A Kiss

A sketch I did of Ocracoke's Silver Lake - July 2020

 

Tempest skies chase the moonlight, 

deliver a felted-gray morning sky

where windswept seagrass and mermaid murmurings

awake me from a slumber - drizzling rain, a serenade, 

in this cottage by the sea.

Vanilla-creamed coffee and baguette in hand,

I stroll the docks, sunflower faces tilt toward a hesitant sun 

as seagulls and pelicans balance like marble statues 

silhouetted against a crystalline sky.

A slash of red draws my eye.  A millionaire's cottage

hugs Silver Lake - a battle between past & present,

humble & posh.  I stroll past shop windows,

spy artisan jewelry; find I desire far more

gifts of early morning's tide.

I meander the day away, enjoy iced deserts

and fish fresh from the sea, settle oceanside,

beside salt marshes offering pink sunsets,

where blue jasmine collides with raspberry skies

and pensive moments accompany

soft breezes filtering through sea-salted hair;

leave an irresistible kiss

upon smiling lips,

a witness to all that is quiet.

by Margaret Bednar, August 5, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #31 - What Makes You Smile"

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"

"Uncomplicated"

It may be island life; kayaks, bicycles, sun and surf that make life charmingly simple, blinds that never fully close allowing sunrise to pry open my eyes (something I never allow otherwise). Morning coffee slowly sipped, no need for two cups as afternoon naps are expected.  Mid-heat of day I venture out, straw-brimmed hat, flip flops, camera in hand, look for contrasts, intricate lead in lines, background.  See nothing I haven't already captured.  Pause by colorful kayaks, let my gaze follow sandy path and I'm smitten with sparse bitter-bloom, rose-pink sweetness amongst grasping roots of a gnarled, stunted tree.  Salty spray and wind perhaps their doom but for now, after morning's rain, they no longer thirst and turn themselves over, as I have, to the warm slant of the sun.  May be time for that nap.    Windswept bitter-bloom sunbathes amongst gnarled salt sprayed roots - a southerly tempest simmers 

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge - Uncomplicated Things" Write a poem with no more than 10 lines.  I chose a haibun with 9 lines and printed the "haiku" in blue and made it fit for the 10 line challenge - and please forgive that my haiku is a bit non-conformist :)  

by Margaret Bednar, August 18, 2107

"The Tide"

The Tide

The first toe dip's a gentle ballet,

a fine pirouette followed with a splash

and a warm breeze's fine welcome.

Unreliable her moods 

for she's just as likely to rock and roll a tempest surge 

that heaves us toward shore, laughing, 

occasional saltwater snorted through our nose.

I don't dare belly dance - the bikini and public

display of my midriff a memory from the distant past - 

but do enjoy a bit of a (secret) salsa as I extend an arm

and gracefully leap, (leg beneath the water outstretched,

back bent) over incoming waves.

Can't decide if I prefer sunrise's gentle melody

as my feet waltz to surf's soft rhythm 

while shore birds enjoy tonga lines along low tide's foam

or sunset's encore of captured color or soothing gray,

demolished sandcastles, and disappearing footprints 

seemingly tap dancing their way out to sea.

by Margaret Bednar, August 18, 2017

linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Bits of Inspiration - Keep Dancing"

"Teach's Hole"

Teach's Hole - from the vantage point of Springer's Point - Ocracoke Island, NC

Teach's Hole

Live oaks hunched and bent

for centuries have pointed the way,

loblolly, beach, and maple offer swaths of shade

as perspiration tickles paths down my spine

and the humid breeze lifts a curl,

for even straight hair bends in this tucked away place

where, if one believes or listens closely enough,

a pirate's wail or song may be heard

within the deep folds of a foggy morn.

Easily imagine a bottle of rum in hand;

initial heat searing a path from throat,

to chest, to stomach.  Close my eyes,

hear the digging and hiding of the treasure chest -

for we all know it's here, somewhere...

Find myself silhouetted beneath a stunted, stilted canopy, 

divest myself of its protection, enter realm of sea and sky,

sink my toes into shifting warm sand,

witness windswept trees, roots exposed,

lounging drunkenly upon dune grass and shore;

they obviously know where the kill-devil's hidden.

Wonder which are native to Teach's Hole

and which were cast ashore upon a hurricane's whim. 

Beach glass glints blue-green but I walk by

as I spy a hermit crab at ocean's edge,

play peekaboo for a while; a gambler's luck not mine

as he darts inside at each sneaky turn of my wrist.

Return him to salty spray and settle

beside beach grass and sea oats, wax myrtle and holly,

watch pelicans and seagulls swoop and glide

above (and below) ocean's rolling surface.

Marvel how little some things change; find comfort

knowing swarthy pirates, shipwrecked ponies,

and sundry floral & fauna have anchored themselves

upon this slip of shoreline with their own triumphs

and tragedies - some widely written of,

others left to the ghosts of imagination

and as the sun settles, awash with a glorious template

of which I'd accuse a painter of exaggerated artistic liberty,

I bend my ear, eavesdrop, and embrace evening's breath

as she whispers a few secrets and stories of her own.

by Margaret Bednar, August 14, 2017

* The chiefe fudling they make in the Island (i.e. Barbados) is Rumbullion alias Kill-Devill, and the is made of suggar can distilled, a hott, hellish and terrible liquor. ("A briefe Description of the Island of Barbados" 1651)

Ocracoke Island HERE

This is linked (belatedly as I was on vacation on Ocracoke) with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Out of Standard - writing unseen"

Also linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

"Driftwood"