Sunday, October 21, 2018

What Evil Lies...












Smiling face with orange skin
seems harmless on first observation—
what foul things can pumpkin do?
What rancid seeds are held within,
such benign thing with orange skin?
And yet we feel such trepidation
every time we look at him.
Expression morphs before our eyes
and slowly takes a new formation:
guileless smile, or evil grin?
As we observe we catch a glimpse
of ugly fire deep inside
blackening its pith and soul—
what once was cheerful turning grim;
what once was bright is turning dim.
Observing change, we must confide
as it decays from inside out
and melts to earth from whence it came,
that we feel somewhat mollified
and hang our hope that it's contained.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Friday, October 19, 2018

The Count

















Darkness draws her shrouded cloak
releasing pheromones to flight;
assimilating to the night.
Call out monster by his name,
usurping others for his gain.
Late night when he comes to call—
acquiesce; then give your all.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image: Victorian Artwork by Victoria Frances

And if you liked this, find another along the same classic theme here.

Thursday, October 18, 2018

In Case You Didn't Know













Your thoughts transposed upon a page
have pulled me from the deepest dark
providing footlights on a path
littered with worst-case infractions.
In hopeless moment, one small spark,
an impromptu and random action…
you can’t conceive just what it meant
to lose myself for briefest time
within that transient distraction.
A beacon on a moonless night,
a lifeboat on a bitter sea—
I've focused on your ambient light
how many times it's rescued me.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

For my friend on the other side of the mountain, thank you for “harrowing the words.”  And to all whose words have provided an escape when hope has wavered somewhere between staying on an even-keel and wallowing in the pit of despair. Words transport us, written or spoken, and often save us when we need it most.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

Into the Vortex













I spend my days barely afloat
awash in darkness and debris,
circling a shallow moat
a tiny raft on tempest sea.
I walk along the knife blade’s edge
one wrong step can take me down
balancing along the ledge
it’s hard to keep to solid ground
Another day of status quo.
another day under the gun;
another day I can’t forego,
another day I’ve not succumbed.
It’s not my nature to make waves,
in silence, I let things accrue.
But to what end? I cannot stave
a tempest so long overdue.
The keel has broken from this boat,
and wind and storm may shred her sail—
yet no one really knows the scope
or fathoms if the ship has failed.
Sucked into the maelstrom's eye
they‘ll never say she didn’t try.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Monday, October 15, 2018

Bobbing for Apples












Ever so quickly now, darkness falls,
along with leaves from yonder oak:
they skitter down the quiet street.
piling up against the poles
and blanketing the shrubs and grass.
Caught on the wind, the smell of smoke,
of wood fires warding off the chill
announcing colder days ahead
as jack-o’lanterns still evoke
sweet memories of childhood past.
Shhhh, quiet! You can hear them still—
those laughing children in disguise,
bobbing apples, playing games...
their trick or treat bags over-filled
at least in the images we’ve amassed!

While we immerse in warm repast
reminiscing on these tales of old…
Autumn once more reconvenes
to take us back to childhood dreams!

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Happy birthday to SJM. Remembering the Octobers of our childhood. You would invite us to your house for your birthday party. We'd come in costume, bob for apples, play games. Had to love those stiff plastic masks with the elastic to hold them on. Couldn't hardly see out the eyes or breath through the nose! Ahhh, sweet memories of youth!!

Tuesday, October 2, 2018

Testament





















Why should we believe her?
We never met her, we don’t know her
but somewhere in our lives we knew someone—
a friend, a classmate, a cousin
who experienced something:
rape, molestation, abuse—
at the hands of someone they knew
  or perhaps just met;
Someone they trusted,
or didn’t know well enough yet to trust.
A classmate, a friend, a familiar adult—
someone who took “no” as “yes”
took advantage of the situation
of their youth, their naïveté,
the fact that they were alone
   if only for a moment.
Perhaps they were drinking … perhaps not.
Whatever happened, whenever it happened
does not diminish the fact that it did happen;
   that it wasn’t asked for,
   that it wasn’t wanted.
Boys will be boys? 
How many men do you know
who would force a woman against their will?
Would you? Seriously, would you??
I believe her.

I have no doubt she remembers
          ...because I do
             I remember. 

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Views from the Past



never saw you as beautiful
you were always just there;
a vestige, a mile-marker of childhood.
When I was old enough I moved away,
escaped the dark side of my youth.
And now I see that you remained
—inventing, reinventing—
somewhat changed, but still the same.

My view of you is changing too—

Once I thought you held me back
your memory brought mixed reviews
bittersweet and interlaced
with loss and pain and awkwardness
—so many things I once suppressed
but none of which I could erase.
Was only trying to find my way 
and so, it seems, that you were too,
a place to fit, somehow belong...
I took a circumventious route—
an awkward child who found her voice.
You stayed and grew into the land,
each one making our own choice.

Full circle, how things come around…
I see the child I once knew
and see you now for who you are
awakened to the current view.
How sad the years that slipped us by,
but cannot dwell in “should-have-beens”
  you are you and I am I
  – perhaps we might begin again?

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Both personifying the place I came from,
and reflecting back on some who 
influenced who I would become.

Image taken by Photographer Anne Collins who shares her beautiful images on my hometown site called "Growing Up in Bellows Falls." Looking northbound on the Connecticut River.
Used with expressed written permission.