Tuesday, November 25, 2014

"Youthful Enthusiasm"

Youthful Enthusiasm

Virginia Nightingale flashes cardinal red
amongst elderberry and beech,
flutters about, orange beak tilted over wing and tail.

Upon woodland path two feet still, finger points,
a first entry upon his list, checked.
Sketches Daughter of the Sun, flips page and says,

"Now for a Bald Eagle!"

by Margaret Bednar, November 25, 2014

He has quite the "birding" hat, doesn't he?
My youngest and I are beginning a new hobby - birding.  My youngest daughter made the comment it was for "old people" but I know my 7 year old son surely enjoyed it.   We stilled ourselves and waited for the forest activity to resume.  And boy did it!  A squirrel almost dashed into us and we saw two types of woodpeckers as well.  I will post photos and a poem I'm sure soon.

My son said he thought he saw an Eagle !!!!  and then said "Nevermind.  It's a plane."   I might have to get him better quality binoculars.

"Daughter of the Sun" is a Cherokee name for the cardinal and another name is "Virginia Nightingale".

And so… I've started a birding journal blog "(not merely) Ornamental" click or find it on my sidebar.

This poem is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday"

Saturday, November 22, 2014

"Pink Moon"

Pink Moon

Mountain phlox have sprouted
once again drape forest edge & meadow
stem, petal, and leaf
absorb the full moon,
moss pink.

April nights find me longing
to release gossamer silk,
balloon into night's sky,
ride a jet stream,
celebrate Spring's arrival.

They say desire
ebbs and wains once fulfilled;  question
whether Time exists without change.

All I know is come Blackberry winter
I still thrill when woodlands
yawn, stretch, & bloom.

by Margaret Bednar, November 22, 2014

This is for the "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it Again Toads #10".  I chose to accept Kenia's Metaphysical Question challenge.  I attempted to work in "Can there be time without change?" (science is SO not my strong point - so I had a hard time grasping even the simplest question let alone rising to a poetic challenge!)

The Pink Moon is not really pink - it references the appearance of the first spring flowers - wild ground phlox which is often pink.  It is also known as the Sprouting Grass Moon, Egg Moon, Fish Moon, and the Paschal Full Moon.  

Friday, November 21, 2014

"Forbidden, Sacred, & Symbolic

detail "Still Life with Fruit - Severin Roesen
Forbidden, Sacred, & Symbolic

Beneath leathery skin is flesh tartly-sweet as cranberry juice.
If they'd known it's bitter taste would Eve have faltered,
would Persephone still bring forth the Spring?

Adorning Persian spears bold warriors marched for victory,
Solomon poetically penned his song likening fruit to veiled bridal cheeks.
Buddhists proclaim fertility, abundance, posterity,
Islam's heavenly gardens hail a hidden seed in each.

I break open and place in water, watch seeds sink, inedible pulp float.

Imagine medieval "wounded" unicorns, dripping blood-red juice
from alabaster flanks, tamed by virgins and chained to pomegranate trees,
a reminder of Christ's imminent incarnation.

I pop seeds into my mouth enjoy explosion of tartly-sweet,
notice I've stained my new white shirt.

by Margaret Bednar, November 21, 2014

Still Life with Fruit (1852) - Severin Roesen

I struggled with the ending.  I am amazed and in awe of the rich symbolic history this fruit enjoys - but I often bypass it in the grocery store as I have stained one too many pieces of clothing.  I might come back and change the ending, but right now I'm too tired and lazy to think any further.

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations" Still Life with Fruit (Severin Roesen) 

Thursday, November 20, 2014

"I'm Thankful"

I'm Thankful

Bittersweet twines,
grasps a hold of bricks and posts
as kale flashes lavender corsages;
no deferring to colors smoldering.

I'm thankful for these competitors
of late fall's seasonal color,
splashing vibrant hues
amongst backdrop of waning glory,

for tyrannical crows
who claim field and fence
where little bluebirds and cardinals
mid-summer freely danced and swooped.

I'm thankful for the westerly sinking sun
quietly draping hills and valleys
with soothing shades of velvety grays
and crystal kisses,

for crisp air that chills my cheeks,
makes me hurry homeward
toward promises of smoldering hearth,
entwined arms and legs.

I'm thankful for celebrating together
the richness of another season's
coming and going and the bountiful gifts
that life and death provide.

by Margaret Bednar, November 20, 2014

This is for The Gratitude Quilt over at "Shine the Divine".  I will post a link to the 6th annual offering of thanks once it is up on Laura Hegfield's blog.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014



"The tree seemed already dead, bowed on the slope and all I know of miracle…"  Salvatore Quasimodo

I fear a flick of his tail might shatter
afternoon's stained glass golden glow,
that his nervous fingered fidgeting,

reminiscent of a child during Mass
(eager to run, eyes mischievous)
will break the reverent silence

of deer grazing beneath dry fallen leaves
and startle the crows to cry a warning
as I've yet to be noticed -

But before I can genuflect,
squirrel scampers, deer turn tail,
and crows wing away, "caw, caws" fading.

So I resume my litany through forest cathedral,
pay homage to life's feverish withdrawing
so next season's miracle may spread its grace.

by Margaret Bednar, November 12, 2014

This is hopelessly late, but for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge: Salvatore Quasimodo".

Tuesday, November 4, 2014



November's a flamboyant dame,
flourishes rouged cheeks,
kisses with pouting lips.

A beauty crystalline -
her whispers rustle
beneath our feet,

frigid fingertips slide our spines
shiver quivering notes,
whose beaver moon

heralds a quickening pace -
callused palms, reddened nose,
one backward glance toward summer

before we burrow down
beneath grandmother's quilts
wearing hand-knitted woolen socks.

by Margaret Bednar, November 4, 2014

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Flash Fiction 55".  A poem or story in 55 words - no more, no less.

What does your early November look and feel like?