Procrastination!

 

Oh look! A dusting of soft snow!

It falls so gently on the lawn.

I watch the flakes as they alight

to paint the boughs in pristine white.

 

It fills these eyes with such delight!

It purifies the grit and grime;

and brings me back to childhood days

transforms me to a different time.

 

Now old bones ache with winter chill–

Oh, to be that child still!

Those winter days that I recall,

no worries should I slip and fall.

 

I watch here from my warm cocoon

through the frosted window pane

and contemplate if I should wait

to see if snow will turn to rain.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2025

Ode to the Days of Wonder!

 

Dawn breaks, I awaken to find

that overnight new snow has fallen,

coating lawn and trees alike.

It softens harsh lines and, to our delight,

brightens the monotone landscape

with untainted softness and purity.

Even the gray hills, once indistinguishable 

from the clouds above, have donned caps of winter white.

As children, we relished the new-fallen snow

Bundled in warm jackets and snow pants

boots, hats, scarves and mittens, barely able to move,

we would pull our sleds from storage sheds

heading for the nearest hill, cocoa and cookies

awaiting our return. Years pass, and time takes it’s toll.

We no longer see snow as a welcome reprieve

but more of a chore, an obstacle to get past

I miss the days of mittens drying by the heat, 

of rosy cheeks, of less worry and no hurry.

In every adult fraught with concern and responsibility

 lives an inner child yearning to be free.

 

 

© Ginny Brannan 2025

Image One: Three Children Sledding by Vickie Wade, full credit to the artist

Image Two: Photo of author and friends, circa early 1960's

A Crack in Everything

 

I hold my breath and wait for change

but nothing is forthcoming yet...

all those days and yesteryears

all the things that brought us here,

all that warmth has disappeared.

and I‘m left holding empty dreams.

Perhaps its age that makes it so–

the distant sounds of a life once full,

of home, of family being built...

I’ve watched it all come pouring down

 like rain upon the windowsill.

Stuck inside a world of gray

all life’s color washed away...

this countenance that I display

hides a heart in disarray.

The dissonance between what’s real

and what I choose for you to see—

the remnants of my dignity

protected under lock and seal.

I seek the crack that holds the light

the answers to this inner plight...

as yet, have found no resolution

 for one so lost and disillusioned.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2025

 

“There is a crack, a crack in everything
 That's how the light gets in”

Leonard Cohen “Anthem

Where the Demons Hide

 

You may think that I’ve forgotten

the petty insults and the hate,

the way you’d whisper and berate

with words that cut and left a scar.

And though I don’t dwell in the past

I still remember who you are.

Time passes and things aren’t the same.

I wonder if you even knew

how much those taunts inflicted pain

and who I see when I see you.

We grow older, life moves on...

Do you remember us as friends?

I try to view who you are now

and not the person you were then,

but not all pain can be erased

still waiting for these scars to fade

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Can't See the Tree for the Forest...

 

I used to wonder what would happen

in the realm of never be’s

as I contemplated what we were

I to you, and you to me...

a simple little game I’d play

just to while the hours away.

Now I listen to the tales you share

and what they might inveigh,

and realize it’s foolish

to play this game I play.

In the forest of each life

there are many trees

it’s difficult to sort them out

once they’ve shed their leaves,

or to know how deep their roots are

by the broken limbs you see.

And I realize it’s grueling
to get back in the game

where everything’s ambiguous

and things are not the same.

And you’re so giddy with the prospect

of finding something new

that you can’t see past the forest

for the tree in front of you.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Warriors

 

Here’s to all who stand their ground

protecting our democracy—

ever firm, we won’t back down.

 

When evil scores, as battles mount

from leaders with myopathy,

here’s to all who stand their ground.

 

On days when daylight can’t be found

we’ll not cede to despondency...

ever firm, we won’t back down.

 

While faced by storms we can’t surmount

the open hate, misogyny;

here’s to all who stand their ground.

 

The autocrats will wane, uncrowned,

exposed through their hypocrisy;

ever firm, we won’t back down.

 

So as the battle cries resound

in this skirmish for autonomy;

here’s to all who stand their ground

– ever firm, we won’t back down.

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Image:

June 22,1916 E Company going to Eagle Pass, TX, WWI

Historic Photos - Bellows Falls, VT and surrounding area. Used with expressed permission from Charles Parant, owner of site.

How Still the Strings

 

Sits the guitar upon its stand

awaiting player's gentle hand

to strum the chords and coax the songs

knowing well how it responds.

In silence now, how still the strings,

and yet, your words are echoing...

no one who’s loved is ever gone

in each of us, their song lives on.

 

We weren’t that close, you and I.

Not really, not in the scheme of things.

Though we knew each other all our lives,

you were always someone who

skated on the outskirts of my existence:

small town, same schools, mutual friends.

Eventually we both moved away

moving onward and outward to live life.

We would bump into each other

on those occasions when we were called back

to relive our high school memories;

or in those moments of mutual celebration or loss.

I never told you how much your kind words meant

during my own loss; how they felt like a warm arm 

around my shoulder; a gentle reminder 

that even in distance we are not alone.

No, we really weren’t that close, 

but in a sense you’ve always been there

somewhere on the edge, on the periphery.

Two kids who shared a certain kinship...

 

and I am better for the knowing of you.

© Ginny (Karpinski) Brannan 2024

Godspeed, my friend...