Monday, November 28, 2011


I am a blog follower of Victorio Ceretto Slotto, an amazing poet and writer. Recently, she informed me that I had placed the 8,000th comment on her blog. As is her tradition for each “1,000th commenter,” she requested an interview. I am excited and very honored by her request, and am sharing the link to that interview below:

Here is a little bit more about this wonderful lady, and a link to Liv2Write2day, her blog's main page:

About Victoria C. Slotto
RN, former hospice nurse, kidney transplant survivor, spiritual seeker—Victoria C. Slotto lives and writes in Reno, Nevada with her husband, David, and two dogs. Victoria writes fiction, poetry and an occasional article.

Damaged Goods

Photo: Christine Donnier-Valentin courtesy Magpie Tales
He found another
to fill his needs

bright, rich, sleek

to fit his

and left me
used and tainted…

forgotten by the wayside

©  Ginny Brannan  November 2011 
Photo prompt provided by Magpie Tales, they provide the image, we provide the story! Sharing at Magpie Tales #93 11/28/11  

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


Image provided by Magpie Tales

gone on before me
leaving memories behind--
hope they save a seat!

© Ginny Brannan November 2011

Written for Magpie Tales #91, they provide the photo, we provide the story.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Daenerys' Song

Written for d’Verse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft Prose to Poetry challenge, 11/10/11: Pick a passage from a novel, essay or short story that qualifies as prose, but for you is particularly poetic. Step 1: reformat without changing so it appears to be poetry. Step 2 convert from poetic prose to pure poem. 

The Quote:
"Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords."

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, Daenerys page 29

Prose to Poetry:

beyond the sunset,
across the narrow sea,

lay a land of green hills
and flowered plains
and great rushing rivers,

where towers of dark stone
rose amidst magnificent
blue-grey mountains,

and armored knights rode to battle
beneath the banners
of their lords.

Daenerys' Song

I gaze across the narrow sea
recalling in my memory
a lush green land where rivers flow
fled in exile long ago.

Can see the towers of dark stone,
the castle that was once our own;
and far across the flowering plain
the blue-grey hills call out again.

Armored knights with blades of steel
rode out in service to our seal.
Usurper now sits on the throne
and dares pretend that it's his own.

I know someday I will return
to rule again, and watch him burn.
Winter comes, and time grows nigh
soon they’ll hear our battle cry…
as sun sets on this savage land
the dragons wait for my command

©  Ginny Brannan November 2010

It should be noted that full credit for this excerpt, the inspiration for this piece, is given to George R.R. Martin. It is he who created the amazing characters of this tale. My wonderful 26 year old son has introduced me to the books, and A Game of Thrones is also currently a series filmed for HBO. An incredible and fantastic story well worth reading and watching!

Top Photo: G.Brannan personal collection, door at Kilkenny Castle, Ireland

Here is a link for d’Verse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft Prose to Poetry challenge, 11/10/11

Below please find a YouTube link--my words put to music and sung by a lovely young lady from Germany, who prefers to be known on You Tube by the pseudonym: Mother of Dragons. Many thanks to A.B. for contacting me and sharing her wonderful voice!

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Quiet Season

Between autumn and first snowfall
the quiet season,
as last lingering  yellow leaves
cling to skeletal branches;
fallen tree-mates litter
yards, skip noisily
across pavement.

Unmown lawns shimmer
with morning frost, crunching
underfoot. Shorts and
tees trade places with jeans
sweaters; once sandaled feet
seek warmth in thick socks
and leather boots.

Stacked cordwood awaits fireplaces
and cast-iron stoves. Pungent smoke
from burning leaves permeates the
air. Hot mulled cider and
donuts greet visitors to local farm
stands; smells of cinnamon
and cloves mingle with apples,
butternut squash and pumpkins.

Hunters once again take up arms;
bearded, booted…hiking familiar
trails, continuing ancient ritual --
thinning herds to preserve remainder
from imminent starvation.

Friday nights and Saturday afternoons
find fans at local football fields.
Spectators huddle on bleachers
bundled under blankets,
cheering favorite teams.

In waning light, we chat
across hedge separating
yards, breath rises with
each word. We linger,
knowing soon cold and
snow will hinder our 
daily exchanges.

I love this special season when
all things slow, preparing for
renewal in winter’s embrace.

©  Ginny Brannan November 2011
Shared at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link #17 hosted by Natasha Head 
Photo, G.Brannan, 2009

Photos: leaves &
pumpkins: authors personal collection

Monday, November 7, 2011

Edward Remembered

Calverton National Cemetary, Long Island, NY

He sleeps among the rows of stone
where grass grows thick, and flags are flown;
can hear the rustle of the leaves
as sweet salt air blows through the trees.

Remembered for each kindness shown,
he sleeps among the rows of stone.
Quietness and slight of stature,
camouflaged unselfish nature.

A navy man who did his tour,
he screamed the nightmares of that war.
He sleeps among the rows of stone
the horrors lived remain unknown.

Childhood sweetheart, wartime bride
now lies resting by his side.
Mated in life, in death atone;
he sleeps among the rows of stone.

©  Ginny Brannan November 2011
*In loving memory of my dear father-in-law, Edward Brannan, and his loving wife Elizabeth of almost 50 years.

Image provided:Magpie Tales

Written for and shared at Magpie Tales #90: they provide the photo (bottom) we provide the story.
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #19 11/10/11  
*using word 'atone' as 'to be reconciled.' According to dictionary, it is considered archaic or obsolete in this usage, but I thought it worked with the feel of the poem, so I used it anyway.

Edward Remembered... by gbrannan

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Stray (Conflation)

There was snow on the
ground when they appeared
for the first time: four feral
cats playing in the empty
lot behind the fence.
Could not let them starve,
so started putting a bit food
out each day. By summer,
three had moved on, and
only one remained: a
scrawny  tri-color female
nick-named Ragamuffin
who finagled her way
into our house and life.

Each day when I arrive
at work I find him in
his usual spot-- on the
sofa near the lobby
where he can observe
all who come and go.
At 94, mobility is limited
to use of a walker, but
his mind is still sharp.
He is a “fixture” in this
nursing home, an enigma
of sorts; attracting friends
just by nodding hello to
all who pass--residents,
employees and visitors alike.

Amazing how the little
strays captured our heart
to become family.

©  Ginny Brannan November 2011

*Recently at d’Verse Poets Pub, emmet wheatfall hosted a Meeting the Bar entitled Conflation. It means “To bring together: meld or fuse; to combine (two variant texts, for example) into one whole. I found this intriguing and thought I would give it a shot, though I did not get done in time to post on that day. The Challenge: Write a poem that is constructed using conflation. This means the poem must possess at least two different, wholly unrelated themes package together.
Not sure if this works, but this was my composition for the topic.   
Dedicated to my favorite resident Kenny, who passed away on 10/28/11. Fondly remembered.
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #18, 11/15/11