Thursday, March 23, 2017

Metaphorically Speaking


















Life is a series of relationships—
personal, casual, professional...
some filled with anticipation,
others reeking of ambivalence.
I swore I’d never again become enrapt
captivated by another…
the pain of loss is too great,
it weighs heavy and lives in half-lifes
slowly fading; never quite dissipating.
I don’t know when the change came—
when you went from being just a means to an end
to a necessary part of the whole—
but here I am again.
While another holds the strings
I go on, ignoring the voice
that nags inside my gut
while waiting to learn 
if
the
cord
has
been


cut.


© Ginny Brannan 2017

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

In the Stillness of the Night













Late winter’s eve and all is still
the lawn lies bathed in silver light—
gray shadows race across the yard
and climb atop the windowsill
to draw my gaze upon the sight.

I stare out to the moonlit night,
across the deck and wooded path
fresh–painted by new fallen snow.
The scene infuses with delight;
this gift inside storm’s aftermath.

Half–buried now, the old birdbath
stands shadowed deep in indigo—
it waits on promise of the spring
when arctic chill has finally passed
and snow gives way to new green grass.

With gratitude, I hedge to go;
tranquility allays my soul…
I turn and feel the warmth within
still basking in the afterglow
of winter’s calm and still repose.


©  Ginny Brannan 2017

When life becomes rote, and frustration grows from being immersed in the same routine—different day, sometimes we need to remind ourselves that peace is still there—within our grasp— if we just take a moment to pause and  enjoy the  stillness and beauty around us.

Monday, March 6, 2017

Karma



You wear your attitude like a shield—
like a force field it surrounds you
emanating in the shift of your shoulders
the curl of your lip
the furrow of your brow,
exuding from your pores as you gorge
on the hurt and pain you leave in your wake.
Unhappiness is your cancer;
anger your disease.
So build your walls of brick and stone,
   wattle and bone—
I’ll hold my tongue while you dangle your bait,
knowing that fate eventually comes around…
and those who concede to hostility and hate
   die alone.

© Ginny Brannan 2017