Scripted

"My Story" by Karina Llergo (used w/ permission)

Scripted

Life is looped and slanted, scripted some say,
within God's eye long before we are born.

If so, He loves a mystery or at least witnessing my journey
of stutters and stops, chapters replayed,

reread, so to speak, longing for wisdom
from heartbreak, cliffhangers, melodrama,

in search of a place for my soul to take root,
drink life fully, unafraid of close inspection.

For isn't that what we do upon finishing our last line?
Decipher whether or not we fulfilled our purpose,

content with our story?

by Margaret Bednar, November 27, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration, My Story" and
"Poets United - Midweek Motif - Longing".

A quick interpretation of the image above and the word "longing".  Two prompts in one, about ten minutes of writing.  (Most likely this poem will be reworked a bit)

Thanksgiving is here as the family comes together today and we have the whole weekend to celebrate and miss those who couldn't make it home.

I wish you all who celebrate Thanksgiving a wonderful holiday and those who don't, I wish the same!

Honeycombed

Honeycombed

His voice, like honey
and me the bee drawn to spring nectar,
summer sunflowers, garden yarrow, goldenrod,

and hazy afternoons
when sunlight gleams as refined amber,
dips, seemingly swoons at his voice as I do.

Honeycomb myself, wait; watch a blue iris sky
slide into candied lavender, caress saffron sunset
as it blinks and nods into fine faded blue linen,

long horizon all the while cradling anticipation
as droning suspends, faithful worker bee heads home,
wooing his Queen with hints of honey.

Coming home.  I smile, tie yellow ribbon 'round my dress,
wait for his greeting; his harvest a tint of sweetness
upon my lips.

by Margaret Bednar, September 25, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - The Colors in a Song" and "Poets United - Midweek Motif - Honey/Bee"

The colors the song below evokes in me are golds/yellows and a touch of blue.  Comforting colors, loving colors (for me).

If Passion is Pink

pexels.com (free use)

If Passion is Pink

will it taste of raspberry creme,

flow from rose-tinted lips whispering sonnets?

If purple, will it be tart like a Saskatoon berry,
scented like frosted lilac or a wisteria tree in full bloom?

As comfortable as faded blue linen, 

blue patchwork quilt, or a distant horizon mid-day?

Cool and refreshing as a coral reef, sweet as peach preserves,

or free and determined as wild salmon?

Smooth as bourbon butterscotch, refined as amber,

exciting as a piece of eight?

Cloaked with comfort like morning fog,  

a rich Highland or Somerset grey? 

(think Scots or Englishman - I’m all about an accent)

Maybe Celtic and Parisian green (see above) 

or calming as meadow sage and wheatgrass?

Perhaps red - hot kisses beneath scarlet maples

or beside gooseberries on a woodland path?

If passion is pink, is it as delicate
as a Victorian rose?

What color will you choose
as you nibble upon your lover's ear?

by Margaret Bednar, July 11, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden With Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - You Write the Color"

Fashioning Poetry

123rf

Fashioning Poetry

I like fashion yet rarely wear it well,
hair bob's never sleek & silky knots
foreign to my fingers,

so I fashion words, stitch them
strapless, stretchy, beaded,
sometimes boho chic.

My favorite: embroidered,
quilted, comfortable,
even a bit lacy,

but that doesn't mean
I've banned racer-backs
or scoop-necked and sassy.

Treated a few to the "red carpet",
promenaded them, pivots and twirls,
before a live audience

to a round of applause;
french knotted scarf
compliments of my daughter.

by Margaret Bednar, January 25, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - Poet Discovery"  Why do we write poetry?  I've written to this question before, so opted for something a bit fun and I hope this metaphor works...

I invite you to listen to me read "Fashioning Poetry"

The Lake Path

Art by Ann Byrd - her website HERE

The Lake Path

I adore Lake's morning coolness upon my cheeks,
sometimes accompanied with a tear or two -
hopefully mistaken as a Mountain's morning mist;
its freshness soothes, nourishes as I pray -
look skyward as clouds contort into shapes imagined.

