Wednesday, December 30, 2020



I feel comforted
despite no stars, no moon to be seen;
twinkle seemingly tucked behind midnight clouds
post-Christmas Eve.

Dogs sigh softly, paws occasionally twitch,
three backsides glow, fireplace stoked,
flanked by slim evergreens whose branches beacon 
with the grandeur of coastal lighthouses
guiding Christ child safely to port.

Evergreen's fresh scent is gone,
yet prayers of hope, faith, joy & peace linger,
circle about Advent wreath
whose candles are but nubs.

Wrapped in darkness upon my couch
sprinkles of light silhouette thirty years of ornaments:
Santas and saddles, ice skates and Jesus,
princesses and Power Rangers...

wonder why we put it all away January 1st.
Perhaps a strand will adorn mantle, 
a prayer candle gifted pride of place, 
this time of reflection retained;

not so much for resolutions and promises,
but a continuation of thankfulness 
rekindling Christmas light.

by Margaret Bednar, December 30, 2020

This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #140"

Monday, December 21, 2020

Life's Wallflower (junk journal poems)


Life's Wallflower (junk journal poems)

Time dances
seeking purpose,
holds out her hand,
indulges in matchmaking -

and I,
suspicious of flowers
and encouragement,

sometimes close my doors,
I don't know how to dance.

by Margaret Bednar, December 21, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Writers' Pantry #51 Year's End".  My poem is the second in my Junk Journal series of poems.  It is from a random page of an old book and (front and back - the front is only shown here) I created an eraser poem.  I changed the "rules" a bit as the only eraser poems I have seen use the words in order as they appear on the page - I allowed myself the indulgence of rearranging them - I ran a line through the text as you can see, and I will be typing it up and slipping this poem beneath the flowers on the left-hand side.  

Saturday, December 19, 2020

My Ordinary


My Ordinary

The geese have long since
v'd their way south,
bare feet have been replaced with boots,
yet I still

sink footprints into chilled sand,
tide fills them up,
makes them disappear;
a wonder of which I never tire.

My heart pounds yet isn't heard
above roaring surf,
an exhilaration that is commonplace,
at least for me.

I pity the ones who never know
the wonder of a flock of seagulls
lifting in unison, filling horizon with swoops
and angled wings, riding ocean's breeze

beneath clouds that tell me
it's time to settle inside, before a warm fire,
before the snow descends,
book in hand, cat on lap,

all the while thanking God
this is my ordinary.

by Margaret Bednar, November 28, 2018

A poem I am resurrecting - I wrote it for a dVerse Poets Pub challenge two years ago.  I am now linking it up with "Earthweal - Open Link Weekend #49"  I live year-round in the mountains of NC, but I visit the east coast every few months and admit I love the sun and surf of summer but there is something special about a winter beach...

I believe this challenge is supposed to address current issues with earth's environmental challenges and I will ponder it more closely for next week.

Friday, December 18, 2020

Shark Fin Soup

 Shark Fin Soup

"We have a bright future if we want it,
but we have to do something now." Rob Stewart (1979-2017)

Off the shores of Costa Rica
life becomes a delicacy,
hooked from blue heavens
only to slip back in, rudderless,
wasted - 

trophy price collected 
as we sip shark fin soup.

Four hundred and fifty million years
they've filled the oceans, now culled,
super predator crown has slipped -
a title we obviously coveted
pride ourselves clever,

careless of our dependency,
ignorant of our responsibility.

by Margaret Bednar, December 18, 2020

PLEASE do yourself a favor and watch the movie "Sharkwater Extinction" (I watched it on Amazon Prime Video) and also READ the attached post written by Sherry Marr "Earthweal - Weekly Challenge Shark Poetry"  

Costa Rica is not the only country guilty, it's just the first place the documentary takes us - the movie highlights Panama, Cabo Verde (Africa), Los Angelos, Key Largo, FL, Spain...  (but there are many more) Los Angelos had nets that trapped all sorts of fish - dolphins, turtles, whales, sharks - I believe this has been finally banned in CA.

Conservation is the preservation of humans.  We must not forget we depend upon the oceans for our life...

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Down in my Bones (junk journal poems)

Down in my Bones (junk journal poems)

Down in my bones are stories
of journeys home, wandering, of fairylands,
and treetops with lookout hills -
sightings of Indians, wild rabbits below, 
darting birds,

and God clear against the sky
on the ridge.

Down in my bones are enveloped feelings
like whirling stars, blinking, 
folded moments set sail, 
only to be fish-hooked
from swirling pools

to find how beautiful 
the world is -

a chatterbox of reflections,
a mirror glowing in a little dell
where my bones will rest,
movement, confusion, no more.

by Margaret Bednar, December 16, 2020

This is the first in a series of poems that will be inspired by my junk journal drawer of bits and pieces of ribbons, stickers, pages from old books, etc.  This poem is an "eraser poem' of carefully selected words within an old page that had been made into an envelope.  The key to these type of poem's success (in my opinion) is to link them to one's own experiences and memories. They often tend to be whimsical and a little vague I think.  

Monday, December 7, 2020

Mountain Top


Mountain Top

Bourbon butterscotch brightens to a shiny penny
before the hold of a sky matching your blue eyes
mixes with cucumber waters,

rushes past woodland lichen and pussy willow,
life-giving sustenance caressing
ancient paths and chaste mauve lips

both thirsting for past and present to be
vineyard and vine;  for all,
for one.  A mountain is mighty

but beneath a tree branch, 
a flannel grey sanctuary for two,
the glacial stream curls by

as fauna and curling willow
turn your eyes to candied lavender
and mine to Celtic green

as we picnic and drink 
from mountain waters, settle ourselves, 
become lovers.


This ancient pathway our spring nectar,
where summer coneflowers and yarrow bloom
and fall's fiery hue yields to winter's alabaster drape

and the tawny owl blinks 
into a raven-wing night blessing each season,
blesses us as we return

beneath peppercorn sky ablaze with the northern star;
refined amber above windswept cliffs whistling 
a serenade to love.

by Margaret Bednar, December 7, 2020

I wrote this poem to an expired challenge over at "dVerse Poets Pub - Synesthesia" - write a song full of colors.   I wouldn't say this is a song, but it is a poem.  I am linking this up with "Poets and Storytellers Writers Pantry #49". 

Friday, December 4, 2020




Remember stretching for the tip of the bow
before the pull backward and up again,
legs pumping, toes pointing,
hair aloft, lungs full, the rush of to and fro?

All was possible, a child reaching 
for the slight, light low-lying disc in summer's sky,
swinging, greeting a reflecting moon, midday -


But what about tonight, beneath this silver crescent,
December's coolness upon mature cheeks,
wrapped in darkness but for the glow above
trying to remember the wonder, the trust
I freely offered as youth?

Can't tuck it in pockets or ask it to wait
while I pencil in a date; iPhone's image 
a blurry smudge.  I've forgotten the importance
of immersing myself in the senses, soaking it in,
drinking from the well of this moment -


Perhaps I'll loop a swing over tree limb,
settle myself come eve, and sway
as light fades and stars glimmer;
let moon become my friend again.

By Margaret Bednar, December 4, 2020

This is linked with "Poets & Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #48 - Words of an Unprecedented Year".    It's been a while since I have been able to sit down and write poetry - no poems in November! (I feel so out of practice - I was intimidated!) and I'm excited to visit all my fellow poet friends...  I"ve missed you.   The word I chose ... Moonshot.  What a gorgeous word.