Wednesday, May 12, 2021
Sunday, April 18, 2021
Which is more radiant,
a sunbeam or moonbeam?
Why am I so happy standing
beneath maple and mountain ash,
joining leafy arms praising,
birds instead of bells,
earth instead of incense,
luminescence instead of stained glass?
How is it at night,
it's silence that glorifies,
the soft chirping, the low hoot,
the sliver of light outlining your cheek,
the moon that serves as Host?
Is it possible trees sing for joy,
that He holds mountains in His hands?
When did we stop listening,
stop observing, stop learning
from that which He created?
by Margaret Bednar, April 29, 2019
Reposted and linked with "Earthweal Open Link Weekend #65" a poem I wrote about two years ago...
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Poems in April - Asking a Question" Don't get me wrong, I think the sanctuary, tabernacle, the Mass is an important part of my worshipping, but I find being in nature can be just as magnificent.
Also linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Platform Tuesday"
Monday, March 8, 2021
Wednesday, March 3, 2021
Thursday, February 25, 2021
Friday, February 19, 2021
Monday, February 8, 2021
Into the Fold (junk journal poems)
I’d play dress-up, Mother’s knee-length dress
a train behind me, hair, towel draped,
cotton locks heavy upon princess shoulders.
Winter-time, sister and I played for hours,
basement’s cement floor and unfinished walls
our oasis of make-believe; flower pots and quilts
our castle walls, magical gardens and forests
with friendly woodland creatures and moon fairies;
adventure as far as imagination could see.
Rarely made a mess, as we didn’t have much:
one toy chest full of mother’s fancy frocks
and two small shelves, one full of toys, the other books.
A wooden rocking-horse with chewed leather ear
and sparse yarn tail, our faithful companion.
I’d sit for hours, illustrations and words
memorized, chair overflowing with books
and cat. Poems of bluebirds and Bluebeard,
stories by Stevenson, Lewis, and a Land of Oz…
made me a dreamer, a seeker of solitaire,
an adult woman who easily slips into the fold
of a thought and gets lost for the better part of a day…
and I’m all the richer for it.
by Margaret Bednar, February 7, 2021
A quick google search and I found my faithful childhood steed:
This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #146" The image The Sunday Muse asked us to write to is "Natural Woman" Digital Collage Art "Covid Creations" by Susie Clevenger. I was also inspired by my postcard clipped in my junk journal.
Saturday, February 6, 2021
Pocketed (junk journal poems)