If I walk this circular path at noon,
Sun often lulls me into laziness, rests upon my shoulders
urges me to settle and observe a pair of swans,
ducks, geese, and dragonflies darting water's edge
whose fragile wings lift upon the slightest breeze -

reminds me I'm not in control
no matter how well laid my plans.

In the evening, greens fade to grey,
songbirds nestle into silence, and I gather strength
as twilight ribbons its way about pines and oaks
and Moon begins bestowing blessings
with a wink to those who seek.

by Margaret Bednar, November 15, 2017


This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads -  Bits of Inspiration - Dragonfly"  Its been a couple of weeks since I've had a chance to take time to write a poem - to take much time for myself - realized I hadn't even been getting outside much - not exercising, not taking time for myself.  I truly think that isn't healthy - so I've simplified a few things and hope I've found a balance...

My Spin

Doe Ridge Pottery

My Spin

I've banned the talking heads
to a few minutes each morn-
raise an eyebrow as play by plays change daily;
a comedy farce at best if one is cynical.

My cat peers into the mountain fog
from her window seat; little paws
tucked carefully beneath as she considers
what isn't seen, but revealed soon enough.

Costa Rica percolates in the kitchen
and the dogs thump hopeful tails,
a daily walk and two meals their only concern.

Simplicity and patience; it's what the world needs.

The seasoned cast iron faithfully offers
perfectly cooked eggs spooned atop
dry rye and sliced avocado -
so pretty upon my Doe Ridge pottery plate.

Calendar open; try to squeeze in "me time".
Flip through apps, select "Audible"
as lives from the past seem far more interesting
than what's being offered up today.

by Margaret Bednar, May 23, 2017

This is linked to three Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Challenges: "The Weekend Challenge - News" and "Bits of Inspiration - Mixed Media Art" and the "Tuesday Platform".

Lately I have listened to the book "War of the Roosevelts" and a "controversial" book (as I am Catholic ;) "Pope Joan"   Both captivating books offered through "Audible".  Perfect while I quilt, knit, draw, or exercise.  And a refreshing breather from "the news".

"Time"

Silhouetted by Times Square

You're invited to listen:  https://soundcloud.com/margaretbednar/time-1

Time

It's as if I'm looking through a keyhole,
the two of them silhouetted against a future bright.
One looms large, admired, fedora tilted over one eye.
The other?  Innocence, unaware of flaws in his hero.
Youth demands attention; I make excuses,
my heart tender, understanding both as only a mother can.

If only the hero can comprehend,
for a moment look down, truly see how similar they are.
How once he filled my minutes and hours
with words.  Does he remember I listened?
Know I still thrill with the wonder inside him?

Youth needs a hero and he's been chosen.
My youngest and oldest;
boy and young man upon a threshold.
Hero can lend a guiding hand, provide a key
for frontiers yet to be explored.

Worship won't last forever - nor should it.
But the honor, for as long as it is offered,
is a gift few ever receive.

by Margaret Bednar, January 27, 2016



This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - Keyhole" hosted by Susie Clevenger. (and will be posted for participation at Midnight, Jan 27th)

Also linked with dVerse Open Link Night #166

Had a fabulous week long trip to NYC - stayed right next to the Empire State Building.  My daughter was interviewing to drama programs at colleges - already accepted into 2!!  Decisions have yet to be made.   We enjoyed the closing down of the city streets due to winter storm "Jonas", enjoyed numerous Broadway shows and had a lovely day at "The Metropolitan Museum of Art" with my oldest son.

My oldest son loves his younger brother dearly, but often does not understand the importance of spending time with his younger sibling - how much it means to my youngest son who truly is excited every time his older brother's name is mentioned...  Both are highly creative, talkative (I mean TALKATIVE) and highly enthusiastic - and they can wear one out.  I wish my oldest had a little more patience for his younger "mini-me".

Empire State Building