Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Not Quite Faded













You carry the visible remnants
of pain endured,
fissures closed,
wounds still healing.
My blemishes mask hidden
tarnished through tears,
sullied in sleepless nights.
Scarred, broken—
two fractured halves
struggling to become whole again.

Don’t look too close,
    you may still see the cracks.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Linking to d’Verse Poets Pub, where we are sharing our “Scars,” both seen and unseen.  This is a Quadrille, a new form for me, a poem of exactly 44 words.
Come on by and check out what others have shared!


Saturday, November 19, 2016

Our "Thanksgiving" Family



We come together each November—and occasionally between— a group of transplants who have found themselves away from the families and places we were raised who have landed together in this small New England town. Some of us have known each other for decades, others not so long. Some have children close in age that go to school together, others are extended family. We are bound by similar values, work ethics, our love of family, and the friendship that we share.

We are college professors, career military, civil servants, healthcare workers, moms, dads, grandparents, children, grandchildren, and friends. We have come from places near and far: from Texas and Oklahoma, New York, and Vermont, a U.S. territory, and a country to our south.  We have crossed state lines, borders, and oceans to arrive here. We are an eclectic mix—Polish and Italian, Irish, Scots, and Scandinavian, Mexican and Puerto Rican, whose families settled here in this country for reasons as diverse as we are—to escape fascism and oppression, to educate and further themselves, to integrate and become a part of this great melting pot called the United Sates; where dreams are possible, differences welcomed, hard work rewarded, and there is freedom to grow and become whomever one believes they can be.

We all bring something different to the table, both literally: turkey with all the fixings, pernil, yellow rice and beans, tamales, Jamoncillo de Leche, pumpkin and apple pies and other deserts; and idealistically with different viewpoints and traditions. The diversity of our backgrounds may have shaped us, but it is our commonalities that bind us; and our mutual respect, fondness and love for each other that makes us family.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Para
La familia de Madera
La familia Pérez
La familia Natella
The Muse Family
Y todos los de mi familia el Día de Acción de Gracias
Con cariño y agradecimiento

(Think about it: we are all from "someplace else," we are all 'immigrants.' Even the indigenous people, the “Native Americans,” crossed by a land bridge that existed between Siberia and Alaska long before the first Europeans “discovered” this country.)

Monday, November 14, 2016

In The Same Basket











Deep inside the anger rises
Each one standing by their choice,
Perpetrating bad behavior
Letting violence have a voice.
Oh, where have all the sane folk gone?
Rebelling when we disagree…
All of us must work together,
Become the change we want to see.
Let the flames of love unite us;
Erase the hate to make us free.

©Ginny Brannan 2016

The image is Hate graffiti, discovered on Mt. Tom in nearby Holyoke, MA during the week of the presidential election of 2016.  

Thursday, November 3, 2016

The Elephant Graveyard













Over well worn pathways,
these weathered pachyderms have come,
unseen forces beckoning.
All seem to find their way here…
ivory long faded yellow,
gray turns white,
dermis folded, sagging.
They walk the walk of the ancients;
all who came before,
those who will come after.
Another rite of passage
among so many they have borne
It’s said they never “forget,”
but memory is subjective:
lost somewhere beyond
hidden plaques and tangles
their lives unravel—
and so they travel this road,
hoping for peace at journey’s end.


© Ginny Brannan 2016










*Plaques and tangles are part of the Alzheimer's puzzle.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Here I go . . . again









I read too much in the silences
the words unsaid between the lines
     Can’t you see the heart worn on this sleeve?
Hanging on this thread from your web of indecision
 while you ponder what to take and what to leave.
There was no “quid pro quo” offered,
— no ‘if; thens’ —
…and only I expected otherwise,
       over-thinking things again.

©   Ginny Brannan 2016 


Saturday, October 22, 2016

Clinging














The rain-soaked leaves fall from the trees
to coat the asphalt avenues,
they cling to shingles on the roofs
and track inside stuck to our shoes.

They drop now as the raindrops do—
spinning, skipping in the squall;
muted vestiges of glory
upon the lawns and fields soon sprawl.

Each year the same old fate unfolds
by early frost and chill propelled,
this final blaze of reds and golds
as season bids her last farewell.

And as the colors dissipate
we feel that ever-growing pall;
the long cold winter lies in wait—
for now, we’ll revel in the Fall.


© Ginny Brannan 2016

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Off the Wagon


Image: Tom Harty Trapper's Fishcamp and Grill, Oklahoma City
















Like a sponge I soak up the rosés  and burgundies,
golden Chambourds, Bourbons and Grand Marniers
the yellow-green Chartreuses and emerald Absinthes
… a sot in need of one. more. shot.

Just a steward in this cabinet of riches,
for six decades imbibing, sampling the goods,
savoring each flavor; knowing that soon
each one sours to brown, 
spilling to ground until gone.

Shaking with chill of withdrawal,
my twelve-step program starts now
counted by months
until my next binge.


© Ginny Brannan 2016

Image: G.Brannan Laurel Lake in Lee, MA