The Tulip Tree

 

The Tulip Tree

Embroidered with flowers

and hammock slung

I dream

through a summer's day 

and flit between

sun-lighted stillness

and the love-notes of birds.

by Margaret Bednar, October 29, 20202

Linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #43 - Found Poems & Erasures"

This poem is an erasure poem from an old book "Quiet Hours with Nature" Mrs. Brightwen (1904).   The chapter  on "The Tulip Tree" runs 7 pages with two beautiful illustrations.  

Holy

 

Holy

Beeswax, His body -

wick, His soul - flame, His divinity;

my voice, soft and low,

eyes upon blessed candle,

lips caressing holy words,

my fingers familiar with beaded bone.

"Old family heirloom, a relic from the Holy Land."

Grandpa would wink (an antler he'd whittled),

but we allowed Grandma her antiquity

as she held me in her lap and told me

of relics: the holy grail, Eucharistic miracles,

incorrupt body of St. Bernadette...

and I, entranced, felt her breath on my neck,

her soft bosom better than any pillow,

and her voice, like incense, filled the room.

I pray from my heart; Mary brings the Trinity, 

and I relax into peace and hear 

Grandma singing with the angels.

by Margaret Bednar, October 21 

This is linked with "Poets & Storytellers United - About those bones"  

Write poetry or prose which explores where the bones in the poem below might've come from.  (poem written by https://magicalmysticalteacher.wordpress.com  HERE)

fingers framed by light
clutching an old rosary
carved of human bone

Pageantry

 

Pageantry

A satin cape cascades off a shoulder,

branches drape, sequins and diamonds sparkle

beneath sun's tickling touch; diaphanous 

a new word to explore. 

Mermaid gown, ivy embroidered,

travels upon forest floor, resplendently elegant;

more a ball gown than evening bedecked as she is

in swags and tulle, edged with flowers, rosettes,

vine-like lace.

Oscar Da La Renta bows to such as these,

grand dames and sprightly, willowy youth 

showcasing bustles, bouffants, A-line, and tiered.

I'm underdressed, Timberlands and jeggings practical,

but certainly no competition.   I think of tonight,

scratch the burger joint off my list, make a reservation 

where newfound desire to shine will be appreciated.  

by Margaret Bednar, October 20, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - #42 Autumnal"

Slip of Moon

 

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Slip of Moon

A slip of moon

beckons

coaxes me through night's

darkest hour to

explore forest's 

familiar path, branches

gesturing protectively.  So I

hesitantly

inch forward,

just a little at a time,

know with each heartbeat

lake's reflection of the stars

mirrors the big world,

not my tiny slice of it.

Oh, to escape, to soar

past my insecurities,

quiet my doubts,

rely on the promise of 

self-confidence I know is a

treasure buried inside.  I must

unfurl it slowly, nurture it,

venture forth and grasp

with both hands, life!  Unlike the

xeranthemums pressed within my diary's

yellowing pages, my spirit longs to bloom,

zoom to the moon and back.  

by Margaret Bednar, October 3, 2020

This is an Abecdarian Poem - use the 26 letters in the alphabet chronologically - each letter starting a new line. 

The Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon

Deer repose, content beneath gnarled apple trees

surrounded by overripe, bruised apples,

content as they digest their bounty.

A doe is alert as three fawns, still speckled, lie beside her,

curled and fast asleep in the small, neighborhood orchard.

Fright and flight animals, yet today she's still,

keeps watchful eyes upon me and my dogs,

perhaps the sugar and sun a bit of a drug.

We enter the tree line; red leaves, some orange,

dot and scatter themselves on forest floor;

puppy reminds me of the wonder as he pounces,

misses, resumes the chase. 

Squirrels chatter, birds chirp, crows caw

as we disrupt tranquility, the Blue Ridge path ripe

with the first rays of Autumn's gold.

My boots have replaced sandals

and a knitted scarf drapes my neck, loosely;

more a nod to the coming chill than necessity.

Dappled light dances before us, and I remember

last night as my husband and I walked hand in hand,

moon where the sun is now, tree branches 

silhouetted above us, the bright glow a beacon,

chapel-like, reminding us of promises made long ago;

...and before me now the puppy scampers,

his young life stirring up worn out, tired leaves,

learning from them, stirring them, giving them new life;

much like our children, giving us purpose,

a new outlook, if we accept the challenge. 

At our age, we have a tendency to mull things over,

ponder, be watchful as we consider consequences,

absorb the world through our children's eyes;

much like the doe I saw earlier, and wonder

did we pass her last night on our walk through the trees

beneath the Harvest Moon?

by Margaret Bednar, October 1, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekley Scribblings #39 - October Thrills"