Demons and Angels

Image: Angels Grunge Artwork, Alex Cherry

It’s funny how that early pain

still trickles down through all the years,

to seep into those shadowed spaces.

Who knew how much there still remained

to bleed the heart, invade the soul.

Its funny how the hurt adheres

even if one never mentions

the wounds concealed in hidden places.

It’s hard to talk about past fears

with those who’ll never understand.

In you, there was no condescension.

You listened, bowed, as though in prayer--

then stood and wrapped me in your wings;

(it must have been some odd reflection,

for one can’t see what isn’t there).

We shelve our anger and despair;

raise fast the shields, choose to ignore;

never opting to confide

neglecting life in disrepair

till someone cracks those firm defenses.

Through you, my spirit was restored

the scarring finally reconciled;

my soul redeemed in graced reward.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

*For my co-worker and colleague:

I’d watched the devil from the outside,

you’d faced your demons from the inside;

two different sides of alcoholism.

We are survivors.

This one is a little more personal than most. Our pasts need not define us, and yet they are still a part of us. This is inspired from a lunchtime conversation shared with a coworker, a kindred spirit, sharing stories not often shared. 

Yet Love Remains

"When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep"

                       William Butler Yeats "WhenYou Are Old"

I think about the sweet days our youth,

the world was spread before us for the taking--

invincible, we weathered many storms

safety found inside each other's arms.

Discovered life together, you and I…

rappelling over cliffs and chasms deep;

wary of the monsters in the darkness--

learning that my strength resides in you.

Will love remain inside where memories steep,

when you are old and gray and full of sleep?

So many years between have come and gone

the passion found in youth not often held;

yet on occasion universe aligns--

amazing how a kindred spirit bonds

once it finds the niche where it belongs.

We couldn’t know this when we undertook

to forge a life together, you and I.

Yet over time, my love for you remains.

I hear you breathing softly while I look,

and nodding by the fire, take down this book.

The one that holds the stories that we’ve shared

well-chronicled and inked to stave our memory;

each page presents an instant froze in time,

designed to be reviewed in quiet moments…

a lifetime kept in images we’ve saved.

I scan the scraps and photos that we took,

and settle once again on favorite image--

given to me after we first met.

On cushions soft, I settle in this nook,

and slowly read and dream of the soft look...

in contemplative moment it was captured--

in graying skies your eyes shown cobalt blue;

from that moment, I was captured too.

And so we came to know each other well;

to compliment the other; to complete.

I turn the page, and now it seems that sleep

beckons me to close and come to bed.

I stretch out in the hollow of your arm

to slip away and dream of white-hot heat

your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

 © Ginny Brannan 2013

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open link Night Week #98.

Trying my hand at a glosa, introduced to us at d’Verse Poets Pub Form For All: Paying Tribute, Page and the Glosa by Samuel Peralta/Semaphore.

The glosa is a form of poetry from the late 14th century and was popular in the Spanish court. The introduction, the cabeza, is a quatrain quoting a well-known poem or poet.

The second part is the glosa proper, expanding on the theme of the cabeza, consisting of four ten-line stanzas, with the lines of the cabeza used to conclude each stanza.

Lines six and nine must rhyme with the borrowed tenth.

There are no rules governing meter and line length, except that traditionally, they emulate the style of the lines in the cabeza. Because of its structure, the glosa is ideally used as a poem of tribute. In writing that tribute, you weave your lines with the lines of the opening cabeza, collaborating, as it were, with the spirit of the poet you honour.

I honor William Butler Yeats, "When You Are Old"

Casting Shadows

“Power resides only where men believe it resides….

…And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.”

                      Spoken by Varys, Master of Whispers, to Tyrion Lannister, A Game of Thrones Book 2

Image: karen wyatt md blog/images67

Looked down upon and ridiculed from birth

by strangers and by family alike--

their wealth may purchase swords and power too;

yet they could ill explain the likes of you.

Survival hinges on resourceful mind--

you learned the power of words quite early on;

advantages of self-effacing charm;

how quickly clever anecdotes disarm.

Your father rules his kin with iron fist…

unbending--forcing each to play their part;

setting sights on who will win the game

and bring more glory to his family name.

But cleverness is ofttimes hidden deep;

one’s stature and appearance a disguise.

Through life of servitude and forced conformity,

you have survived despite your odd deformity.

Inside Kings Landing blood and incest reign,

but still perhaps the least may come to will rule--

while seven kingdoms fight for righteous king,

we watch this "shadow" hiding in the wing.

©  Ginny Brannan 2013

Tyrion Lannister is a dwarf born into a family of wealth and power. His mother died upon his birth, causing even family to despise him and see him as an outcast. Yet he is still a Lannister, and as such the name must be protected at all costs. Tyrion learned early on that though his height had limitations, his mind did not; and knowledge would be key to his survival. Seen as a fool by many due to his deformity, those on the sidelines of power know that he is much more than he appears to be. Tyrion proves that wit and knowledge can be a mighty allies, and that a small man might cast a large shadow, indeed.

Third poem inspired by George R.R. Martin's series "A Game of Thrones"

Find the first, "Daenery's Song" here.

Find the Second, "Beyond the Wall" here.

The "Little Lions"

In dark green cloaks with golden helms

they take the field to wield their power,

enduring wind and thundershower,

and rancid heat that overwhelms.

Not much may thwart unwelcome guest…

they sweep en masse o’er hill and plain,

undeterred, these warriors gain

unbounded holds with every quest.

The battle lines are clearly drawn,

they’ve set the groundwork for the blame;

while staunch defenders curse their name,

they reappear, no fear of dawn.

In dark green cloaks with golden helms,

the “little lions” take the field…

tenacious troopers never yield,

while laying claim to each new realm.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written for The Mag #169--Image provided by Tess Kincaid. She provides the image, we the story!!
Image: Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #97!

Where Hope Thrives

Indiscriminate, it

pecks away,

taking toll,

riddles deep-hewn

scars and holes…

somewhat weakened,

still alive

bending, swaying

you survive.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Image used with expressed permission

Charlie Parant, Yellow-bellied Sap-Sucker

 http://appetiteforphotos.blogspot.com

Listen for Me

Within the whisper of wind-kissed leaves,

the bright-colored flowers that scatter the fields;

the gentle spring rain, the cool morning dew

you’ll find the love that I send to you.

Walking the beach on warm summer day

in the salt breeze where surf hugs the sand;

or hiking worn paths in cool mountain air

remember me, for I am there.

In kaleidoscope colors that autumn imbues…

brushstrokes of reds and ambers and golds;

as winter’s first snowflakes tickle your cheek,

ever so softly, you’ll hear me speak.

Time is but fleeting; so full of unknowns--

we’re here for a moment,  then we are gone.

Remember these words, for this much is true:

I will live on there inside of you.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Image taken by author: Rosa rugosa, Maine 2011

Fending Storms

We never know when storms may blow,

the devastation till the dawn;

we sort the refuse of our lives,

collect the memories, and move on.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written for Lauren, 21 & Nate,17-- who weathered the loss of their mom last year, and now their dad. I have been there, we do survive.