In the Path of the 'Rising Sun'

 

Image: Kevin Dowie 2011

They zeroed in on Eden’s shore

and skirted the periphery

a steady drone at first ignored...

in cloudless skies the war birds soared,

as Sunday wakened, halcyon.

Attacking with impunity

the dragon loose on peaceful quay—

too quickly sleeping fleet destroyed...

with thousands lost in casualties

all-eyes turn toward Rising Sun.

The moments of that fateful day

remain ingrained in history,

as petals drift o’er sunken graves

on oil-slicked sea that still purveys

where countless faced oblivion.

© Ginny Brannan  2015

We remember and honor ALL

those who faced the fire and destruction

on December 7^th, 1941. 

and all servicemen who turned around,

chased the ‘dragon’ down
...and bravely walked into its flames.

Image: Flower petals float amidst the oil sheen and rusting remains of the USS Arizona memorial at Pearl Harbor.

The Words Unspoken…

Words ricochet inside my head

of all the things I should have said:

the “thank-yous” that lie half-composed

caught up inside of life, transposed.

I stare off into space instead

and chase the words inside my head—

What do I say to family,

and strangers who have carried me…

for kindness shared, for love they’ve shown,

reminding I am not alone?

The words remain inside my head—

resisting form, are left unsaid. 

We’ve struggled under life’s demands

 —seems nothing ever goes as planned,

with all the words I might have said

  preserved unspoken in my head.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

The Shepherd

With humble demeanor and thoughtful repose

he stands, unassuming, amid the great throng.

Foregoing attention, intent on his role,

he ponders each question, words carefully chose

to impact precisely; to reach and console.

Rarely indeed does a man come along

who inspires to listen, to look our hearts

when blinded by struggles and losing our faith.

Who’s able to touch the crux of our souls,

reminding us all how our lives interlace.

We try to absorb what his wisdom imparts—

our spirits are moved, inexplicably so.

He lacks any pretense,  and yet tour de force

pries our souls open; we let down our guard…

he sets by example, his words reinforce.

Our paths may not cross in this lifetime of ours

but yet his words echo inside of each still…

to strive to be better, to never lose hope;

when problems consume and our taste for life sours,

and ills take us down and we’re left feeling broke;

        when into the darkest abyss we are thrown

        we’re called to remember: we’re never alone.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Watching the Pope visiting the U.S. last week, was taken by his serene demeanor, the way he would lean in to listen to the ones speaking to him. When he spoke, whether before Congress, or before the masses, his message was one of caring—for the earth, for each other. A gentle reminder for all of us to do better, to be better than who we are.

Exodus

Dropping…   drifting…

  sailing…     lifting…

Seceding from the sleeping limb,

across the roads and pathways skim...

exiled from the copse once dense,

brief refuge found on rusted fence.

Upon the lawn to scourge the rake,

bright colors paint the pond and lake.

Stripped of season’s finery,

stark and barren stands the tree.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

The View Over Morning Coffee

I’ve yet to tire of the view

refined by changes over time

the tiny shafts of morning light

brighten landscape till it shines.

And on the grass the morning dew

reflects like diamonds on each blade

dampness slow to dissipate

it lingers under oaken shade

The shadows shift, the seasons pass

a single constant still remains:

I see the young man I once knew

despite the years, he hasn‘t changed.

How do you know if love will last,

as decades pass will it remain?

If face that greets you in the morn

in ages hence will still sustain?

I’ve yet to tire of your face

familiar as my mirrored own…

your smile lines, your silver threads;

our stories etched on skin and bone.

As morning breaks we pour a cup

and through the steam we greet the day,

again I’m taken with the view:

your smile takes my breath away.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

For Chris and Rick, may the years be kind to you.

And for my Ray, whose smile still takes my breath away.

This Möbius Trip

I’ve walked through darkness and the light

forced to steer down unknown paths…           

no map or compass point to guide,

no stars visible at night;           

no angels here to walk beside me.

