In Progress

photo by Evgeny Yaryshev

old walls aged and worn,

flooring starts to crumble, as

daylight fades to eve

so much left to do,

this house, a work in progress…

where do I begin?

© Ginny Brannan  November 2012

Sharing at The Mag #145--Image provided by Tess Kincaid.

Squall

Image: Andrew Wyath, "Squall," 1986

An acrostic poem written for The Mag #144 .  
Image provided by Tess Kincaid--she provides the image, we the story!

Copacetic, Hunky-Dory, Awesome and Luminous

Smiling his crooked smile

he wheels slowly ‘round the corner …

greeting everyone he passes.

Some days wearing soft flannel shirt,

others dapper in tweed hat and jacket--

blue eyes sparkling, round face glowing with joy.

He speaks slowly, carefully…affects

of surgery, trauma, and treatments;

speech belying his intelligence.

When asked how he’s doing,

his answer has always been:

“Copacetic, hunky-dory and awesome!”

His passion is music: classic, contemporary, jazz…

the first to arrive at the Friday concerts

the last to leave, still tapping to the beat.

Lately, he has added a new word to his repertoire:

when asked “How ya doin’ today?” he fast replies:

“Copacetic, hunky-dory, awesome…and luminous!!”

Oh, that we could all grasp the simple joy

of living that he finds each day...

Oh, that we might be “luminous” too!

© Ginny Brannan November 2012

Google Images

 I work with the elderly, and many inspire me and touch my heart.  
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Open Link Night, Week #71

The Zombie Apocalypse

Years ago when I was young

I obsessed on where I’d be

when the apocalypse came,

and the big bombs rained…

who’d be standing there with me?

Long before the Curtain fell;

before the Great Bear broke apart,

before the terror hit our shores

and changed our lives forevermore,

and cynicism consumed our hearts.

Now youth encumbers different fears

borne from caution’s blackened wake--

with economies tumbling,
our environment crumbling…

Wond'ring what is there left? What’s to take?

There’s no stepping back into the past

to change the facts; somehow forestall...

So should their fears come as some surprise

when they’ve seen the life sucked from their parents’ eyes?

Maybe zombies exist, after all . . .

© Ginny Brannan November 2012

The term "zombie" is often figuratively applied to describe a person in a hypnotic state, bereft of consciousness and self-awareness, yet ambulant and able to respond to surrounding stimuli

**Thanks to conversations with my son Patrick, and Brian Miller's post on d'Verse Poets Open Link Night #70 for inspiring this.

Gilt

Aureate billows pierce the sky

upon a sea of azure blue,

fading soon to a paler hue

as morning flames burn out and die.

We strive for riches far beyond,

possessions one may never own--

gifts shared by all, not held alone;

yet still we seek to seize the dawn.

© Ginny Brannan August 2012

Inspired by poem by my favorite poet, Robert Frost: "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
Sharing at d'Verse Poet's Pub Meeting the Bar: Literary Allusions 11/15/12

Desperado

Bold outlaw rides a feral wind,

attacking in our waning days...

he lays down frost with single gaze.

We feel his gelid breath within--

unwelcome guest assumes his quest,

his frozen hands tear tender skin.

Long after leaves are felled, ablaze

this outlaw strikes on feral wind.

© Ginny Brannan November 2012

There's a chill wind been a blowin' up here in New England...
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night Week #69