Tuesday, August 22, 2017

"Hope Always Rising"

This photo has nothing to do with the poem -
This is an image of the Blue Ridge Pkway at 96% solar eclipse
...and the bee buzzing about this wild grape vine.
Please do not read this poem without reading the inspirational (current event) true story which inspired it.  "Devota, Valentine: "Everyday, We Are Blessed To Be Alive" by Jon Katz

Hope Always Rising

As a child I read fairytales, believed enduring wrongs
and injustices would always be rewarded if patient,
if good.  I lived on hope; hoped I'd be pretty one day,
hoped I'd have a fine wardrobe, find a handsome husband,
hoped ... oh so many frivolous things.

I never imagined walking over two thousand miles
in a war ravaged country, fleeing genocide,
a baby upon my back.

Never imagined plunging into a year's long hardship,
avoiding, not always successfully,
rape, hunger, bone weary exhaustion.

Never imagined passing by children
abandoned upon forest floor, starving, some already dead
as there was no one to save them.

Never imagined dodging bullets, fearing countless soldiers
and farmers (as food was scavenged from their fields),
not always escaping injury.

Never imagined "walking on bones".

As a child, and shamefully even an adult, my hopes
and prayers sometimes seemed fickle -
as if incorrectly answered I might read a book
instead of recite a nightly devotional.

But Devota never abandoned her Valentine,
her prayers never ceased, happiness not expected,
nor survival - although hope for freedom,
hope in perseverance, hope of a friendly border
did cling stubbornly to her belief in salvation.

Twenty years a U.N. refugee, waiting in Africa
for America to finally extend her hand;
and we are all the richer for Devota
and her wise and solemn "Grimm" fairytale.

Happily ever after, to quote Emerson
"...is to be useful, to be honorable,
to be compassionate, to have it make a difference
that you have lived and lived well".

Immigrants and refugees remind us
what's really important, the giving of ourselves,
each to the other; remembering what compassion means.

by Margaret Bednar, August 22, 2017


An interesting link from the History Channel:  Rwanda-genocide

This is linked with "dVerse - Poetics: Border"

Monday, August 21, 2017

Beneath a Batik sky...




Beneath a batik sky, everything's whitewashed in translucent shades of aqua, turquoise, and teal; shapes being reduced to inky silhouettes.  Humidity cloaks me, but welcoming the island breeze I wear this frock with ease even as sweat trickles betwixt my shoulder blades.  My feet turn towards the harbor, gem colored kayaks beaconing.  Soon develop a steady rhythm, skirt Silver Lake's circumference, glide by weatherworn piers and pilings, pass muster with austere white crowned sentinels of broad wings and oversized bill; grateful for the privilege of safe passage.  Find myself refreshed and walking beside a border of cypress trees, whose contour of whorls and swirls seemingly place me inside a Van Gogh landscape although absent a sky of churning, patterned brushstrokes; instead it is scrimmed with gossamer clouds more reminiscent of Whistler.  Meet up with my man and little man admiring Pamlico Sound, find my heart bursting as brightly as the marigold star nestling in the sliver of tangerine sky as it winks once more and slips softly into the sea.

Turquoise and marigold accent my world
as ocean's breeze soothes a tempest

by Margaret Bednar, August 21, 2017

This is linked with "dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - What did you do?"

A Haibun is one of my favorite poetic styles - although I do struggle with the follow-up Haikus.  We just returned from a last summer "hurrah" - a week on our beloved Outerbanks - Ocracoke Island.  It is the beginning of hurricane season, and although there were a touch of storms, they came and went.  It made the waves a lot of fun - although we didn't venture very far out and my son wore a life jacket and a boogy board attached to his wrists.