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...

In the "Here and Now"

You have no idea of the dark places I’ve been

how it took all I have to crawl out of them

I pray you never have to deal, never feel

such loss. But then we all have felt it, haven’t we?

In one way, or another, we all know the cost.

I hear your ‘sorrys,’ your apologies, 
your “I don’t know what I’d ever dos.”

All I know is we put one foot in front of the other.

And we endure.  And we get through.

Don’t mistake my quietness for sadness,

nor my laughter for indifference.

Life moves on and so do we.

We learn to smile more, to hug more. to share our hearts more.

Because when given the choice to curl up in a corner

and close out the world, or to live, 

I will take ‘life’ every time.

I don’t know what lies around the next bend, 

but I know what I have, 

and I know who I am.

And for now, that's enough! 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Meting My Needs

 

I carry so much inside of this heart

sometimes I feel it will burst.

I am not patient; ruminating anxiously,

watching, wondering what holds the key?

And I do my best to keep moving forward

pondering if second-chances

are based in reality, or if they’re a myth

that we tell ourselves to keep on keepin’ on.

Joy is gleaned in all of  the small moments.

Hope carried on the fringes of those moments,.

But the light that we that seek,

the love that we reach for,

isn’t always as forthcoming.

We may feel its warmth from time to time,

a will-o-the wisp that rests for a heartbeat

then moves on, leaving us wanting for more.

It’s hard to find stability in an unstable world,

to feel confidence when nothing is sure.

Our want for companionship seems impossible to obtain,

but the need to find love, to give love, to be loved still remains.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

*Meting = measuring

 

Festering

 

You’re caught up in all of the stories you’re told

you watch every day as the falsehoods unfold

there’s no turning back and you will not concede

must stick to the plan now, there is no retreat

 

The barrage of deceit is your one recompense

streamed on a loop that doesn’t make sense

while you share fabrications you barely believe,

to admit you are wrong would accede to defeat

 

Contradictions and "fictions" mount by the score;

each new day bringing dozens more–

your mind’s lost in some kind of atrophy

while you wallow in ignorance, blissfully

 

And you can’t give it up and you won’t give in

to deny your support is a brazen sin

submerging yourself in hypocrisy

while trading out kindness for bigotry.

 

So we march to a place we did not foresee

full of unrestrained hate and brutality

fraught in our fears and uncertainty

inside this contentious reality.

 

How does one admit that the trail they chose

is tainted, as slowly their souls decompose

in a casket of misplaced morality

decaying inside of their own piety

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024