The Portrait

The Portrait

He strolls the shoreline,
pants rolled above ankles
as waves crash, seemingly cling,
momentarily comb October's beach smooth
before rapidly receding, repeating ,

footprints lasting as long
as the chords he strums.

Silhouetted against the sinking sun,
he's mysterious, a balladeer, a poet,
a young man beginning a journey -
seeking, offering his voice
as a gift to the sky

which is swooped, caught, and carried
to the clouds upon seagulls' wings.

I imagine him in New York's subway,
no blue, no fresh breeze,
playing these tunes, lyrics birthed -
hair escaping over furrowed brow,
leaning back, slouching, James Dean style,

offering a glimpse of a smirk, almost
allowing us in on his secrets.

Imagine him gazing at the moon
from small apartment window,
fighting sleep, dreaming of a lover's kiss,
wishing upon a star (straight on 'til morning),
penning his soul,

a moment leatherbound,
etched into forever.

Dreams fill him daily, I envy him that;
ponder when I misplaced my daring,
my castles in the air.  When did I forget
imagination isn't delusion?  His chin
tilts upward, his heart in his fingers

as they strum the chords.  I kick off my shoes,
roll up my pants, test the sand with my toe.

by Margaret Bednar, October 9, 2019

I invite you to listen to me read my poem:

This is linked with "Poets United - Midweek Motif - Everyday Living" and "dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Profiles and Portraits" and "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads -  Sanaa's Challenge - October - When Poets Dream, Lament, and Sing" - the song I chose to listen to and reflect upon was: Aerosmith - I Don't Want to Miss a Thing. 

Abeyance

Abeyance

I trace his spine with my finger,
along elastic-waisted pants threatening to slide past slim hips,
trace up spindly arms, over narrow shoulders to the back of his neck.
Smile as I flick my finger over wayward hair frolicking with lake's breeze,
Blue by his side, the pair silent; a rare occurrence for this boisterous pair.

This photograph, a treasury of feelings; of a young mother not comprehending
how quickly her sons would grow, daughters outgrow dolls,
how soon her mother's hand would be empty;
and the family dog, age, not able to keep up with his kids.

Shrouded in memories, I want to tell her not to waste a moment,
immerse herself in each day, laugh, play, hug them 1000 times,
10,000 times.  Soak in still moments; dishes and laundry can wait.

My mother's heart wishing I could do it all over again,
knowing what I know now.

by Margaret Bednar, July 25, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sanaa's Challenge - I Like for You to be Still".  Use the reference to Naruda's title in a poem.  

If You Forget Me

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If You Forget Me

I remember the first glimpse of you,
how you rocked the tank top,
arms strong and sexy.
You wore tight jeans (that didn't go unnoticed)
yet it was your hands that captured me:
elegant and strong, politely expressive (holding your beer)
nails carefully clipped,

and when I looked into your eyes,
I melted.  The bon-fire before us flickered
and I blamed my flush on the flames.
I remember the excitement of that night,
your interest in ... me, and I, not exactly a romantic
(I'm far too practical) felt like a princess.

I hold dear your opinion, as fine men
are to be treasured.  Our years filled
with six children and (according to you)

far to many animals.

My fondest wish to grow old together,
enjoy the fruits of our labor,
watch you learn how to relax,
read something other than medical journals

and if dementia raises its ugly head,
if you forget me, rest assured
I will hold your hand, live on memories,
continue to love and care for you,
(as you would for me) my dear, sweet prince.

by Margaret Bednar, November 11, 2018

I already know what my husband's reaction will be.  He will roll his eyes and shake his head - he doesn't do sappy very well and I don't do love poems very well.  But it is all true ;) 

*  I did read this to him and HE said it wasn't a bon-fire but a beer keg.  Hmmm.   I'm not so sure.  Anyway, it's more poetic with a fire :)

linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads' - Sanaa's Challenge - All in November's Soaking Mist" -  Our frame of reference is the title of Neruda's poem.

After the Storm

After the Storm

Off the slivered moon comes a faint light,
of the sky, a sprinkling
reflected in street puddles
as I night walk,

tip my toe, scattering poems.
Watch them pulsate to life,
silence dispersed,
gently whispering prose.

