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

Inside the Cadence of Friendship

 

The date, once set, is sacrosanct;

we need this time together,

this gentle reminder of who we are.

where we’ve come from —

that despite all we’ve been through

we are still here.

The ties that bind are many and varied,

but the love? That is our constant.

We are healed in each other’s presence,

made whole again by our stories and laughter

by our words, by music, by camaraderie.

Within this haven of kinship

in the company of those

who have seen our worse, know our best, 

and like us in spite of ourselves,

we are safe to speak of our dreams,

of our hopes and desires,

of our worries and fears—

free to be ourselves.

And it is in the cadence of our friendship that we shine,

carrying each other’s light within us

until we meet again.

 

© GB 2024

 

Top photo: Google Images

Bottom photo by author.

Sing It Loud!

 

I’ve always been the quiet one, the observer,

happy to bury my voice in the crowd;

not wanting to draw too much attention

not daring to express myself out loud.

Not brave to speak of my actual feelings

content to let all others shine,

I took to heart your “Don’t make waves”

till everything I said was filtered

ever with that thought in mind.

But comes a time when voices matter

no matter how off-tune we sing

it’s not the quality of sound

but the honesty of which we bring

So shout out from the highest rooftops

make your voice heard in that crowd

even if we don’t sing well

we can do our best to sing it “loud.”

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Image from Google Images. Multiple sources listed, unable to pin down to give credit to just one.

 

A New "Hope"

With each word uttered,

I watch him diminish and fade.

His voice becoming white noise

–like so many others, whose self-proclaimed

 self-importance dissipates.

Fleeting. 

A brief glimmer.  A will-o-wisp. 

A passing ghost ship in the night.

How long is hate sustainable? 

How long can all the lies be denied?

The country awakens from a deep sleep. 

Hope takes hold.

Like a train, it picks up speed. 

Like an avalanche, a force of nature

sweeping up the undecided in its path.

Incomparable. 

Unstoppable. 

Its beauty reflected in the faces of all races,

stunning to silence the hardcore racists.

Denial and dissonance no longer holding sway.

Hope.

Can you feel it?

And, more importantly,

can you believe it?

Anger holds no place here..

Bigotry holds no place here.

The orange veil has been lifted. We see the little man

behind the curtain for who he is,

All "smoke and mirrors"

There is no magic. There is no power.

We, we the people, hold the power, don’tcha know? 

It’s been inside us all along!

 © Ginny Brannan

Unfinished Pages

 

We’ve always had rapport, you and I–

a tongue-in-cheek way of coming at something,

an understanding based on similar youths 

in dissimilar settings. We seem to share so

many parallel congruities (but perhaps I project 

inside of my own wishful thinking).

Romance is alive and well in that damaged heart of yours

filled with the angst of lost love from long ago

and the dream of some connection that you hope to find.

I, too, seek connection as I read between the lines.

Yet I am pragmatic; it’s doubtful that someone like you

would ever pen a word or two with someone like me in mind.

We create our stories using subtle vagaries, 

meting out those tiny bits that we wish to share.

But somewhere in the margins

                                         or deep within the fold,

perhaps another story’s waiting to be told?

 

I have often wondered of this image that you paint

–the broken man still searching for redemption–

someone always seeking/never finding what they need,

inked in words of vagueness and ambiguity.

Is this persona that you share just some fantasy?

Has it been a lie from its inception?

Leaving me to ponder of my own uncertainty

or if there's something more in our connection?

Another blank page lying here between us–

       What shall we write?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Just another tale filled with vague references, plot holes, unrequited feelings, and no happy ending.

 

Because Sometimes

 

To put into words how we feel in a moment

is like trying to launch a balloon in the wind

to chase after something just out of reach

that dances and teases hither and there

with no malice aforethought and nary a care.

And it stirs something dormant that dwells deep inside

where rebellion and wisdom and passion reside.

Yet we're loath to let go of this image we’ve fostered

nor let someone see us, naked and bare

so we hide in the clutter of daily achievements

lest someone discover the truth hidden there.

And the path that we walk is all littered with trifles

subconscious  rejections: a fence if you will—

to keep heart protected from meaningless prattle,

locked in the past with time standing still.

Sometimes I sift through the words that you’ve written

–your subtle seductions with ink and a quill–

for the slightest inflection that intimates more

coded inside a well-thought metaphor...

So write of your darkness, the weight on your shoulders

of  light that you search for, of love you have lost;

each of us bears up the best that we can

life is unkind and we both know the cost

The cravings we carry aren’t quilled in just words

but are quickly dismissed by scars we’ve incurred

and neither sees past all the forks and the turns,

to surrender to risk, just to be burned.

So we ever politely forego and abstain

lest we sully this pretense that we have retained.

© Ginny Brannan 2024