"Treasured"

Treasured

My youngest still likes hugs and kisses,
not in public, but allowed behind closed doors.
Sometimes he forgets, holds my hand
as we walk sidewalk or street; almost brings me to tears.

Perhaps little boy sweetness lingers a bit longer,
as my girls flirted with independence
far too early.

Yet I've found a way to wrap myself around them -
carefully choose color and pattern,
piece and pin often past midnight,
prayerfully secure layers with flourishes of design ...

an heirloom perhaps, worn-out, treasured,
maybe bring tears to their eyes
knowing they are loved.

by Margaret Bednar, August 3, 2018

Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads -Tuesday Platform"

"A Southern Song"

A Southern Song

I share the night

with scurrying Ghost Crabs

and Chuck-Will’s Widows

swooping beachside dunes.

Stay just out of reach

of Tide’s rise and fall, 

yet follow with glee 

her chasing of spring’s moon

as my footprints,

temporary musical notes 

born of shifting sands,

explore shore & shoals 

beneath a waning gibbous.

Tonight I sing a southern song,

this northern girl

so easily charmed with day’s

salt marsh mudflats & flooded grasses

filled with mockingbirds, egrets, & herons.

I’m a bit fickle, 

seemingly fall in love so easily,

swoon like an inexperienced schoolgirl

when a young beau nibbles her ear.

Yet this is how I feel 

as I tilt my chin skyward,

close my eyes, embrace the poem

that flirts before me, not blushing,

but anticipating the thrill of discovery. 

by Margaret Bednar, April 4, 2018


This is my daughter beachside, sunset. 

This is linked with “Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Transformtions”. I really did try and follow the rules but I guess I kept derailing and this is the result.  It’s not that I have so many “selves” - I write poetry more about what I see and how it makes me feel.  Im not that “complex”. A northern country girl, a bit shy yet most people would never guess that  ...  anyway.  This is a hard prompt and I did try - yet I look forward to reading what others do with this when I get back from vacation.  I’m sure you all will excel!

I will be on spring break for the first few days of April and will schedule my poems in advance - I am unable to figure out how (if I even can) visit and comment on my phone's "BlogTouchPro" app ...
I can post but Mr. Linky does not show up.   

So I thank you all for visiting me and commenting and I promise I will visit and comment when I return.  

A joyous Easter to all those who celebrate.

The Sand Dollar

The Sand Dollar

I hold a wounded Christ,
or so legend says,
within this fragile sand dollar -
five punctures - hands, feet, side

no blood or gore to disturb me
but a gentle reminder
of his sacrifice

and a lovely lily with central star
recalls His resurrection
and the shepherds who traversed so far.

Upon a beach this treasure found,
slightly damaged, a reminder
he also carries me.

by Margaret Bednar, April 2, 2018


This is for NaPaWriMo2018 - (30 poems in 30 days)


I will be on spring break for the first few days of April and will schedule my poems in advance - I am unable to figure out how (if I even can) visit and comment on my phone's "BlogTouchPro" app ...
I can post but Mr. Linky does not show up.   

So I thank you all for visiting me and commenting and I promise I will visit and comment when I return.  

A joyous Easter to all those who celebrate.

"If Ever Ye Catch a Leprechaun"

If Ever Ye Catch a Leprechaun"

Of kind and honest heart I hope ye be
as greed and foolishness they hate to see.

Solitary tinkers, mischievous smiles,
these fairy folk spy man's plight,
persuade unwary toward wishes unwise.

If ever ye catch a Leprechaun,
beware of little men clad in coats of green
who feed upon selfishness and pride.

and yet, be ye of pure and noble vein,
a reward, indeed!

for these sprite's bestow three-fold
life's real prizes of Faith, Hope, and Love.

by Margaret Bednar, March 16, 2016 (reworked March 17, 2018)

Happy St. Patrick's Day ... and I share with you my oldest son singing (seven (?) years ago - he was in high school) an Irish-American Celtic punk song "Laura" by Flogging Molly and a short poem.   The lyrics to the song are below my poem.

Linked with  "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Challenge - Blarney Me"

Laura

Feel the words from my lips
To your harsh finger tips
Then you know where I come from
Cause I know, yes I know
Cause I lost everything I had
See, I could have danced on the sun
But my world came undone

Laura!!!!!!

There's no need for tears
Cause there's no need to cry
The love that you leave
Will never be denied
This pain in my head escaped from my heart
No woman alive can touch who you were
So bye bye, Laura
Cause no one could take your place
Bye bye Laura
Your beauty will never fade
The seed that you've sewn
Will reach for the sky
This love that you leave
Will never be denied
And after this song, her spirit lives on
Though you're not around you'll never be gone

So bye bye Laura
Cause no one can take your place
Bye bye Laura
Your beauty will never fade
Well I... I could have danced on the sun
But the world came undone
Laura
Yeah I... I could have danced on the sun
But my world came undone
So Bye Bye Laura
Bye Bye Laura

So bye bye, Laura
Bye bye Laura
This pain in my head escaped from my heart
No woman alive could touch who you were
So bye bye Laura
Cause no one could take your place
Bye bye Laura
Your beauty will never fade
So bye bye Laura
Cause no one can take your place
Bye bye Laura
Your beauty will never fade
FADE!

"Mountain Music"

Mountain Music

Snowballs sprinkle the valley,
soft breezes caress one's brow,
and to my eye, mountains with shoulders hunched
protect simple joys
that wind along the French Broad, gravel roads,
and the few true country stores yet to be found.

Weekend plans of leisurely hike pushed aside
as Jesus is coming this side of June -
Grandfather's meadows will overflow
as he hails evangelist, sermon, and song.

And I will linger upon my porch,
perhaps surrounded by an evening fog,
wrapped in solitude, homespun quilt, comfort & sounds
only a small mountain town can offer.

by Margaret Bednar, June 21, 2017

I haven't hiked Grandfather Mountain yet this year - was thinking of this weekend but it truly will be crowded there as Billy Graham's daughter will be the evangelist for this year's "Singing on the Mountain" event.  

"Settling"

Settling

Downy breasts and fledgling tails bosom
beneath barn's bare bulb and beams gilded gold

as mother settles nearby - swooping flight
and darting wing stilled for the night.

Horses stomp, nose their hay
as mountain air and far flung stars vie for center stage;

light switched off, feet shuffle as I walk well worn path
to nestle my own babes to bed.

by Margaret Bednar, June 21, 2017

The Writer

The Writer

Her voice is soft like a songbird's first "good morning",
vibrato's as words pour into her leather bound fortress,
becomes a warrior, a missionary - maybe a bit of both;

a vortex of youth, passion, possibilities -
becomes a full bodied soprano reaching for high C
no longer penning curly cues and girlish giggles
but brandishing flourishes as bold and strong
as ambition dares reach...

and she dares.

by Margaret Bednar, January 16, 2017

Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Poetry, Writing, & Metaphor - Dreaming w/ Stacie"   Metaphors are not to use the word like - I believe if one uses "like" then it is a similes.  They both compare ...

"Of Grace & Tears" - Ellis Island Hospital

Ellis Island Hospital Ward

Ellis Island Hospital Hallway

Virtual Tour of Ellis Island Hospital (click)

Stephen Wilkes Fine Art of Ellis Island (don't miss this!)

"Of Grace & Tears" - Ellis Island Hospital

There are lives we'll never know about,
letters penned of hopes, dreams, successes, failures -
never realized

but I almost feel the brush of shoulders,
hear their whispers as I tread
yesteryears worn stairwells and dim-lit halls,
peer through cracked, broken windows,
almost see them as harbor winds snow-kiss
old planked floors,
my footprints ghost-like impressions
reminiscent of decades,
not moments, passed.

Chairs angle toward windows
seemingly vie for sight
of Lady Liberty, as if hope's still sought
by eyes wistful, eyes dim.

The mortuary's more mysterious
than morbid, eight tray doors swing open,
empty now - almost invite a peek within
to ponder "who"...
autopsy table's missing,
yet overhead light's intact
as if waiting
for doctor to walk in, lecture to begin.

Long hallways beckon
with shafts of shadow and light,
doors ajar to private rooms
for contagious and crazy;
isolation and a view
not so prestigious.
Better a shared ward with 16 beds.

Quarantined with time and silence
is crumbling plaster, scattered bricks;
illness and ailments no longer contained
within these walls of those who journeyed on,
for those turned away.

Curve of banister's still beautiful,
generous windows still filter light,
but now rain, snow, and summer ivy reside,
slowly reclaim the past, the humanity

and tragedies, grace and tears,
love and fear.

by Margaret Bednar, January 13, 2017

I invite you to listen to me read my poem: https://soundcloud.com/margaretbednar/of-grace-tears-a-poem-of-ellis

Ellis Island - a blog link (See Saw by Liza Cowan) totally worth reading - gorgeous photography and words...

And here is a video I HIGHLY recommend! ... "Forgotten Ellis Island" Narrated by Elliot Gould




Nine out of every 10 patients were cured at Ellis Hospital and continued their immigration journey.

Ellis Island Autopsy Theatre

Ellis Island Hospital

The mortuary's eight trays... awaiting burial 

Ellis Island 1892-1954

Statue of Liberty with Ellis Island in the background

Ellis Island 1892-1954 

Liberty raised her arm, held aloft a flame
for dreams, for welcoming first class
who quickly disembarked, walked beneath her crown.

Others, tired, poor, and tempest-tost,
alighted upon isle Ellis, poked, prodded, questioned;
breasts full of trepidation of a letter chalked
upon one's chest.

Land of opportunity for those with strong backs,
for those who weren't hunchbacked, diseased,
feeble minded, Jews, Slavs, Italians, or Chinese:
first to confront "closing of the open door".

Most marked "desirable", no steamship return;
a few detained for Dr. Kimmel and staff -
wards now emptied and windblown once teamed
with immigrants tired; some tempted

to believe in God for the first time.

by Margaret Bednar, January 12, 2017


I've visited NYC quite a few times over the last couple of years, but this was my first visit to Ellis Island.  I took the "Behind the Scenes Hospital" tour - not pictured here.  I was left with quite a few impressions and will hopefully be writing a few more poems on this topic.

I do believe our government's first responsibility is to keep our nation safe from disease and those who would/will hurt our society and way of governing - but my heart went out to so many of the people's stories that didn't make it through (it is recorded that only 2% did NOT make it through) ... 9 of every 10 hospital patients were cured and became citizens.  There was corruption going on and of course, at the same time, many heroic, selfless people working to help the immigrants.  It seems the same narrative continues today...

Here is a short video "Inside Ellis Island's Abandoned Hospitals (CNN)" you might find interesting.  I walked through these rooms, took photos, and will have a poetry prompt featuring Ellis Island on February 16 at "Imaginary Garden of Real Toad's" website.

Ellis Island - Main Immigration Station

The Public Health Service defined its mission rather narrowly—preventing the entrance of disease to the nation—but PHS officers interpreted their job more broadly. In their eyes, the goal was to prevent the entrance of undesirable people—those "who would not make good citizens" [3]. In the context of industrial-era America, immigrants who would wear out prematurely, requiring care and maintenance rather than supplying manpower, would not make "good" citizens. By 1903 the PHS had elaborated two major categories: "Class A" loathsome or dangerous contagious diseases and "Class B" diseases and conditions that would render an immigrant "likely to become a public charge." A subset of Class A conditions included mental conditions such as insanity and epilepsy.

an excerpt from "Medical Examination of Immigrants at Ellis Island"

Ellis Island - Wikipedia source

Late October

Along the Blue Ridge Pkwy - The Gated Path

Late October

Blackgum and sourwood blaze glorious 

along with sumac & mountain's virginia creeper.

Always planned vacations 'round 

this early showcase of razzle dazzle

but living here now, I'm quietly charmed

with the finale of oranges and yellows of every shade;

hoard these smoldering days of birch, sassafras, and oak -

breath deeply knowing soon all will be equal beneath my feet.

Brown and brittle will be blown away 

or cease to crunch long before first freeze and flurry,

but for now the sun's upon my face 

and the milkweed pods gently lift from my palm 

into late October's violet blue sky and pearly white clouds.

by Margaret Bednar, October 30, 2016

"The Photograph"

The Photograph

There's a photo, black and white,
rests upon Mother's bureau;
a girl with blond, straight bangs,
fair of skin.   Used to think she was me.

But how could that be
as she was older
and I didn't recognize
the plaid, button-down shirt.

Today, blood transfusions would cure,
but she had only months to count.
Colored and drew pictures instead,
hand-drawn, cut-out paper dolls and clothes;

now cherished upon my wall.
Often ponder her wish of becoming nine;
so grown-up sounding, you see.
Yet it wasn't to be.

Eight was all she had
and blue eyes and a smile
within a frame
that still reminds me of me.

by Margaret Bednar, April 6, 2016

This is a work in progress... a draft poem of sure.  I really look nothing like my sisters, or I think, my parents.  The photo of my sister, Susan, always mesmerized me when I was young.  She looked a lot like me - but no one spoke of her. I finally found out who she was when I was maybe... 8.  I really don't know how old I was when I gathered the courage to ask - (there was something I picked up on - that we weren't to really talk about her, I guess) I just remember always being confused by the photo and shocked when they told me she was my sister.  Come to find out, she couldn't wait to come home from the hospital and visit and see the "baby"... me.  

"True Genius"

King Lear, Act 1, Scene 1,  Edwin Austin Abbey - and my son, the actor

True Genius

It begins, Act 1, Scene 1 -

comedic or tragic; the best have both.

A pinnacle role: youthful, manic, valiant -

it doesn't matter, other than a willingness

to toss comfort aside, embrace passion

which will vanish upon final curtain fall,

and a desire to carve an everlasting mark -

not so much for acclaim, but for truth.

by Margaret Bednar, March 2, 2016

You are invited to Listen:  https://soundcloud.com/margaretbednar/true-genius


Linked with "dVerse "Open Link Night #167"

"Days of Grace"

Days of Grace

I wish these days of grace to linger -

linger in my soul content, yet ablaze.

Ablaze with dying in order to nourish -

nourish to live again.  Each Autumn I walk,

walk these wooded trails, pause -

pause to absorb and gaze in wonder.

Wondering all the while if I will bow -

bow as graciously as nature when it's my time.

Time, a gift we seem to squander -

squander away when we have it and long,

long for it when it silently winds down - tick,

tick, tick.  Perhaps we over-think, when we should -

should just breath in and out, reflect how to,

to give of ourselves, daily.  Die to self,

selflessly give each day in order to live -

live one day outside of time, ablaze with grace.

by Margaret Bednar, originally written October 13, 2013 - updated October 19, 2014

Every year I delight in the fall season.  This is a poem I wrote last year and I made two slight changes.  I hope everyone is able to get out and enjoy the day!  

"The Hoarders"

   A

bandid

woolly

bear

inches toward wintry

crevis, waylaid momentarily, tossed,

turned, by terrier nose and toddler toes, curious

to see where it goes.  Indignant squirrel shakes its tail

as unearthed is its precious stash and toddler laughs to see

the little brown “bedtime” cap -   Buzzin’ bees dart to and fro

between goldenrods and astor,  gentle noise disrupted

by six legs and a tail blazing a trail off the beaten path.

Two heads together, tousled and weary, lick and giggle 

as they reminisce, regale day's numerous adventures,

tongue and cheek no longer flushed, but cooled

against cotton pillow, softly breathing their way

to sleep, dreaming of a tomorrow of down-

filled coats and well stocked pantry

their hoarding a little 

less urgent.

Zzz

by Margaret Bednar

Just thought it would be fun to repost this poem.  

"Little Traverse Bay"

Little Traverse Bay

For a six sided gemstone I search,
plunder stillness like a tourist -
face flush with the rising sun,
splashing, humming, exploring.

If only I'd keep the me she sees,
I wouldn't need a weathered memento
uprooted from protective embrace -

Instead store promise internally,
take it out, polish it,
appreciate the imperfect preciousness
of me.

by Margaret Bednar, revised (again) August 7, 2014

I've fiddled with this poem several times … just needed to "record" the newest version.

Petoskey Stones are the "mementos" I am referencing. 

"The Gift"

Red fluttered out of sight until just before I had to leave

The Gift

July's bog garden
is a quiet song, a hushed melody,
a gauzy wrap draping my shoulders.

Spring blooms are gone,
summer greens run rampant,
speckled light tickles forest floor

as I seek my Great Blue Heron.
We met once, he hiding in shaded,
shallow ripples… I tiptoed away.

Today's stagnant pond
offers up ducks loitering water's edge
and an elusive red, darting flash.

I follow, peer through thickets, vines,
trip over roots, stones,
child-like wonder not dissuaded,

feel more than hear thunder's rumble,
glance up towards veiled sky.
"Sweet, sweet, sweet".  Framed by light,

I swear Red's laughing, teasing as I leave,
flutters down, skips along wooded rail,
tracking me, so it seems, cocks his head

as if to say,"Thanks for playing".
I race to beat storm-grey clouds,
clutch his gift of "light" within.

by Margaret Bednar, July 2, 2014

I purposefully went out with my camera to capture light and wouldn't you know it… a storm rolled in.  I have NEVER been followed by a cardinal before - they really are so elusive and flitter away, usually.  This little guy really did sing to me… and fluttered down and hopped along the railing toward me as I photographed him and cocked his head as I walked away.

I really didn't think I was going to find anything to write about as everything seemed a bit drab… but honestly, the light that snuck between the canopy and the "light" this little bird infused in me for the rest of the day was awesome.

These were taken with my iPhone - easy and fun when walking the dog.  I DID just purchase a Canon D70 and am reading the manuals as I am really focused on learning my manual settings.

"Red" walked this whole railing as if following me

"Impermanence"

These newborn baby birds fell with their nest to the ground

Impermanence

The heavens open
and little angels fall
delicate and pure -
wings so fragile,
skin so thin,
sparse tufts of fuzz
halo their head.

I'm not sure I can save them,
perhaps these first hours
will be their last;
no warble ever to sound,
no wing ever to soar.

One minute, secure,
the next, free-falling
and I feel the utter helplessness
of  "All the king's men"
as I try piecing
this shattered nest
together again.

by Margaret Bednar, April 24, 2014

UPDATE 4-25-2014  I checked on them this morning and they did not make it.  The mother never found them.  They are all huddled together in the nest.  I am grateful they had that.   It really instilled in me the absolute miracle of life, though.  I've never been so close to newborn birds - everything is precious, every life, human or animal, is a gift.  



The nest fell from my outdoor umbrella as I opened it for the first time this spring.  I ended up putting the nest on a shoebox lid and strapping the whole thing to the inner branches of the evergreen you see behind the adirondak chairs.  The mother flew all around the umbrella looking for her babies - near broke my heart.  I decided to go inside as I didn't want to scare her anymore.  I will check tomorrow and see if she found them…

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. 

"Good Morning"

Good Morning

The ocean greets me this morning
as if she didn't get a wink of sleep,
one minute lazily laps my toes,
the next, aggressively bellows displeasure
as she plunders my retreating heels.

To be fair, I've had my coffee (three cups
of Costa Rica's finest), two eggs, scrambled,
and will be long gone before the nor'easter
hits - perhaps there's reason for agitation.

Ribbons of pink and yellow peak over her rim, 

release sparkles of light to tumble and dance
upon her distress; notice a gull's tracks
she leaves undisturbed.  He too seems a bit cranky,
surmise if I'd brought food he'd be my best friend.

I leave them each other, hope the warmth
tickles their backs, administers its therapy,
return later for goodbyes, thanks upon my lips,
as delightful I find them, no matter their mood.

by Margaret Bednar, January 21, 2014

I just returned from an impromptu getaway with my youngest daughter.  We had an enjoyable first trip to Hatteras Island, NC and took a ferry ride for a quick trip to Ocracoke Island.  It's just what we needed and some great one-on-one time.  I hope to share photos and a few poems over the next few days.

"Respite"

Respite

Nature's fury
spent and weary -

all await
her gentle sigh.

Margaret Bednar, January 11, 2014

We had such cold here (for North Carolina) and last night rain, rain, rain and a thunderstorm.  I think the sun is promised to show up tomorrow along with temperatures in the mid 50's.  Thats a nice "sigh" for me.

Linking this with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday".

"Aldabra"

Aldabra

You lumber gracefully
on toes prehistoric

inquisitive nose upturned,
eyes inches from mine -

don't look at me,
look into me -

and I nearly drown
in two ebony pools -

time suspended.

by Margaret Bednar, November 19, 2013

The past few days we have been entertaining and visiting with the Grandparents.  Monday we visited the Science Center and I had no idea this wonderful aquarium/small zoo was ten minutes from my home!  I always go to the larger zoo 45 minutes away.



This Aldabra (giant tortoise) was very active and swung his great head my way and walked and climbed up the log with his front legs and peered into my eyes -  his nose almost touched my iPhone.  I bent down and looked right into his beautiful eyes… what a "jolt" of sensation!

Linked with "dVerse Open Link Night #123"