Wednesday, November 27, 2019


"My Story" by Karina Llergo (used w/ permission)

Life is looped and slanted, scripted some say,
within God's eye long before we are born.

If so, He loves a mystery or at least witnessing my journey
of stutters and stops, chapters replayed,

reread, so to speak, longing for wisdom
from heartbreak, cliffhangers, melodrama,

in search of a place for my soul to take root,
drink life fully, unafraid of close inspection.

For isn't that what we do upon finishing our last line?
Decipher whether or not we fulfilled our purpose,

content with our story?

by Margaret Bednar, November 27, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration, My Story" and
"Poets United - Midweek Motif - Longing".

A quick interpretation of the image above and the word "longing".  Two prompts in one, about ten minutes of writing.  (Most likely this poem will be reworked a bit)

Thanksgiving is here as the family comes together today and we have the whole weekend to celebrate and miss those who couldn't make it home.

I wish you all who celebrate Thanksgiving a wonderful holiday and those who don't, I wish the same!

Sunday, November 24, 2019

Where Heaven Meets Earth

"After the Rain" by Cyril Rolando 
Where Heaven Meets Earth

Mountains have welcomed a rainbow's promise,
burned with fire from Heaven,
been engraved with commandments.

Worn with time, they've kept secrets,
exposed a few; some of awe-inspiring wonder,
places to gather hope.

At the foot of one Jesus prayed,
at the top of one, He died.

On my little mountain, from the front porch,
I watch the sky flush awake,
from the back deck, wink goodnight;

my prayers tucked between evergreens,
hidden deer paths, and shape-shifting angel clouds.

by Margaret Bednar, November 24, 2019

This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #83



Lemons float like little half-moons
amongst onyx tea leaves, cinnamon sticks,
and honey; the scent of earth.

Divine is what comes to mind as I inhale,
bring my lips to cup’s rim.  Sigh.

November's wind whistles outside,
first snowflakes fall.  Cats curled fireside,
puppies pillowed, a book, a quilt,
hot tea.  A whole teapot full.

by Margaret Bednar, November 24, 2019

my book is "Hedingham Harvest - Victorian Family Life in Rural England" by Geoffrey Robinson and I'm loving it.  Fire is at my feet (as is my cat) and the puppies are curled up on their new dog beds.  This tea is served from the Frankoma teapot my Mother-in-law gave me and I used my china coffee cup as it is bigger than my teacup.  I went online and purchased three Frankoma (1980's I think is when it was made) pottery mugs and saucers as I think it's so pretty - it's fun to match a bit.

Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Get Listed - Mystery Guest"

Saturday, November 16, 2019

On a "Snow Break" and my son's poem: My Nerd

I may be taking a week's break from blogging... visiting my Mother-in-Law up North where it will be windy and snowy by Lake Michigan.   It will be fun - I have a lot of walks planned along the Lake and such and I'm bringing my knitting and a few projects. (and both puppies - they are 11 months old now)  If I can, I will submit a poem by iPhone... I hate to miss prompts.  But I might be having too much fun ;)

My son wrote a poem for me on my birthday (54!!)...  I love his sixth-grade boy's perspective...  (His blog is:

My Nerd
by Spencer Bednar

A pocket-sized dragon sits on my finger,
lime green eyes blink, her nose flares electric blue,
and I rub her forehead; tame the untamed.

She purrs and toots (who knew girls farted!),
cries out with a sound reminiscent
of a whale's song.  It touches my heart.

I'm smitten.  I wear t-shirts to school
with dinosaurs, dragons, and mythical creatures;
ignore the chuckles of "popular" girls.

Am guilty of drawing said creatures
during class; look out the window, imagine wonders,
envision creatures yet to be discovered.

I might be laughable to those girls,
but Sparky, whom I've smuggled to class,
makes me happy.

So, I embrace my nerd, for that's my cool.

Saturday, November 9, 2019



A few weeks ago deer gathered beneath the apple trees, meadowland and mountains a security of sorts, although coyote (and ever rumored mountain lion) must have been aware of their presence.  Early one morning a late birthed fawn darted about, no adult in sight.  I slowed the car, pondered what to do; startled it more, and my heart grieved.  Sweetness lured them, juicy ripe, bordered on rotten; can't imagine amount of sugar consumed.

The wild orchard is vacant now, temptation played its part, trees less weighted, resplendent for a stint in temporary burnished glory.  Now that's gone too; first frost has lashed her icy tongue and deer slip out of woodland earlier; perhaps for breeding, but consuming as much green as possible.  I wrap my shawl closer, walk the dogs, their awareness of danger or hardship almost non-existent; wolf-like instincts dormant as they beg the cats to befriend them.  Fireside has yet to be shared.

A fine line exists between wild and domestic.  How long would it take for survival and instinct to kick in, or would my puppies be like the fawn, startled out of safety, nature taking its course?  How would I fare if grocery store vanished, if I had to can apples and store food for winter?

Apples over-ripe
a last desperate banquet
before winter's fast.

by Margaret Bednar, November 9, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Burnished"

Sunday, November 3, 2019

Autumn Breath

"Autumn Breath" by Jason Limberg
Instagram jasonlimberg
Autumn Breath

Autumn breath is forgiving,
doesn't force one to pick and choose
like summer heat or winter freeze
but lets one embellish
with silk or knitted scarf,
wrap up in woolen shawl
or don t-shirt with shorts or jeans.

Whispers tenderly, not quite lover,
perhaps more confidante;
listens as I divulge aspirations,
start thinking of a new year,
new beginnings.

A bit like the beavers 
who have fashioned snug shelters,
secured fortifying food,
pelts winter-ready.

A bit like Hunter's Moon
sliding into Full Frost,
soon to become Cold Moon
arcing high across the sky;
change and yet, familiar.

Like caribou who shed 
seasoned antlers
patiently awaiting new velvet,
I too anticipate a crowning;
not one seen, but one inspiring
gifting me with grace, with confidence,
in order to triumph and thrive.

All this in an Autumn Breath.

by Margaret Bednar, November 3, 2019