Sunday, September 10, 2017

The Time Thief

Another year has come and gone
how quick the days fly past
ever forward time moves on
nothing ever lasts

The secret of “forever young”
is not just youthful looks;
it’s in the friendships that we forge,
the ‘chapters’ of our book.

So dwell not on what isn’t done
and give yourself reprieve—
look instead from whence you’ve come
and all that you’ve achieved!

© GB 2017














A wee thought in honor of a dear friend's birthday.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Still Searching for Answers













I have lifted my eyes to the heavens to pray
trying to renew the faith I once felt;
coming to find at the end of the day
that life as I know it is centered on doubt.
How can a God sanction such anger and hate,
the loss of a parent to such a young child;
the illness and pain that never abates…
too many questions left unreconciled.

We thank God for all of the good things that come,
but who takes the blame for the unanswered prayer?
Time intercedes until we become numb—
stuck in this place between hope and despair.

I believe there are angels who wander among us:
in the friend who just senses when you need to talk;
in the kindness of strangers when we are in crisis,
who'll raise and support us when we cannot walk.

Life lessons learned have hardened this heart;
still God bless the ones who can truly believe.
Blind faith without proof is really an art;
it’s in love and kindness I’ll find my reprieve.
 
Still I ponder the words that we heard in our youth:
to pray, to have faith that our voice will heard;
but have come to acknowledge this as my truth—
my divinity’s found helping those here on earth.

© Ginny Brannan 2017


“God helps those who help themselves.”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
 origin: 409 BC  Sophocles (before Christianity) from Wikipedia:
— “No good ever comes of leisure purposeless, and heaven ne’er helps men who will not act.”

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Displaced












Hope floats in little boats
through flooded streets and avenues
while silent cries rise in our throats

A factory goes up in smoke;
this life they knew now turned askew
their hope afloat in little boats.

The news folk capture every quote;
each sound bite shared for all to view—
while silent cries rise in our throats.

The charities all self-promote,
with daring clips of those rescued
floating past in little boats.

For leadership, the day was rote:
they paused a moment, then withdrew;
the silent cries rose in our throats.

Across the globe the world will note
the ones who stood and made it through;
their hope afloat in little boats
while silent cries rose in their throats.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

The aftermath of Hurricane Harvey















Sunday, August 27, 2017

In the Shadow of the Night King

From heated debates venting so much hate,
temperatures rise; before our eyes
a storm rolls in; we’re at the beginning
of bigger things. Who could have imagined
this turn of the tides: whitewater churning—
every day now spent “unlearning”
the truth as we knew it? History shows that
we’ve been here before…hard to ignore
how it repeats, how it depletes our energy.
Once more drained, the power remains—
with whom you say? On any given day
we’re being slammed, completely hammered
with lies and innuendo. Who has the truth?
It’s been lost at a cost we cannot grasp.
When shit starts at the top and rolls downhill
the mirrors go up to reflect the swill
that we’ve become. It isn’t pretty
When we ourselves get caught in the heat
then Evil Incarnate’s plan is complete
Ever further from middle ground
we wait for the “other side” to fall down.
When common sense itself rescinds
we divide to be conquered from within.
Brother to brother, friend to friend
that’s how a civil war begins.
Have we been played from beginning to end?
The climate is changing as leadership wanes
no respect in the masses, no political gains
stagnant, repugnant, recalcitrant too
how sad, indeed… What can we do?
No strong enough leader to rally behind
would it be surprising to see an uprising?
With daily inciting the Devil’s enticing us;
will we be caught up in his little game?
When every day promises more of the same.
We’ve stepped back into the Twilight Zone
where blatant hatred thought unknown
marches in the streets again—
everyone loses, no on wins.
So “savvy up” people, look around
only we can make the change that’s needed.
We see the writing on the wall,
how long before the warning’s heeded?

© Ginny Brannan 2017





Saturday, August 12, 2017

Carrying the Torch













We are the tired, the poor
at one time elevated
now we’re denigrated;
we watch the “disillusionist”
slam our front door.
Where are the promises
that called to our elders
who risked life and limb
to come to this shore?
Who raised up their families
despite any hardship,
now find they are ‘pink-slipped’
and welcome no more.

