"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"

"Happiness"

Happiness

Happiness isn't a feeling

we should wait for,

in fact,

shouldn't be a goal

nor a mood we slip on.

Not something to get right,

like a mathematical equation

nor something captured.

It's an awareness

of the gifts we have to give,

the pressing close -

a guarding even,

of our true character

yet proudly sharing it,

unapologetic of who we are.

by Margaret Bednar, February 2, 2014

I like to think one of my greatest accomplishments is raising happy children.  I have been fortunate to have a few mini get aways recently with them and I am struck time and again at their good nature, enthusiasm, and generosity.  Hanging with them makes ME a better person, as I do not naturally embody those characteristics exactly.

I have been introduced to Anais Nin (1903 - 1977) - She is known for her erotica, but from what I can understand through research, she did that for a desperate need of money.  I perused her quotes HERE and I find them fascinating.   She wrote diaries - "The Journals of Anais Nin" and I think her quotes might be taken from this.  My poem is loosely based upon my impressions after reading many of her quotes.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Birthdays in February - Ayn Rand, Alic Walker, Anais Nin"  We were to focus on the idea of "Individualism".