This life is constantly recast

transposed by circumstance unplanned.

We micro-shift to stay the course,

hope left dangling beyond grasp;

journeying on endless plight…

“You get no more than you can stand,”           

      what fool created such a quote?           

”Make lemonade” “Stiff upper lip”           

We skirt the borders of the damned…

      just struggling to stay afloat.

Now juggling this unsought load

for days on days without relief;

…threatening to take us down

     until we’re ready to implode.

Bent and broken, yet we cling

to one small voice that will not leave:

the one that whispers, “You’ll survive…”

 —that shaft of light upon rise—

praying not to be deceived,

bent and broken by more lies.

Ever-questing for the truth;

some inner strength on which to draw,

a rope to pull us from the depths,

to keep the devil from his due

Reaching for a second wind,

     another sigh…begin again.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Eventide

Image Magpie Tales #281

I recall the balmy summer nights of youth…

how soft gray gossamer mists hugged the meadow

settling on streams and lowland gullies.

We watched the stars appear one-by-one;

the Milky Way melting over the mountaintops

slipping away far past our sightline.

We chased fireflies through open fields

capturing in cupped hands, to release once again.

With child-like exuberance, we shared hopes and dreams

as countless as the luminaries twinkling overhead.

Oh for the simplicity of those long ago moments…

     how brief they were —

          how far we have wandered.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

lampyrus noctulaca from https://mtmuchmore.wordpress.com

The Golden Spiral

Life spirals

in ever widening circles,

elliptical orbits…

passing only once en route

to some unknown end;

sometimes we almost touch the past

but can’t go back again.

Through each mistake, in every trial—

conviction holds the key;

a lesson learned at every turn

upon our path to ‘be’

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Image shared by Tess Kincaid/Magpie Tales

The Golden Spiral is a non-linear shape occurring in nature, for example the arms of spiral galaxies, or in phyllotaxis of leaves, or the spiral of a nautilus shell, sometimes these are also referred to as a Fibonacci spiral. Perhaps this term isn’t exactly impressive on its own, until you realize that this ratio is the key to everything from encrypting computer data, to the numbers of spirals on a sunflower head, to our own limbs and why the Mona Lisa is so pleasing to the eye. The idea of this ever-widening yet proportionate shape intrigues me, because life in general is not linear, but full of  twists and turns. And so this piece was inspired, not just as reference to shape, but as reference to the spiral of  ‘life’ itself…

The Last Echo

And so the darkness leads to somber sway,

as graphite smudge on pristine page takes bloom;

avoiding past mistakes that would consume

or left to build could eat this soul  away.

My comprehension falters, starts to fray—

while searching for some purity of soul

I seek to find contentment to be whole

as stillness over-rides the end of day.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

A dear friend of mine recently shared a poem which inspired this, sort of an echo back to his thoughts and words.

Where Journey's Meet…New Book Release!!

Once in a blue moon something magical comes along…

Coinciding with the second full moon of July, 

Journey of the Heart Women's Spiritual Poetry

announces release of it's second collection...

sharing hearts and voices from women from around the world.

This book will be available at Amazon.com 

beginning July 31st, 2015

All proceeds to go to ~                                                                                              

a mentoring program that encourages girls to explore and develop their creative talents, both written and oral.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I am pleased and honored to have three poems chosen to appear in this collection:

Marooned

This Cynical Heart

Old Friends

My pre-release interview may be viewed here:

View Trailer below:

An Incredible Lightness of 'Being'

It happened without fanfare

no ticker tape, no announcement…

so subtle it was hard to say the exact moment

when the veil lifted,

the weight disappeared,

and calmness claimed

the place where pain had screamed.

Once again your blue eyes shown

  and hope danced in their brightness.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

Finding the "Groove" Again

Internet Image, James B. Whiteside, hard edit

“One step forward, two steps back…

Two steps forward, one step back…”

You dance this strange, unconventional dance

trying to find your balance once more

No pirouettes, no jetés—

only petite adagios and tour lents instead;

  —pivoting cautiously—

as pain surveys silently stage-left

anxious to claim the spotlight again.

