Miniature Irishdoodles - (Irish Setter/Poodle mix) hence the photo above does NOT match the poem.  I didn't think anyone would mind - it's a MUCH better image than me dropping my robe!!!

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

Monday, February 4, 2019

The Way

The Way

The sheer vastness 
is simultaneously empowering and humbling, 
its vivid greens, blended blues, faded greys

earn my sighs, 

a hunger grasped, tossed windward,
soaring beyond well-worn path
horse and I now tread, 
notebook and pen pocketed 
as I ponder Karma versus Chance.

Infinity encircles my neck, 
Luck my wrist, sterling silver trinkets 
that haven’t (as yet) earned their keep

a bit like my thoughts: inked, slanted, 
dotted, carefully crossed, 
pages arranged just so… although,

may as well send them soaring
upon mountain’s breeze, 
not fool myself I’m in control.

Give my horse his head, 
for he seems to enjoy the winding way. 

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Art Flash / 55"  It is LOOSELY linked as I did get inspiration from the original artistic image (which can be found on the link) and it is not a 55 - but as I was atop the mountain and enjoying the warm, light breeze  - I wanted to share these images instead and I slightly changed the poem when I got back home....  Hope "inspired by" is close enough...

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

Friday, February 1, 2019

Sunday Mornings

Sunday Mornings

We left Mom behind every Sunday morning
because she was a Protestant, and anyway,
she had morning dishes to attend
while we sat slouched on hard pews
as Dad hummed Catholic hymns off-key.

Sometimes sister and I dug our fingernails
into the back of the wooden pew as we knelt,
carved our initials (sometimes a boy's),
often feigned dyer need to use the restroom
before the Nicene Creed,
and almost always played "elbows" as we sat
straight-backed, trying to dislodge the other.

If Dad noticed, we'd find out after church,
car-bound, as he enjoyed newspaper, coffee,
and a few donuts, as we sat contritely,
Donut Shop's glass window 
cause for our contrition.

Margaret Bednar, February 1, 2019

This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toad's "Kerry Says - Instructions for Living a Life - A Tribute to Poets of Our Time".  I selected Julia Alvarez.  I own a book "Cries of the Spirit" (1991) where a number of poets (Mary Oliver is one of them) are collected together - many have passed on, but not all.  One of the poets in this book is Julia Alvarez.  I adore Julia Alvarez and have ordered her book "Homecoming". 

I think she has a very down-to-earth voice and focuses on things that are familiar to us all - family settings... I tried my best to pick up on her theme a bit (I wouldn't be as bold to say her style). 

Below are four of her poems:

Ironing Their Clothes HERE
On Sundays HERE
Hairbands HERE
By Accident HERE

Homecoming = published 1996 - A reisusuing of a 1984 book now out of print
The Woman I Kept to Myself - published in 2004

In the Time of the Butterflies - her novel made into a major motion picture.

Julia Alvarez - Backstage at Pen & Podium: