One of a Kind?

You’re one in a million--that’s the word;

quite unique, or so I’ve heard.
Then perhaps you might drop me a clue…
Exactly which one are you?

 © Ginny Brannan June 2011

Photo courtesy Tess Kincaid, Magpie Tales Magpie Tales #71

Up For Sale

Beautiful face without a name,

who would put a price on you?

It seems to me it’s such a shame…

Beautiful face without a name,

no family left to stake their claim;

laid out for sale in this venue.

Beautiful face without a name,

who would put a price on you?

© Copyright Ginny Brannan June 2011

A Triolet is a poetic form consisting of only 8 lines. Within a Triolet, the 1st, 4th, and 7th lines repeat, and the 2nd and 8th lines do as well. The rhyme scheme is simple: ABaAabAB, captital letters representing repeated lines.

Photo prompt courtesy Tess Kincaid, Magpie Tales #70 

Grandfather’s Workshop

Photo shared by Rob Hanson, photographer

Windows are opaque and cloudy,

they match the world outside today.

Here to clean and inventory;

I share their mood, so dark and gray.

Decades worth of junk and clutter

fill this old and dusty shed--

shelves stuffed full of things collected;

phones still hang there, long since dead.

Up against the dirty window

sits a long forgotten bill;

what was once an oft-used number

is scratched down on the windowsill.

Several wrinkled, well-worn postcards

decorate the rough-hewn walls…

All the places never gone to--

work was where his duty called.

If I listen, still can hear him…

perhaps it’s just a bird outside.

Wish somehow that phone could reach him,

and I could say one last goodbye.

© Copyright Ginny Brannan June 2011

My take on the photo image provided by Rob Hanson at One Stop Poetry.

Shared at Thursday Poet's Rally #46 6/16 - 6/22/2011

From the inside-out,

the inner poet escapes

needing to express

Humbly accepting the Perfect Poet Award Week #47, for my entry Week #46!

Nominating Martin at KalahariBlues blogspot for Week #47

Are we ‘Game?’

Are we all just players in some fantastic game?

Too far left we lose, too far right we lose;

seems it’s better to pretend that we are the same.

  Only those who plan three moves ahead will ever win--

  The rest pick up the pieces, and start the game again.

© Ginny Brannan June 2011

 Image:http://www.thechesscollectors.com/Newsletters/NEWSLETTER%20200705.PDF

Image courtesy Magpie Tales: Sowa King

Sharing at Magpie Tales  #86

Birthing

Thoughts turn into words:

spawned by imagination,

poetry is born.

© Ginny Brannan June 2010

Internet Image:Shulman "Random Thoughts" CD cover 
*Thanks to LP for his gracious expertise!

With this Haiku, I graciously accept the nomination for The Perfect Poet Award, Poets Rally, Week 45     

The Bootmaker

Bent over bench,

calloused hands from years of work;

Master at his craft.

© Ginny Brannan June 2011

Photo prompt courtesy Photographer Rob Hanson for One Shoot Sunday 6/05/2011

Unforeseen (Etheree)

Skies

laden

with moisture

burst open--first

hail, then rain, heavy

enough to flatten plants

and small shrubs. Water rushes

along the road flooding storm drains.

Warnings flash across the T.V. screen:

"Tornado approaching. Take shelter NOW!”

Huddled in our basement, we watch the screen--

see clouds gather, spinning, on the move.

Quickly, vortex crosses river,

swallowing up debris, trees;

ripping roofs off buildings;

tearing up Main Street.

Eastbound, it hits

nineteen towns--

we are

spared.

©  Copyright Ginny Brannan June 2011

 On June 1st, 2011 a very rare and almost unheard of phenomenon occurred here in Western Massachusetts. A category F3 tornado touched down,  and tracked 3-1/2 miles south of where we live on it's 46 mile path across the state. 
*The tornado forms." Photo taken by author of TV screen from live broadcast local news. 

Etheree

The poetry form, Etheree, consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables.  Etheree can also be reversed and written 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.  This is a Double Etheree with more than one verse,  where the second verse is an inverted syllable count. Free verse style, unmetered.
Posted: BlueBell Books Short Story Slam

 

Teetering

Once more I'm staring into the abyss,

down in the shadows,  hear the Sirens’ call--

like waking dreams, where something is amiss,

their echoes rise against the sheer rock wall.

Again, I'm standing on this precipice;

I teeter on the edge, try not to fall

What happened to the path, no longer clear?

Will anybody see me disappear?

© Copyright Ginny Brannan June 2010
(Thanks to LP and MJM for their invaluable help!)

Shared at One Stop Poetry, One Shot Wednesday 6/09/2011 
Shared at Jingle Poetry, Poetry Potluck 6/20/2011  

Internet Image: "Precipice"