I Wish

123rf

I Wish

He always had time to listen,
to care; made me feel like a princess
for the very first time.

Somehow sparked into existance
the tiniest bit of confidence
which took root and grew;

yet so very fragile.  Had to hold tight,
shut out the loud voice at home.

When he finally became a father,
I visited, little baby's fingers
wrapped itself around my hand,

and I leaned in close, whispered:
"You're the luckiest little girl alive."

by Margaret Bednar, April 12, 2019

Really, this is not finished - quick, dashed out thoughts so I can participate in "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Love"  But we were to write about a love for someone that doesn't know how we love them.  Mine is a father figure... A wonderful man who made a huge difference in a very, very, shy girl's life - one with no confidence and a father who was very critical and hard to please. 

Anyway, I plan on coming back to this poem as this is really just a beginning - I had ten minutes before the stroke of midnight.

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.

Tasmanian "Tiger"

About the Tasmanian tiger (click)

Tasmanian Tiger, (Wolf)

My reputations fierce,
outward appearance
a defense, a sheltering

for if you had taken the time,
looked into my eyes,
ignored battle scars, set jaw,

you might have glimpsed
the me inside,
shy and solitaire -

may have fended off fate
and sepia photographs
that mystify, more than reveal.

by Margaret Bednar, December 20, 2018


This Tasmanian "Tiger" was hunted to extinction as farmers believed their chickens were threatened.  And some of them were, but they were trigger happy and humans obliterated this species.  It was actually a marsupial - not related to a tiger or a wolf.   It is actually closely related to the Tasmanian Devil.

Expedition Unknown (Josh Gates) had an episode exploring the belief this animal may still be alive in Australia - but very elusive... the finding was inconclusive but very intriguing.  HERE

Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Lament for the Thylacine"

"Mother"

Edward Emerson Simmons "The Reflection" oil on canvas
American Impressionist Painter

Mother

She sported a Gibson roll, no trendles,
allowed a few pinches upon her cheeks,
naturally arched eyebrows raised higher
as she carefully considered herself 
through the compact mirror father had gifted,
unaware how light lingured long upon her neck,
slid up shoulder, arm, fingers, haloing her

as I, an awkward teen
thought her the epitome of grace and beauty.

I remember she quietly closed the lid,
took Father's hand, uncharacteristically giggled
and I blushed thinking them surely too old
for such dalliance and romance.

Margaret Bednar, May 17, 2018

Our very own Shay is related to the artist above and is hosting our challenge over at "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Fridays - Edward Emerson Simmons"

"April Sunset" or "Pink Moon"

April Sunset or "Pink Moon "

Bare branches present

soft fuscia -n- lavender sky,

yellow sphere still tethered to mountain peeks,

and phlox, moss pink tickling the ground
masquerading as dainty -n- delicate;

will survive tonight's frosty breeze better than we

who gather sweaters close to chests and linger,

admire slanted face smirking, 

dangling like a Christmas ornament.

Lean back and wait for her to break away
for one last fling above barren mountain range;
soon to be stored away come season’s end.

by Margaret Bednar, April 29, 2018

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Fireblossom Friday: This is (Almost the End)

and NaPoWriMo 2-18 (30 poems in 30 days)

My husband and I drove up into the Blue Ridge Mountains and had a "picnic" dinner but it was too chilly to eat it outside so we ate in the car. The first night of the Full Pink Moon is supposed to have a frost and I think this bit of folklore or Native American observation will occur!   This image is from my iPhone camera (as most of the photos on my blog are)  Many people were taking photos of the moon tonight.


I invite you to listen to me read this poem:

"Beneath the Laughing Gulls"

My daughter & a flock of Laughing Gulls

Beneath the Laughing Gulls

"The important thing in life is to let the years carry us along." Federico Garcia Lorca, Yerma"

This evening I press my ear to your chest,
hear the ocean's waves and laughing gulls
that reside inside, distant laughter of children
you've made fast friends, your voice
calling "Mother, come look!"

Close my eyes, see you walk a mermaid's path,
white frothy sea foam and iridescent bubbles
slowly fade and pop as morning's surf recedes,
tears glistening as you mourn their death.

Wrap myself around you, whelk like,
my shell far too fragile for true protection.
Realize tears are as important as laughter
yet my heart bangs along the shore,
chipped and worn, fighting for a journey
resembling my dreams perhaps more than yours.

And there's the fissure as you turn
and take the covers with you surely as decisively
as the tide reclaims what is hers.  Always.