We need to get back to the basics once promised
we need to return to the truth at our core
where hard work’s rewarded
where cheating is thwarted
where bullshit and liars are shunned and ignored

She stands in the harbor, where some call her ‘Lady’
yet others are known to have called her a “whore”
this symbol of “Liberty“ who welcomes the masses,
this emblem of all who have come here before.
Hold high your lamp, oh, Symbol of Freedom!
Call out the losers, and those who’d abhor…
Remind them our strength is not just in numbers
but in our allegiance for all we stand for!
Remind us stand tall, and help the afflicted
ravaged by hunger, by thirst, or by war.
Help us remember that we are their beacons;
and that trust only comes when you build a rapport.
Just like all families, sometimes we bicker,
yet when push comes to shove we are hard to ignore;
for we’re so much better when we stand together
diverse but united, our country endures.


© Ginny Brannan 2017

Thursday, August 10, 2017

In the Still of the Night

Image by author: Back yard, hard edited.













Over the fence what was once a garden
ten, twelve, fifteen years ago
has rendered itself unrecognizable;
 a winding of undergrowth, an overgrown tangle
of weeds and vines, sumac and bittersweet.
The old owner of the land passed on long ago,
his tiny hoarder’s cottage left to a friend.
Uninhabited,  left as tinder to burn to the ground—
faulty wiring or arson for insurance­...we’ll never really know.
The sun has dipped now below the horizon,
dusk turns to darkness,  the former garden
takes on an other-worldly view—
shadow images of arms and hands
stretch out, reaching for the waning moon.
The soft rustle of leaves can be heard, interjected by
the crackle of a branch snapping now and again—
perhaps a skunk or some other wild denizen of the night,
but more than likely one of three feral cats whom
have adopted this yard and made it their home.
The sound of a passing shower, raindrops on tree tops
adds its whisper to the chorus
odors of wet leaves and dampened earth
come slipping through the screen.

There is a certain comfort
in the night sounds, a normalcy…
a sense of security;
counterbalancing the chaos
to erase the lunacy of the day,
I close my eyes now, and surrender
and to my dreams, now slip away.

"Goodnight room"
"Goodnight moon"

© Ginny Brannan 2017

* Quote from children's book, "Goodnight Moon" by Margaret Wise Brown

Judging You, Judging Me












“We all judge. that’s our hobby.
Some people do arts and crafts. We judge.”
—Stanford, Sex and the City

I heard you say you have no vices,
and see that you’ve taken to judging others
on a sliding scale of perfection;
with no one quite as perfect as you.
You know all that there is to know
on a myriad of subjects
and a multitude of points.
Alcohol, tobacco, drugs…
the bane of the 'weak-minded,'
and anyone with such affliction
should rid themselves of their addiction.
How fast you counter with your opinion,
to expose such ‘weaknesses’ to your minions.

—God forbid you ever knew the anguish of abuse
    the pain of infection that eats the bone
    the torment that rips out  the heart
    the invisible suffering that tears one apart.

I dare you to walk a mile
in the other person’s shoes—
yeah, that person whom you're sure
lit up that cigarette just to “spite” you;
the one you’ve deemed as thinking
“only of themselves”
polluting the air that’s there
for only you to breath
Perhaps they, like you, needed
a night out, a reprieve—
from the worries that they carry,
from a life you could never understand.
How hard it must be to keep up that image of the perfect man
Don’t you see that they, too,  pull their pants on one leg at a time?
In another lifetime, you also might have been judged...
but we no longer talk of lifestyle choices
in once-hushed tones and whispered voices.

So best not judge lest you be judged...

We ALL have vices, some obvious
and some so subtle that even those affected
cannot see them for what they are.
Yet, if we take a good look in the mirror
we might realize —with some measure of shame—
inside all preconceived notions lies this truth:
   we really are the same...
not one of us is perfectno matter what we claim.
So, be careful where your laurels rest
  and whom you would defame

© Ginny Brannan 2017

*TY to C.B. for the perfect quote above, which I saw and remembered on your page from such a long, long time ago.