Invisible

Intently seeking confirmation, there’s

no notice taken as poems dissipate behind

veil of disinterest and fade to obscurity.

Intestate, the words choke and die as I

surrender to fate. So few bones thrown

in world of literary validation if one

banks upon comments as affirmation.

Laboring against such obvious disparity,

eclipsed behind all who’ve achieved popularity.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

This was partially inspired by, of all things, the reminder at different sites that after posting, we should read as many poems as we can and share comments. Reciprocation & encouragement. Validation. The question really is, do we write for writing's sake, or is it all about the recognition, the reaction, the number of comments we collect? Written a while ago and sharing tonight for a dear friend struggling with similar questions this week. I think we all feel"invisible" at certain times; point being-- to keep going, keep writing, anyway.

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #93. C'mon by and check out what others have written!

Carnage

Chaos ensues as

all hell breaks loose;

roiled in bloodbath again.

No one feels secure

as we mourn and abhor, then

gather our thoughts to contend, and

echo as one, “This must end!”

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written after the Boston Marathon bombings.

“Well, Isn’t That Just a Fine Bucket of Fish?!!”

"A fine bucket of fish!"

"Loose Connections"

Her thoughts go ‘round in circles now--
mid-sentence they change direction,

as signal loses its connection.

She still communicates somehow;

sometimes we hear her words quite clear

when lesser gods choose to allow.

Perfect in her imperfection;

her thoughts go ‘round circles now...

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Finding the joy in rare moments…

Communication--another piece of the Dementia puzzle:  At work I observe the elderly,  many who are challenged by dementia. Though bittersweet to watch their slow, progressive decline, many manage to do okay within their limited world. On occasion their frustration and thoughts run with perfect clarity, especially when we don’t grasp something quick enough.  Unable to come up with an answer for one of our residents recently, she started to ask again, then stopped mid-sentence, looked at me and said “Why am I asking you, you don’t know!! Well, isn’t that just a fine bucket of fish?!!” ZING!! Much to my chagrin, I’d say she communicated that quite well, along with sending a zinger back to me!! 

We do love our people, especially during the rare moments when  they make us laugh! 

**Lesser god: Originally coined in Alfred Lord Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, and then taken as title of a movie about someone deaf, it is a reference suggesting that if God created man perfect in His image, then  “lesser gods” created all who would be disabled, disfigured or challenged.

I have written of the more serious side of this subject before, and was honored to have it published by Journey of the Heart, Women’s Spiritual Poetry, here.

Anticipation

Siren Song

lifting winter’s veil

floating in on gypsy wind

naked limbs rejoice

singing siren song

trilling ancient mating tune

cycle starts anew

basking in the warmth

we reply with lightened step

springtime has arrived

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Introspection

I wonder of the little child

that lives inside the woman grown--

the quiet one who rarely smiled.

I wonder of the little child

the one the other kids reviled,

who grew up pretty much alone.

I wonder if that little child

still lives within this woman, grown?

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #91

Image: Susan Hall

Keepers of the Past

Detail from: Between Heaven and Hell,1989, Jacek Yerka

Coffee grinders, rusty scales,

early pewter, crocks, and tins--

never knowing where they’ve come from,

never knowing where they’ve been.

One man’s trash, another’s treasure…

butter churns and samplers sewn;

I collect these wondrous pieces,

and cherish each as though my own.

Passing down through generations

simple treasures from the past,

created by a craftsman’s hands--

built for use and built to last.

I am just the current keeper,

one of many in the chain,

the history of each runs deeper;

when I’m gone they will remain. 

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written for The Mag #162. Image provided by Tess Kincaid.

She provides the image, and we the story!!

And yes, I love country primitives, and really do collect such things...

My kitchen counter

Below the Surface

Always on the backburner

…simmering

never quite hot or cold.

I dream of torrid;

 settle for tepid…

Still awaiting 

      anticipating 

         

 your slow burn

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Sharing at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night Week 95