So, I settle upon the porch, chastised a bit,
yet revel in the sounds I've heard,
know you are alive and growing,
tumbling along life's shoreline
beneath the laughing gulls.

by Margaret Bednar, March 29, 2018

Walking the Mermaid Path - When Mermaids die,
legend has it they turn to sea foam

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday- Poetic Imagery".  What fine examples were given for this prompt and I know I have a long way to go - it is truly something I always strive for but my imagination has a long way to go to truly achieve this art form.  Perhaps my third stanza succeeds a little bit.

This poem uses an example of one child, but truly this poem embraces both my 10 year old son and 23 year old daughter - we just got back from Isle of Palms, SC (a hop skip and jump from historic Charleston).


My poem has nothing to do with the play "Yerma" which is a "tragic poem" telling the story of a childless woman living in rural Spain.  Her desperate desire for motherhood becomes an obsession.  This is all in Spanish (which I don't speak) but I posted it here as I am going to watch it this weekend.

Home

Home

I close my eyes,
brush away illusion of yesteryear

  smell sweet dandelions 
  and fields of alfalfa & clover,

  hear Sugar barking, 
  warning of Katy's imminent wanderlust
  and roving ways - my father whistles - 
  saves me an afternoon of searching the tracks 
  and riverbed for wayward hound.  

  Mother hums, 
  garden pail full of vegetables I detest, 

  chickens cluck, ponies stomp their hooves; 
  horseflies are especially pesky come late July. 

  I'm busy weeding glorious flowerbeds with my sister
  (we laugh and bicker simultaneously) 
  not sure if what I've unearthed 
  is intruder or poesy.  

  But then,
  I adore the sweet dandelions...

Vignettes such as these shimmer within me;
settle me, center me, shelter me;
create a strength I believe I've fostered
in my children.

A home in their heart,
better than money in the bank.

by Margaret Bednar, March 22, 2017

This is linked with "The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge - Home" and "The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

Of Quilts & Killing Fields

Of Quilts & Killing Fields 

Come spring they'd stretch
between birch and pine,
dappled light dancing lovingly
upon tufted ornamental stitches;
billowing sails filled with earthly fragrance.

Beneath snowdrops
lay twisted and mangled;
a killing field begun
by a twitching tail
and a desire to please.

by Margaret Bednar, March 17, 2017


linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Fireblossom Friday - Incongruity"

note:  Snowdrop flowers are white and represent purity.

As a child, every spring my cat couldn't wait to spend more time outdoors and start hunting - he was always so proud to show me his efforts...  I don't deal with this now as my three cats are all permanent indoor cats.

Untitled (Heaven's Gate)

"Untitled" (North) 1993 Felix Gonzalez-Torres

Untitled (Heaven's Gate)

Michigan's elusive Northern Lights
dance and dazzle night's star-studded sky;
a phenomenon I've witnessed a few times
and felt as if Heaven's gate was opening.

Mountain mornings are much quieter, more calming.
Through a veil of mist I see a cascading waterfall freeze
posing statuesque upon the steep rock face
outside my kitchen window and black capped chickadees
my feeder's sole visitors snipping and sniping at one another
even though there is plentiful seed for all.  The window
bars all sound, makes it appear as if they are performing
an intricate ballet just for me - their backdrop
a sloping forest of rhododendrons, leaves curled
and hunched retreating into their secret world

as have I; winter seems to do that.
Neighbors hunker into jackets, hurry by with their dogs
or leave altogether for warmer parts.
I guess I'm some sort of Snowbird as well;
still consider myself a Northerner; scoff when others
think its cold; tell them tales of real snow, wind, ice,
but hold my tongue when at night, alone or with my love
high atop a blue ridge mountain gazing at the stars,
feel as if once again, I'm standing before Heaven's gate
and realize life's journey will end one day,
will greet us all no matter where we are and, I hope,
look something like this.

by Margaret Bednar, December 22, 2016

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - A Skyflower Friday - Felix Gonzalez-Torres  "- take his method of title and take a cue from 'issues of identity, desire, originality, loss, or the metaphor of journey'

The Cast Away

The Cast Away

Beneath waves of Aleppo bricks
a baby girl's reborn -

from dusty womb
she leaves Mother and Father behind

her shipwrecked cries
a deliverance from hell -

or perhaps (after all) another surrender

as drone of fighter jets return
to tremble earth and sky.

by Margaret Bednar, September 30, 2016

and here https://youtu.be/63PCZktePrY is another heart-rendering video.

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday's - Emily Dickinson - Shipwreck"   I hope my poem loosely qualifies for the theme - I have been disturbed lately by a number of videos similar to this one - one was of a little baby being dug from the rubble - I was also moved to see (on Fox News) a Syrian refugee family in California very thankful for being here...  they had to wait for three years to be vetted and arrive in America.  The father is "studying" and learning so he can work at a gas station...  and wants to be independent as soon as possible for his young family.  Lots to think about.  

"A Woman's Touch"

A Woman's Touch

So much depends
upon paint color.

Spiced Butternut, Honey Bird,
Sundance...  Hmm, I know: Concord Ivory.

At the end of each day,
when you stroll toward home,

I'll frame myself
behind white lace curtains,

wave.  Kiss you just inside
our Raspberry Truffle door

lead you by the hand
to our back porch swing

hanging between Windham Cream pillars.
Ask you about your day.

At night, black shutters
will frame the Tiffany night light.

---

Now Dear, do you have any thoughts
as to paint color?


by Margaret Bednar, February 11, 2016

I Invite you to Listen:    https://soundcloud.com/margaretbednar/a-womans-touch-1

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - The Red Wheelbarrow"  We had to begin our poem with "So much depends upon" - the famous poem written by William Carlos Williams.

Pictures of Emanuel

Pictures of Emanuel

Embraced within the womb of
Mother Emanuel, evil sat
And listened to voices praising -
Nine faces looked into hatred,
Undertook a martyrs call to
Evict hate from the game, allowed
Love to rule the day.

Perhaps we'll learn from voices
Rallying together, honoring
A path flashed upon TV screens -
Yearn, reach, achieve true healing.

For are we all not a patchwork quilt
Of ornately different patterns, textures,
Rich colors?  God's tapestry of

Undeniable beauty?  Will we ever find the
Sense to grasp tightly and hold all dear?

by Margaret Bednar, June 20, 2015

My feeble attempt to express myself regarding the 9 lives murdered in Charleston SC due to racist hatred - and the moving, and truly heroic voices raised by the victims' families during the bond hearing.  I will do my best to never forget their example of what true Christian mercy looks like.

NY Times "Charleston Shooting".

The following is an excerpt from this NY Times article:

At Morris Brown A.M.E. Church, just a few blocks from Emanuel, the mood of a packed house alternated between grief, hope and resilience. Calls of “enough is enough” echoed as the Rev. John Richard Bryant called for an end to gun violence.

“You look like a quilt, you look like patches,” Mr. Bryant said. “You all fit somewhere.”

Hundreds of people packed the pews of the white-columned Second Presbyterian Church on Thursday evening in a vigil to remember the victims of the shooting. Pastors read Scripture, the congregation sang and the Rev. Sidney Davis delivered a rousing sermon, his voice cracking at times. After reading a passage from the Bible, he said, “Last night, Satan came again. Satan came to say white and black cannot raise God.”

Later, he told the racially mixed congregation that the bullets were not simply penetrating the people who died in the church. “It was all of us dying last night,” he said.

Linked with "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday: Picture This"   I hope this is close enough to the prompt challenge - I have really been moved by the voices and images of the people declaring "Hate won't win".   And if we take their lead, it won't.

A Comfort - of sorts

Fireblossom Friday - Winter

A Comfort - of sorts

If there's any spark left
it's a fading ember
where a summer's kiss
or winter's caress
along your naked spine
lingers no longer -

where my hand in yours
brings you warmth

as I remember the burn.

Margaret Bednar, January 15, 2015

I'm playing in the "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Winter".  Hop on over and enjoy the fun.

"The Performance"

The Performance

Passionately unrestrained
her nightingale voice transforms,
blindly simmers, burns fury

while coal-dark, tumultuous eyes
skewer those who dare
cause grievance,

unjustly question her command.

The audience gasps, "Who is that?"
and I note to ask my little songbird
this very question after the show.

by Margaret Bednar, October 31, 2014




Most talented and successful actors find a personal connection with the characters they play.  Just where did my 6th grade daughter pull this character from?  Perhaps I shouldn't ask :)

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration" and
"dVerse Meeting the Bar - The things we see" and
"Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Write Something Spooky".  

"Seraphine"

Seraphine 

Heavenward from Picardy might take a lifetime
of prayer and paint, of paradise inspired
by voices in the night.

At the feet of Mary, ever-virgin, beneath windows
stain-glassed, she envisioned canvases of splendor,
jewels of fruit, suns likened to God.

