Illumination

Illumination

Dusk and early twilight are magical,
nights not dark enough to do anything but soothe;
it's the hush before the witching hours,
a time (this Catholic girl) is certain to be tucked inside
beneath quilt and comforter as fixed prayer is silent in the dead of night.

I'm a country girl at heart, love to walk my dogs
in this early blue-black, tonight's steps dampened by mist rolling in;
other times echo off mountains that frame the moon.
My road meanders along open pastures and sections claustrophobic;
behind rhododendrons and pine fox dart and deer stare, still as statues.

We walk by the farm with red barn swing, three goats
and gray retired horse.  The floodlight reminds me of Bethlehem's Star,
a beacon of golden light, spilling forth warmth, wonder, love. 
Tonight clouds obscure the sky, no twinkling lights as we trek homeward,
but I'm illuminated, December's glory internalized.

by Margaret Bednar, December 14, 2019

In the Western Christian tradition, the hour between 3 and 4 a.m. was considered a period of peak supernatural activity due to the absence of prayers (fixed prayer) in the canonical hours during this period.  

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Mini-Challenge - 13 Poetic Bits of Kerry" 

I used #7 The nights are not dark enough - an excerpt from the amazing poet, Kerry O'Connor, from her poem:  "Self Portrait in Night"

Where Heaven Meets Earth

"After the Rain" by Cyril Rolando 

Where Heaven Meets Earth

Mountains have welcomed a rainbow's promise,
burned with fire from Heaven,
been engraved with commandments.

Worn with time, they've kept secrets,
exposed a few; some of awe-inspiring wonder,
places to gather hope.

At the foot of one Jesus prayed,
at the top of one, He died.

On my little mountain, from the front porch,
I watch the sky flush awake,
from the back deck, wink goodnight;

my prayers tucked between evergreens,
hidden deer paths, and shape-shifting angel clouds.

by Margaret Bednar, November 24, 2019

This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #83" 

The Monarch

The Monarch

Molten gold, mango, and amber dance, dip, and catch filtered light of afternoon's departing storm.  A miniature Van Gogh outlined with black ink splashes grey sky like Vincent's irises saturate the dirt.  The hawk first stole my breath, soared low, shadowed amongst evergreens, snatched something from a branch and hurtled swiftly downward to consume its prey.  I'm startled, torn between majesty of the previous moment and violence of the next.  And now, seconds later its as if I'm being presented with a peace offering; watch as Monarch dissolves into a dot, continuing its journey along Mountain's rim.

stormy skies belie
the promise of a fresh breeze
and sun's swift return.

by Margaret Bednar, October 2, 2019

This is linked with "dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday: Insect"

and "Poets United - Poets Pantry#496"

Adagio

Adagio

Heaven seemingly floats upon valley floor, early mornings,
a sleepy, buttercream sun rising slowly, yawning, stretching
its way over mountain along with me, it seems.
There's a melody playing if one listens closely; adagio bird song,
their pace awakens far more quickly than I; andante swoops into allegro,
as hawk soars, wings vivace upon the breeze.   My heart flutters
along with it, soon soothed by cows like little black piano keys
upon gently sloping hill, larghissimo, as mist evaporates and clears.

by Margaret Bednar, August 24, 2019

This is linked with "The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Sunday Challenge - Play it Again".  I chose "A Word with Laurie - one word: allegro and 8 lines and 1 minute!!!  But it took me two minutes to write this.  And then I did go back and changed a few words so add maybe another 30 seconds.  

Noon

Sunrise side 

Noon

Shadows are cast,
olive gives way to chartreuse,
blue fades to gray,
and storm clouds flirt with the sun
as a patina of platinum
glosses sky and mountain rim,

where I sit, midday, writing this poem,
inspired neither by sunrise nor sunset,
but a moment folded in between,
festooned either side
with wildflowers, grasses, and pines

halved by a winding road
ribboning its way along ridgeway’s spine;
raindrops unhindered by the divide.

by Margaret Bednar, August 10, 2019

Linked with “Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Halved”

Sunset side

Home

Home (a Haibun)

"If you are faced with a mountain, you have several options.  You can climb it and cross to the other side.  You can go around it.  You can dig under it.  You can fly over it.  You can blow it up.  You can ignore it and pretend it's not there.  You can turn around and go back the way you came.  Or you can stay on the mountain and make it your home"  Vera Nazarian

I nestle myself in the bosom of the Blue Ridge, nourished, nurtured, allow my heart to languish within her embrace, her lullabies absorbed, my eyes refreshed.  Deep breathes, feet bare, a settling of the spirit, which only Mother can soothe.  Coneflowers grace my view whose colors are starting to fade, petals beginning to droop.  Reminds me strength and healing are cycles of renewal and rebirth; what home is all about.

Sturdy stems elevate

as pink petals start to droop;

a mountain breeze soothes. 

by Margaret Bednar, July 18, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Toni's Challenge - Poetry Puts a Lump in Your Throat"  Find a Quote and write a poem that reflects the sentiment.  No more than 24 lines.

The photos are not from my backyard, but from where I get my hair done (Westglow Spa).  I wish this was my everyday view, but I am satisfied with where we live and our quaint view of the mountains and trees.   I am minutes from views similar to this all day long.  

July Serenade

July Serenade

Summer morning has slipped her hold on the sun
and mist has long since joined the waterscape sky
beneath which sloping shadows have started to stretch
and amber haystacks, freshly rolled, shimmer as refined trinkets before me.

I half expect to see Monet, hat tilted, before an easel flourishing with stabs
and strokes of his brush, silhouetted not before his beloved Giverny,
but my mountains shrouded in violets and smokey blues.

