Lured

Lured

Poe, Picasso, Van Gogh
enjoyed Absinthe, but I don't imbibe,
my green fairy no illusion.

I'm choosin' to be lured
by doe & fawn at forest's edge

and a trickling stream
whispering mysteries of an

emerald world surrounding me.

Leaves and bark,
braille beneath my fingertips,
cheer me forth.

Meadowlark's song draws me near,
yellow breast full and bright,

little sprite upon his back,
melodious.  I stay out of sight

emerald world surrounding me.

by Margaret Bednar, September 1, 2018

Offering up a bit of (mostly internal) rhyme and somewhat of a "going" theme for
"Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Going, Going, Gone with Karin Gustafson"   At least I tried!

Not happy with this poem and will revisit it - i like the idea of the trees being braille beneath my fingertips...

"Acceptance"

Acceptance

What is it that whispers from forest's edge,
wooing with winsome charm and fawn-like shyness;
from narrow shadowy paths tucking themselves
between mountain boulders and bursting rhododendrons

modestly giving way to a boldness, a distant vastness
of vibrant greens, slate blues, fading grays
that takes my breath away?

What is it that calms from old fishing shore,
tickling and tempting toes to journey further
into a coolness that laps knees, belly button, shoulders
as swirling concentric circles are sent forth from fingertips
playing ocean's surface?

I guess it's a reverence, a bit child-like; sensitive,
even hesitant as I listen for answers to questions
I keep deep inside, some since childhood -
find I can release a few upon time worn path,
mountain breeze, some upon ever-expanding ripples

not needing a solution after-all.

by Margaret Bednar, June 15, 2018









Playing along with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - What the ... a nod to Walt Whitman"