When did tentacles and eyes overtake
the tree of life?  When did the Good Lord's Garden
echo with discordant voices?

When did the orphan child stop singing?

by Margaret Bednar, May 11, 2014

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Seraphine Louis" - hosted by Fireblossom who did a great job reviewing this artist.   I need to learn to read the "directions" before I go off and take on a challenge - I hope this roughly fits in the "write about the thin line between genius and madness".

Another excellent review of the artist, Seraphine Louis, is HERE.  The movie, "Seraphine" can be found on Netflix.  A French film with English captions.  (NOTE:  I did watch this movies with my oldest daughter who is an artist and we loved it.  It is slow-moving… my husband thanked his lucky stars several times he wasn't forced to watch it)

"Dearest Ones"

Lake Michigan, 1995 (destined to never wear a two-piece again)

Dearest Ones,

I've but blinked, or so it seems,

and all is quieter, echoes of vibrato
and guitar stings grow faint.

Just a blink

find brush -n- pen no longer tickle
early morning's light.

Close my eyes,

remember days together,
when youth had us three in her hands.

Blink

find I'm left behind, needed by others,
yet my heart breaks a little

as you don't look back. 

                 Love Always,

                 Mom

2014

My two oldest are in college and our house is much quieter.  Different.  I still have four at home and they keep me hopping.  With each child, I will feel a loss, I know it.  

Yet, I am just as excited to watch them becoming young adults, following their passions…  

I took the two oldest and my youngest to visit their grandparents (see them in upper left hand corner? ) in Florida over spring break.  I so enjoyed hearing my son sing and watch my daughter draw on the beach.  My son is studying Drama and my daughter is majoring in Scene Design.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fireblossom Friday - Postmark: Poetry!"

For the month of April, I am participating in NaPoWriMo2014 or National Poetry Writing Month.  The website is HERE.

In celebration of this year's challenge, I will be giving away a free book of my poetry.  If you are interested in participating in this drawing, please click the red logo at the top of my side bar and leave your name and a means to reach (blog, email, etc) you in the comment section.

PLEASE INDICATE YOU WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN THE DRAWING OR I WILL ASSUME YOU ARE JUST COMMENTING.  THANKS. 

"I See Her"

I See Her

I'm one among many,

middle school auditorium

squeezed in tightly

with anticipation

lights dim, room hushes

voices ring out

try to harmonize center-stage -

the loudest note, off key

as young warblers part

for my daughter's solo.

The crowd fades as I

sit transfixed

as the soft light

caresses

her angled cheeks, full lips -

dances down her lithe form

fingertip to toe, arabesque -

silhouetting her figure,

more hour-glass than boxy

as she sings, soprano

of love flirtatious

exuding confidence

and then

she blends back in

harmonizing with the other children

and I see her as if for the first time

still beaming, but now

with a tear in my eye.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, January 29, 2012


and yet, a part of me will always see her like this:

we were asked to find a favorite poem.  I love writing historical pieces, and perhaps one of those is my best, and lately I really enjoy writing about nature and the seasons, about horses… but, my mother's heart wins out when I have to pick a personal favorite and that is what "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Fireblossom Friday" is all about today.  

I selected the above poem partly on the fact I adore poems about a sliver of a moment, a sudden emotion.  

She asked for ONE.   But, I must submit at least one per child which was very hard for me to do.  So, if anyone is interested, below are a few other poems which cover most of my children.

**********

The Sentinel  (a personal favorite of mine as well)

Lonely 

My Butterfly

Noble Warrior

The Scryer

Nostalgia

Etched

"Redemption"

Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, Savannah, GA

Would you like to hear me read this poem?



Check this out on Chirbit

Redemption

"Dog-eared." That's what a bible
should be (so I've been told one hundred
if not a thousand times), "spine; supple,
yielding favorites, underlined, faded" -
I guess for all to see I'm a good girl.

Each week I watch,
try to come closer to holy.
See some kneel the "lazy man's" way,
butt rests upon the bench, forming
an imperfect triangle
(I always attribute it to being fat).
Momma pinches me if I
even curve my back to stretch,
"Reach tall for Jesus" she whispers.

I used to watch a pretty lady
fidget with her necklace, hair,
twist her diamond ring back and forth -
thought it a new way to pray the rosary.
Copied her motions in church.
Momma pinched me.

Often get sidetracked
admiring beautiful clothes,
wish Momma could look as nice.
Watch as Ms. Fancy Pants puts $1
in the collection basket, Momma $20.
Whisper "Not fair!".   Momma pinches me,
says "worry 'bout yourself".

I think I'm starting to understand,
remember Momma says "Holy
is often about not what we do,
but what we don't". So, I'll keep quiet,
maybe sit an arm and finger's length
away from Mamma, not watch "them"
so much anymore, begin to learn
how to "pray guilt away" -

for that's what two women whispered
behind their hands about Momma
as she walked by, and there is no one
I'd rather be more like than my Momma.

by Margaret Bednar, October 11, 2013  

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Fireblossom Friday - Redemption"  One of the options was to write about an imagined character.

Oh the journey to try and figure out what it means to be good, how to be good, and who to emulate.  I tried to end it with a misunderstanding (once again) as to what is right.  I hint in the last paragraph that the two women are gossiping about "Mama's sins"... but the little girl is really to young to understand.

I'm trying to write a few more "story poems" and they are often clear to me, but then I realize readers don't always follow the way I wanted them to go... alas.  :)

I also want to make it clear that I do not think anyone can work (or buy) their way into heaven (I'm a Catholic and that is a HUGE Protestant misunderstanding).  So when I say "good" here, it is just a childish understanding of what is expected of them.

belated Friday Flash 55 & Fireblossom Friday "Longing"

My youngest - five years ago...

Longing

To sink into
a creampuff cheek,
inhale powder fresh,
nuzzle featherdown,
gaze into eyes
constantly seeking mine.

Motherhood still soars:
fragile, full, fierce,
but I long for an embrace
fully protective,

not this searing longing
I stamp down, heart skipping,
summersaulting,
leaving me breathless,
as they rush out the door,
distracted kiss upon my cheek.

by Magaret Bednar, June 30, 2013, revised July 1st.

Late to Friday Flash 55's party, but hey, I'll help clean up :)  Also linked with "Fireblossom Friday - Loss".

I've been absent a bit from the computer these past weeks spending summertime with my children.   I saw a young couple holding a tiny baby - felt my hands and arms tingle - I ached so for a little one (and I've already done the puppy thing).  - funny thing is my youngest is only 5!  (but I know how fast time flies - my oldest is almost 21).

I reworked this poem a bit from its original.  I had it a bit more fearful of letting them go and that really isn't the case.  I enjoy watching them spread their wings and I have full confidence in their abilities.  

IGWRT's Fireblossom Friday - "Beneath a Moon"

Tidewater rice trunk gate, from Richmond Plantation.  This gate controlled water flow
into and out of the rice fields.

Beneath a Moon

Beneath a moon, milk-white,
tidal swamps were cleared,
carved deep.

Beside cypress and gum
grew crops of gold, cradled, 

protected by spirituals sung low,

of "Ole Virginny" and "Coal-black Rose".

Beneath oaks, moss-draped,
black backs toiled, weary,
longed for home, but
Elmina's "door of no return"
sealed their fate.

Beneath a moon, milk-white,
voices rose in song,
echoed and escaped.

by Margaret Bednar, May 25, 2013


Below is a very moving video of a visit to the "Door of No Return" Ghana.





Another video I found fascinating highlights a book "Slave songs of the United States" - Published 1867.  This is the first large collection of slave spirituals.  Who collected these songs two years after the Civil War?  Watch and find out.

The poem is linked to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads "Fireblossom Friday" Location!


Below is a video about inland rice fields, not tidal, but it was swampy and still required African slaves!   I think it is a good five minutes of history telling.

IGWRT's Fireblossom Friday - "Lonely"

Lonely

Joined at the hip
we had each other's back,
laughed at each other's jokes,

our shadows sole witnesses
to summertime antics
and winter crazies.

Lonely stretches long before me
every afternoon, reminds me
how much we both miss you.

by Margaret Bednar, March 22, 2013

This is linked with Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Fireblossom Friday - A Crack in Everything.  

I am squeezing this in here and I KNOW I have lots of visiting and commenting to catch up on.  We are getting ready for a small horse show this weekend - my daughter's first.  So, I am busy cleaning up a muddy horse and equipment.

But, isn't he cute?  These photos were taken last summer...  It is a schooling show, and their first - it's all about having fun.   Any of you who admired Sebastian, he is at this barn too with his owner, James Cooler.  "HERE" is a recent video of him (you can fast forward through the talking)

AND my girls and I aren't the only ones in our family who love horses.  My son just might be the youngest horse whisperer!  If you have the time, click HERE to see a 30 second video.  I hope it makes you smile (it obviously cracked ME up! :)