Mid-day my son,
helmetless, reckless,
rides island's backroads,
saturated and swelling,

amusement overflowing,
a slam celebration;
poems now spirited
with youthful passion and voice.

by Margaret Bednar, August, 24, 2018


Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - On the Edge of a Starry Night" -
we are to take the line: "In the street of the sky night walks scattering poems" (the last line of E.E. Cummings poem "The Hours Rise Up Putting Off Stars And It is".

I broke up the lines into four segments and used my artistic license:

I changed night walk(s) to "night walk"
and (the) is taken out so it now reads "in street puddles"

Muhheakantuck (The Hudson)

A peek of Hudson Harbor from the High Line

Muhheakantuck (The Hudson)

She's born of Lake Tear of the Clouds,
meanders down and sidles past Hell's Kitchen and Chelsea
before slipping into the Bay
for which I raise my chin to collect her cooling breath
as I sit elevated above Manhattan's West side

once occupied by freight,
lifted 30 feet above city's hustle and bustle,
West Side Cowboys no longer needed
bravely waving flags before dangerous street-level trains.

Fur, wheat, timber aboard sloop-rigged vessels
once sailed toward Stoney Point Lighthouse
whose fog bell and light guided many a larger ship
into Hudson's Harbor.

Leisure has high-jacked the High Line,
pedestrians relax upon benches,
amble beside lush gardens, lick Mexican ice pops;
deciding between Cucumber Lime and Mango Chile
was difficult, so I had both.

Traffic upon the Hudson still welcomes industry,
but many a fine yacht I spy from my perch,
marvel at the history of surrounding area
and the future which awaits this mighty river.

by Margaret Bednar, May 31, 2018

A Mexican Ice Pop from LA NEWYORKINA

I've visited the Chelsea district a few times, NYC many, and have never walked the High Line.  After my first walk, I will make it a destination every time.   My favorite resting spot is pictured above - a nice treat of Mexican Ice Pops and beverages and food overlooking the Hudson... (just before exiting for the Chelsea Market.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Imaginary Toads - Sanaa's Challenge - Water Under the Bridge".





a much longer walking tour video (about 30 minutes):
 

"Motherland"

A detail (lid & bottom) of a sweetgrass basket

Motherland

Amid marsh and meadow
vanilla scented Sweet Grass grows
beside biblical Bulrush and Palm
while Long Leaf Pine drop needles
and slave descendants perpetuate
homeland's link of hope and salvation;

baskets coiled by artisans - Motherland's
low-country baskets of yesteryear's plantations.

by Margaret Bednar, April 8, 2018

Enslaved Africans fashioned these baskets for work on the plantations, finding the same plants in the low-country that grew in Africa thus reinforcing their faith in God's eventual salvation.  Bulrush was originally used, but has been replaced with the softer, finer sweetgrass and long leaf pine has been added for contrast and palmetto has replaced split oak as binders.  Today they are highly valued (and expensive) collectable baskets made by today's artists - having learned the ways from their family members, many starting the craft as a young child at their grandmother's knees.

I fell in love with a $1,200 basket.  I ended up buying a very (very) small basket for $49.  I'm a quilter, and I understand the hours that go into a piece like this.  I wouldn't think of selling a queen size home-made quilt for less than $1,000 and even with that my time and materials would not really be fully rewarded. Obviously, I won't be selling any quilts but I lovingly make them for my home and children.

HERE are some beautiful examples of these sweet grass baskets.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Poems in April - A L'Arora" an eight lined stanza with a rhyming scheme of a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f  .

Also for NaPoWriMo - National Poetry Month  (30 Poems in 30 Days). 

"The Performer'

The Performer

Many an actor stands spellbound
gazing silently into balconies imagined full
as ghosts touch their shoulders
and evening's performance is re-rehearsed
for the thousandth time in a young poet's mind,
hope-filled and hungry, as if behind a scrim,

dreaming

and with fingertips, hesitantly touches
the grand drape which soon will seductively rise,
deep burgundy teasing, slowly revealing ankles, legs, thighs, 

baring all behind proscenium's arch -

tonight's tragedy elegantly framed,
an audience transfixed
before painted scenes and a play writes scripted lines
brought to life by one who

believes.

by Margaret Bednar, March 9, 2018

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sanaa's Challenge - Curtain Falls".  These two videos are of two of my daughters - the top one is of my daughter who is now in college (this is her senior year's performance as Millie in "Thoroughly Modern Millie" and the bottom video my daughter who is now a freshman in high school is performing a song for her 8th grade graduation.