Monday, March 30, 2020

The Beckoning

A July moon softly glows through my window-screen, barricaded, unlike the night's breeze that cools my skin from the day's humidity and shapes the draperies into ghost-like apparitions.  Beyond the sill, Willow beckons me with her long, pliant branches and dangling, whispering leaves tinkling like gentle wind chimes.  I tiptoe down hallway, past my parent's room.   Find me beneath Milky Way, Dippers, and North Star, face upturned.  Feel a bit dizzy with the immensity of it all.  I run, steal myself beneath Willow's feathery strands, the tickling about my shoulders and neck a sensation comforting me as I listen to the cicadas and toads (both of which I am afraid) hopefully chirping far off in bush and field and not here beneath umbrella'd security.  Silhouetted, an owl hoots from my old tree fort, its large stout limb juts out into the field and I imagine the owl feels as adventurous as I do midday imagining I'm a cowboy or Indian; whichever takes my fancy.  I wonder, does the owl ever dream of being something other than he is?  I tiptoe towards split rail fence for a better view, climb up and lean over just as a flash of shadow and whir of wings sends my heart a-flutter; sends me scampering back inside.  Screen door slams, my backside hits pillow and mattress as Mother calls my name and Father gets out of bed as the July moon softly glows through my window-screen.

Moonlit shadows glide
Caution is thrown to the wind
Young rabbits tempt fate

by Margaret Bednar, March 30, 2020

This is linked with "dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday - Snapshots of our Lives"

Take an old autobiographical poem and rework it into a haibun.  HERE is the one I used.

The Dance

The Dance

Dusk is put to bed
with raven's wings soaring above,
pulling night's curtain
toward the northern star.

My Victoria roses
no longer hold court,
no songbirds serenade,

but I hear quiet yelp of fox
playing beneath vineyard and vine,
flashes of red, moonlit.

It's a beauty that rivals
the sunflowers and blue iris
sprinkled within field midday
when my breath will catch,

but now I'm caught up
in the wildness, 
heart fluttering, skipping,
wishing I could join the dance.

by Margaret Bednar, January 16, 2012

This is linked to "The Sunday Muse #90"

also linked with Poets and Storytellers United - Writers' Pantry #13

My 12 year old son wrote to this image as well:  HERE

Monday, March 16, 2020

The Pond

The Pond

Water violets and lotus bejewel the pond,
lily pads sprinkle the surface, little oasis's
reflecting the sun for painted turtles, dragonflies, and snails.

Silence is a bubble of air floating to its surface,
a butterfly winging its way, a tree limb's leaves
dabbling its reflection;

yet, what is it that lures and whispers "Peer closely",
my eyes squint, search for a crystalline scrim
beneath willow's shade as goosebumps caress my limbs?

Surely fairies who flutter in at dusk,
dance delicately from pad to pad,
feet leaving misty patterns come morn

as wings of gossamer silk
and skin luminous as the moon slip away,
envelope in mist and mystery

leaving me entranced, eagerly wishing
for a glimpse at water's edge.

by Margaret Bednar, March 16, 2020

This is linked with "Artistic Interpretations #2"  MY NEW CHALLENGE OPEN TO EVERYONE.  Please click over and consider playing along.  It is a bi-monthly challenge and stays open for two weeks.  It can also be accessed at the top left of my blog.

Also linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Writer's Pantry #11"

This poem has been updated (and I hope improved) by accepting the challenge at "Poets and Storytellers United #11- Hypophora and all that" where we ask a question and answer it. 

Sunday, March 15, 2020


Image used for "The Sunday Muse #99"

A smooth-talking serpent
tempted Eve;
Eve, Adam

and in an instant
Good and Evil danced,
not six feet apart, but close

like apples and sin
seafood markets and snakes,
toilet paper and sanitizer.

If only sin weren't so beautiful,
so tempting, if our hearts
didn't turn from red to black so fast.

by Margaret Bednar, March 15, 2020

My attempt to write to the image and current events in five minutes' time.   I'm not saying those who get this virus are sinful - it is our reaction to this whole pandemic I'm referring and it is a bit ironic that a snake may be the cause or the host...  Stay safe everyone. 

linked with "The Sunday Muse #99

Wednesday, March 11, 2020



Sunrise seemingly slept in this day
as remnants of moonlight remain
from wintersweet sky,
clouds seemingly hand-spun, perhaps felted.

Chaste mauves, mellow mangos, sedate grays
waterscape morning's horizon,
cocoon me between sand dunes
as if I'm a mermaid with sea-salted hair.

Battered coral and broken shells speckle and glint
beneath watchful eyes of seagulls pronouncing
"Day's begun!"; industrious scavengers
whose work has yet to be done,

begging, stealing.  And I indulge them,
content to offer my bagel and a prayer,
watch both soar over heads of a mother and child;
remember when I first showed my babes

their first glimpse of the sea.

by Margaret Bednar, March 11, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #10 - Early Bird or Night Owl?"

I just got back from a relaxed stay in Florida's (the USA's) oldest city of St. Augustine and the beach.  Great food, great history, and glorious (gray) morning sunrises.  The sun, even hidden behind the clouds, is a wonder to me.

Tuesday, March 3, 2020


Image used for "The Sunday Muse #97"

Her right hand touches her neck,
left hand expertly plays the chords,
melody suspended for a moment,

but not memory of kisses
skimming, teeth nipping, thrilling, 
freely flowing over her body; 

hands over piano keys, notes repeated,
sometimes traditional, sometimes revolutionary,
waltzing heroic... like a good lover.

She often plays the night,
an escape, when structure unwinds
and romance tilts the room,

enshrines emotions as moon and stars outside
cast shadows upon the lake, twinkling,
willing him back safely into her arms.

Only then she'll allow clasp to be unfastened,
ring taken from delicate chain and placed upon her finger.
When his promised return will be answered with "Yes".

by Margaret Bednar, March 3, 2020

This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #97".

Also linked with Instagram: "A Skylover Wordlist".  I used enshrines (shrine), teeth, escape

I invite all of you to consider my new bi-monthly challenge "Artistic Interpretations".  All are welcome!  

Sunday, March 1, 2020

Coney Island

As of March 1, 2020 (NOW) I am hosting a NEW Bi-Monthly "Artistic Interpretations" at a new blog site set up for this new challenge.   All are welcome, poets, painters, etc.  Click on the link below and read the details.  I hope you can join the creativity.

Coney Island

Before the clamor and confusion of mid-day,
before shadows slant lean and low
and seagulls dive-bomb a littered beach,

I gaze down the grey-boarded walk
bejeweled with brightly colored umbrellas
and awnings hawking lobster rolls, soft serve, and beer.

It’s a calm before the storm, a respite;
ghostlike. As if I look hard enough,
I’ll transport back in time

when five cents gypsied one down the tracks
to a beachside breeze, promise of a Nathan’s frank,
and a Steeplechase thrill.

Electro Spin and Sea Side Swing seem overshadowed
by Wonder Wheel’s grace (that’s probably still the same)
and Classic Rock rolls its rhythm 

as Carousel and Thunderbolt act as grand sentinels
(that’s how I imagine it). I’m eventually drawn to the beach
dotted with small shaded oasis’s, crowded with coolers and chairs.

“Cold Corona’s, Cotton Candy!, Snow Cones”. 
“Get it!, Get it!” and I buy 2 umbrellas for $20,
my own refuge beneath a partially cloudy sky,

close my eyes as a life guard’s whistle blows,
children laugh, bicker, cry
and Latino hip hop filters from over my left shoulder. 

By Margaret Bednar, July 1, 2019

I invite you to listen to me read my poem: