Longing

Longing

My rhododendron leaves curl in upon themselves,
frosted with light snow; count the days 'till beachside.
For now, the taste of Myrtle honey
flavors my tongue; thank the industrious bees
that gather nectar from salt marsh shrubs -
horizontal thickets joined by Holly, Bayberry and Elder.
They lean and give to ocean winds, salty spray, and burning sun;

a harsh existence I won't acknowledge until summer.
I will also miss spring blooms beneath the Oak, Sweet Gum,
and Sassafras; witness not white innocence, lavender toadflax,
violet bull thistle, and green life everlasting.

Instead, I will ponder coast’s blue, shimmering surface come June,
above soda straw worms, knobbed whelks, moon snails,
and lettered olives.  A few will be tossed with the tide
upon the sand, collected along with angle wings, heart cockles,
small colored clams, and the rare chipped sand dollar
and sea star.

But for now, I wrap my sweater snuggly about my shoulders
and sigh, honeyed myrtle warming my tongue.

by Margaret Bednar, January 22, 2020

This is linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #3 - Salt-water poems"

Preparations

Preparations

A few weeks ago deer gathered beneath the apple trees, meadowland and mountains a security of sorts, although coyote (and ever rumored mountain lion) must have been aware of their presence.  Early one morning a late birthed fawn darted about, no adult in sight.  I slowed the car, pondered what to do; startled it more, and my heart grieved.  Sweetness lured them, juicy ripe, bordered on rotten; can't imagine amount of sugar consumed.

The wild orchard is vacant now, temptation played its part, trees less weighted, resplendent for a stint in temporary burnished glory.  Now that's gone too; first frost has lashed her icy tongue and deer slip out of woodland earlier; perhaps for breeding, but consuming as much green as possible.  I wrap my shawl closer, walk the dogs, their awareness of danger or hardship almost non-existent; wolf-like instincts dormant as they beg the cats to befriend them.  Fireside has yet to be shared.

A fine line exists between wild and domestic.  How long would it take for survival and instinct to kick in, or would my puppies be like the fawn, startled out of safety, nature taking its course?  How would I fare if grocery store vanished, if I had to can apples and store food for winter?

Apples over-ripe
a last desperate banquet
before winter's fast.

by Margaret Bednar, November 9, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Burnished"

"Snow and Coffee"

Snow and Coffee

Coffee, hot chocolate,
white mocha latte - warm up.
Matter of days we'll be throwing a frisbee.

This week?  Snow!
Bonfire, sledding, people wave -
spontaneous community,

quality conversation
with a neighbor.
Snow continues to fall,

kids towing sleds,
throwing snowballs,
eating snowballs. Fun.

by Margaret Bednar, February 13, 2014

This is an Erasure poem written for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Out of Standard".  Of course, Isadora Gruye always has a twist - use a current local news source.

Well, winter seems to be the "big news" today so I went with it.  Nowhere to go, except the neighborhood for the next few days.  I personally love it!  As long as it is for a few days because I moved south for Adirondack chairs and sweet tea!

The article is from our local newspaper "News & Review", original article by Jeri Rowe.

"February is"

February is

shades of grey and tan,
dull sage green
with etchings of black;

like a bashful beauty
wrapped within woolen coat;

or a cardinal flashing through
forest's canopy.

I take my cue,
plump pillows of grey & tan,
swipe soft-green upon lids,
slip on little black, paint lips red -

drop my robe, remind him
spring's almost here.

by Margaret Bednar, February 9, 2014

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Imagined by Heaven" - featuring artist Lisa Graham, HERE.   Also look her up on Facebook.

Also linked with "dVerse Poets Pub - sketchbook in-the-moment poetry" - Claudia has us looking out our window and writing what we see.

This will also be for next week's Friday Flash 55 over at Mr. Know It All's blog HERE - perfect for Valentine's Day, I think! 

"Weekend Get-a-Way"

Weekend Get-a-Way

Beachside.  The word itself

draws a sigh.  Sand, sun,

not summer's emerald tinted waves,

but winters slate-gray

courts Atlantic's vast expanse. 

Her steady, almost solemn breath

greets us each morn, dolphins slice

parallel paths, seagulls pose

against a tangerine sky,

the perfect whelk, collected,

our footprints imprint our brief sojourn

upon her tide-swept shore.

by Margaret Bednar, February 7, 2014

This is for Friday Flash 55.  I am STILL re-running the two weekends I had with different daughters at the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  Ocracoke is my favorite island, and I can't wait to go back.

For those of you who are living in the wintery wonderland of "Antarctica Michigan" and other northern states of the U.S.A, maybe if you do what I did when I wrote this … closed my eyes and tried to feel the heat of the sun and sand - maybe this will warm you a bit.