Indulgently open my sketchbook, try capturing the mythic greens before me,
admire flutter-byes of butterflies, songbirds, and hawks;
embelish with artful twists of sweet lavender, ancestral golds, and blissful blues;

a midday serenade, an ode unsung, lovingly stroked and shaped
in the open air, time and movement captured with broken color,
my hat removed, sun upon my face, and I trust, Claude over my shoulder.

by Margaret Bednar, July 13, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Trinket"

The Pearly Gate

The Pearly Gate

Undulating meadows sprinkled with farms and forested hills
exist beneath Heaven this morning,
and I stand as if at the Pearly Gate,
surely hear angels join a meadowlark's song,
expect any minute souls will rise up from cloud-covered valley
and join me in this warm, soothing light.

I'm grounded with the sight of a house just below the ridge,
a soft light from an upper window, a dog barking.
Begin morning hike, follow the ridgeline route
that dips in and out of intimate swales, 
and onto a fringed green carpet of ferns 
that runs off into open woods;

descending, yet feel blessed.

by Margaret Bednar, April 10, 2019

Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open a Book - Poems in April" - pick up a book and open it point to a sentence and use it in a poem.  I used the book "Hiking the Blue Ridge Parkway", page 170 and I used the sentence italicized above.


Also linked with "NaPoWriMo" - National Poetry Month, a celebration of poetry which takes place each April, was introduced in 1996 and is organized by the Academy of American Poets as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States.

Conversion

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Conversion

I grew up a stone's throw from Chicago,
where impatience is considered authoritative,
disinterest as focused, rushed as efficient.

Married, moved south, Texas south,
where they commented on my accent, good-naturedly,
(excuse me, Midwesterners don't have one),
always waved, smiled, made time to chat,
and courtesy is as important as religion.

Now I reside in the Blue Ridge Mountains
where small towns receive many tourists
of which I can usually pick out the Northerner,
feel a bit of comradery, sip my soda water,
wonder if I finally blend in...

and hope I do.

Margaret Bednar, April 8, 2019

I still say "pop" as that is what we call it up North but after all these years living in the south... I sometimes do call it "soda".  That's a huge concession.  I don't say "ya'll" and probably never will, but who knows...

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Etiquette"

Also linked with "NaPoWriMo" - National Poetry Month, a celebration of poetry which takes place each April, was introduced in 1996 and is organized by the Academy of American Poets as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States.

Nurturing

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Nurturing

This poem is a fresh breeze.
This poem is a comforting hug.
This poem sheds a tear.

This poem is morning's mist
ascending mountain's valley,
buoyantly poising upon her crowns
before soaring freely skyward.

This poem is a mother's arms,
reassuring, a tender stroke
upon weary cheek, soothing words
gently whispered, eyes adoring.

This poem is a light
that doesn't flicker, memories
fostering confidence, a love
that nurtures, guides...  lets go.

This poem soars upon a fresh breeze.
This poem heartens with a comforting hug.
This poem nurtures as it sheds a tear.

by Margaret Bednar, February 21, 2019

Morning's mist is also supposed to be a metaphor for a child...  The poem is a "Boomerang Metaphor" poem created by Hanna Gosselin a few years back.  I have linked up with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman - Hannah's Boomerang Metaphor Form".

I am a bit behind in visiting and commenting on a few poetry challenges and I will be getting to that today.  I have been busy organizing and getting ready to pack for the move to our house we purchased - our back yard is a beautiful view of the Blue Ridge Mountains and I can't wait to share them with you.   I also have two new puppies - Irishdoodles, 13 weeks old and they are keeping me hopping as well!

This is Red with my son.  Irishdoodle - we also have his brother, Blue.  

"Mountain Music"

Mountain Music

Snowballs sprinkle the valley,
soft breezes caress one's brow,
and to my eye, mountains with shoulders hunched
protect simple joys
that wind along the French Broad, gravel roads,
and the few true country stores yet to be found.

Weekend plans of leisurely hike pushed aside
as Jesus is coming this side of June -
Grandfather's meadows will overflow
as he hails evangelist, sermon, and song.

And I will linger upon my porch,
perhaps surrounded by an evening fog,
wrapped in solitude, homespun quilt, comfort & sounds
only a small mountain town can offer.

by Margaret Bednar, June 21, 2017

I haven't hiked Grandfather Mountain yet this year - was thinking of this weekend but it truly will be crowded there as Billy Graham's daughter will be the evangelist for this year's "Singing on the Mountain" event.  

IGWRT's - Sunday Mini Challenge "1901: A Lady's Craft"

1901: A Lady's Craft

Gleaming white upon ol' Blue Ridge,
sits a time of grace and ease.
Whisp'ring trees
recall ladies displayed
like fragrant lilies,
laughter, charm, and eloquence;
artful innocence.

by Margaret Bednar, 10-30-2012

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, "Sunday Mini Challenge", trochaic meter and the structure is as follows:

(a)   8 syllables

(b)   7 syllables 

(b)   3 syllables

(Internal rhyme c / c) 6 syllables

(b)   5 syllables

(d)   7 syllables

(d)   5 syllables

I did not mean to make the last line so "jaded", but it was really hard to find a rhyme for eloquence.  Upon further thought, I think it does work.  I mean, women haven't changed that much, have they? ;P

The photos I took while hiking and exploring the Blue Ridge Parkway two weekends ago.  I must say, I believe it is all covered in snow right now!   The Moses Cone Mansion/Estate is now owned by the state of North Carolina and is open to everyone.  I hope to horseback ride there next spring and enjoy the over 25 miles of carriage road that is still meticulously maintained.  

 I wish I could say that was me on that Buckskin!

25 miles of carriage roads still grace the Moses Cone Estate

The Carriage House