Thursday, February 25, 2021

Red Roses (junk journal poems)


Red Roses

Long-stemmed and red
he declares with a dozen, yet my eye also
upon spying Forget Me Nots
his protection and care; thank my lucky stars
our life's 
journey has been full of God's 

by Margaret Bednar, February 25, 2021

This is a poem form called "Waltmarie" (10 lines, even lines are two syllables, odd lines are longer (but no specific syllable count).   Even lines make their own mini-poem if read separately. 

Friday, February 19, 2021

The Invitation (junk journal poems)

The Invitation (junk journal poems)

Moon silently rises
over hill's sloping shoulders,
loneliness silhouetted
this dark night.

Among the shadows -
faint lights, catlike,
playfully romp,
invite Beloved
to satisfy his longing:

burst into constellations of dance,
love songs, love nips,
sinking into the warm rain
'till dawn.

by Margaret Bednar, February 19, 2021

Write (together)"  The blackout poem I chose was "burst into constellations together" and I also added my own blackout poem inspired by my junk journal.  The website where I get printable graphics from (I signed up for a year) is Graphic Fairy - so very inspiring.  

I am three challenges behind in visiting and commenting but I will catch up this weekend.  I've been busy preparing to be out of commission for a bit - I've been organizing, freezing meals, getting laundry done - as I have an operation scheduled for this Wednesday - a hysterectomy - and a big vertical almost to the belly-button incision it will be!  I guess I'll do anything for breakfast in bed :)  My "new" used laptop computer will come in handy over the next week or so.  

Monday, February 8, 2021

Into the Fold (junk journal poems)

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)


Pocketed (junk journal poems)

Thankfully, it's easy for me to pocket melancholy,
tuck it away,  hidden behind trinkets
of memories and favorite things happily enjoyed

like butterfly wings riding the mountain breeze
and flannel shirts wrapped and comforted - 
a faded well-worn red a particular favorite,
the color of an old barn, my favorite lipstick,
Polaroid image of roses on Grandmother's front porch.

I have a treasured memory of Father, 
hands holding a pencil, fingers sure,
sketching, shading, captivating. Yet,
he never found approval in mine.

He taught young boys softball, 
but a weekend spent with me, coaching,
my determination focused, so eager...
was never repeated.

Mother read the stories at night.  I absorbed
every word.  Father called her away,
his voice never added to the wonder and delight.

It was the way things were. I didn't question it much.
Yesteryear's childhood full of freedom and joy,
yet how much richer if Father had truly mentored
like my husband does with ours?  

The adoration a blessed thing 
I'll never tuck away; freely offer red kisses 
upon his cheek for proof.  

By Margaret Bednar, February 6, 2021

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #55 - What you Resist, You Become".   This is also inspired by a page in my "Junk Journal Poems".  

I have been organizing and cleaning lately (that's why I've been gone for these past few weeks as I had said I wanted to be back in the swing of things writing with my fellow poets and their wonderful prompts ... I am having a hysterectomy in less than three weeks and want everything in order.