…Or Was It?

 

Into the twilight I went walking

vestige of daylight taking flight,

threshold of evening fast now falling

revealing a veiled and moonless night.

Dry leaves give chase along the footpath

tree limbs stretch bare for all to see...

boney, their arms move in the darkness

—boney wood fingers reach for me—

“Faster” I will my legs, “keep moving.”

“It’s only the wind that creaks the tree.’

Overly active imagination

says: ” No…something darker waits for thee.”

I sprint up the hill past stone wall sentries

as rational thoughts give way to fear—

even the streetlamps flicker slightly

familiar surroundings become austere.

Ever so softly, I hear strange voices…

inaudible words chant spells unknown;

shadowy creatures dance in the half-light

lying half-hidden in the gloam.

“Reveal yourselves!” scream becomes a whisper

—heart palpitating anxiously—

Over my shoulder a chill breath answers

can sense stranger’s eyes intent on me.

Clearing the mountain,  full moon rises

annulling the fears that spirits roam

‘Twas only aberrant imagination

to wrangle my thoughts as I turn home.

© Ginny Brannan 2014
*Image from author's hometown.

Changing Partners

Come October wind and rain,

the chill that to November calls—

bright harvest moon long come and gone;

crisp brittle leaves converge on lawn.

We pull our wooly sweaters down,

the heavy socks, the warm knit shawl…

find brief respite in waning sun—

while season’s final song is sung.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Written for Magpie Tales #243, Image provided by Tess Kincaid.
Come visit see what others are sharing!
Shared also at dVerse Poets October Open Link Night—Homecoming. Check it out!!

Dark Gray October Day (10/15/1963)

Image taken: Tess Kincaid, Dublin, Ohio cemetery

The autumn leaves were swirling ‘round

the young girl barely uttered sound

that doleful day she said goodbye.

The autumn leaves came tumbling down

as polished oak slipped through the ground

and sun resigned to charcoal sky.

The autumn leaves are turning brown

  as I recall our last goodbye

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

Written for Magpie Tales #242, Image provided by Tess Kincaid.

She provides the image, we the story!

"Sisters"

Wikipedia: The Pleiades, 1885 by Elihu Vedder

Sailing on a moonbeam,

sojourners of the night;

seven silent sisters

surrendering their light—

slipping through the cosmos

suspended in the stream…

sustaining winter’s dream.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

The Pleiades is a cluster of seven stars, also known as the “Seven Sisters,” primarily viewed in the winter months in the Northern Hemisphere. Trying a new poetry form called “Pleiades” invented in 1999 by Craig Tigerman. It consists of seven lines, each line starting with the same letter as the title. The title is always a single word.

For dVerse Meeting the Bar: Pleiades.

Balancing the Quill's Edge...

Life calls us to participate

to be involved,  appreciate

at times diverting from our dreams

     —that other world where we exist 

     among the words; between the lines—

ever poised upon quill's edge

stretched and bent, not letting go

till something snaps or something gives.

The time arrives for us to choose

between two lovers courted long:

impassioned mistress that we love
or family and common bond

    — only we can weigh the cost

      of which we can afford to loose.

Our choice it seems was always clear
     —  ambivalent as we may be

       to have to choose between the two…

we must defer to loved ones near,

relinquishing the stranger's pull,

just for a time we sever ties

to re-embrace our blood and bond.

But…

dreams cannot be pacified

nor circumscribed, nor stilled for long

We type a word, pick up the pen

slip in a moment now and then…

    —for to ignore our muse’s call

      would mean we do not "live" at all

©    Ginny Brannan 2014

For a friend I observed being 'torn between two loves,'  family and writing; and for all of us who've felt this tug of war.

A Letter to Susan...

Dearest Susan,

We shared an understanding

that forewent explanation—

a camaraderie; knowledge

gleaned through time and friendship

and being family.

One look, a word or two

would send us into fits of laughter,

all those wonderful private jokes  

we shared —

the ones only family

could understand.

I miss your smile, your voice

the warmth and comfort

of your presence...

yet I know you are still near,

I can feel you, hear you.

Remember Columbus Day

spent at The Cape

all those years ago?

Our boys were so small then.

Last week at The Cape

you were there

reminiscing along side us

as we drove by the places

of our shared memories.

And each time Ray laughs

that wonderfully unique

loud rolling belly laugh of his—

I can hear you too,

laughing right along with him.

(I know how you much you loved that laugh!)

No Susan, you are not gone,

for you are right here

inside me

next to my heart

where all whom I love reside.

At dVerse Poetics today we are writing letters. This was written last October for my dearest sister-in-law on the first anniversary of her passing.

A Little Night Nonsense

Long day brakes to find the night…

manic roamers make their rounds,

Hands keep moving, best step lively;

melting minutes can’t be found.

Skip the curb to dart asunder,

missed a kiss by just one slip—

petals light on concrete steps;

tempered-crystal dreams encrypt.

Fluffy felines filled…felled…snoring,

find the soft and lose the shoe;

hear the feathers, pale moon calling;

pirouette, and bid adieu.

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

d'Verse Poets Meeting the Bar: Verbal Cubism and Tender Buttons invites us to release that flow of word without restraint to grammar or meaning, similar to what a cubist painter would do, break it apart and present it again. A late attempt, but thought it might be fun to try! (Oh, and rhyming is not a criteria, but I somehow slipped into it anyways. Long day, this is where I bid adieu!)

On the Southbound Skyway...

Over hills and rooftops

on moonless nights we soar;

as ancient siren calls us

to travel south once more.

“Keep moving” her song echoes

“for winter rides your tail.”

“Head down that southbound skyway

before north winds prevail.”

Abandoning the northern ponds,

the grassy lakeside shore—

the feeding grounds we’ve come to know

 for coastal corridor.

We’re called to heed the shifting change

on rising currents, sail

underneath the star-filled nights,

through morning’s pensive veil.

You hear our clamor overhead—

our cries hard to ignore,

we fly the southbound skyway
in seasonal encore.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Our days of future passed…

Into the morning I have come

groggy...foggy…eyes at half-mast.

Another day calls.

I answer tentatively,

unsure what’s in store—

No matter…

for it's not the journey

but who's beside you.

Over uncertain pathways

through variables unseen

we’ve travelled...

steadfast, synchronic;

two complementary souls—

we move ever forward

through these—our days

      of future passed.

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

For my dear husband of 33 years. To the more than 12,000 days that have passed since our first meeting. To our yesterdays, todays and tomorrows and all our days of future now and passing... Happy Anniversary.

*‘Days of future passed’ was borrowed from an album of same title by the Moody Blues.