Eyes forward, back straight

slow and steady—

     stand…hold… rest

     stand…hold… rest

building strength

until each movement becomes rote;

…your accolades acrued in each forward measure.

©  Ginny Brannan

Internet Image, Darek Fidyka, hard edit

Dance terms:

Pirouettes: spins

Jetés: throw the leg, jump with a throw of the leg

Petite “adagios” small slow sustained movements

tour lents: to turn slowly on one leg

Searching for the Silver Lining

The minutes have turned to hours…

days slowly stretch into weeks—

a storm rolled in and took you down

            for a moment, thought you drowned

…still you stood upon storm’s retreat.

Helpless, we watched the skies darken.

Unknowing, observed the clouds swarm.

Without any warning

            the red haze was forming

too quickly to steer from its harm.

How long till the lightening passes,

to assess all the damage that’s done?

Through the wind and the rain

            and the endless pain

we chase the elusive sun.

And I search for the “silver lining”

some sign we’ll return to the norm—

as we wait a bit longer

            while you grow stronger…

          I still cannot see past this storm.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

Some Assembly Required...

Neap Tide

Image taken by G.Brannan 2006

Somewhere …

between the here and there;

between a rock and a hard place

between midnight and four a.m.

I slip into limbo while you

balance the brink of extinction.

Tied inside this surreal reality

is a game where the winner takes all

or at least gets to walk away.

I navigate the sea of good intentions

bearing the burden of your pain…

and I lay awake at night wondering

if things might ever be ‘normal’ again

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Breathing Lessons

Image: galleryhip.com

I listen to the sound of your breathing,

the rhythmic sound of expansion, contraction—

and try to remember that I must breathe too.

I whisper sweet distractions in your ear

I only hope that you can hear.

Come on and fight—pull yourself free—

rise to the surface, come back to me.

I listen to the sound of your breathing

and try to remember

   that I must breathe,  too

© Ginny Brannan 2015

The Stray

There was a time when she ensconced

inside of youth’s naïveté…

the truth was surely understood—

she ultimately knew the cost,

but she stood strong—ignored the loss.

In her head she chose to see

her life as no one ever would;

she would not be classified

as someone without family

nor circumscribed by childhood.

A family may take many forms,

and blood does not a kinship make:

accepting who a person is—

with love and warmth that isn’t faked,

forms bond that will not break

She showed up at their door one day

never seeking out their help

They spoke awhile among themselves,

and like some lost or homeless stray

they invited her to stay.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

April Showers

Image by R.A.D. Stainforth

We step out softly to the night

our footfalls sharp upon the stone

the dampness chills us to the bone

we turn our collars to the bite.

Our voices break against the drone

of rhythmic rainfalls' steady beat,

we sidestep puddles in the street

while slowly making way through town.

Felt on the breeze, a tease of warmth

we hope will loosen winter’s grasp,

it calls the colors to unmask…

for in the showers, spring is born.

And walking village streets in rain,

we embrace the season’s change.

 ©  Ginny Brannan 2015

Sharing for Magpie Tales #263. Image provided by Tess Kincaid.

The Key

http://globe-views.com/dreams/piano.html

She floats her way through shadowed halls

as thought escapes from its confines,

an image of a younger self

so long ago she can’t recall—

absorbs once more into her mind.

Her later years have not been kind,

perception fades into a fugue—

old names and faces cast a blur

and all the memories left behind

have slipped away, eluding her.

But still she finds familiar route

to afternoon’s sweet interlude:

pale parchment hands touch ivory

and without pause or moment’s doubt

she reaches out to find the key.

A moment later song concludes—

in haste, the memory disembarks;

she fades again behind the veil…

   locked away in solitude

   an aging soul with body frail.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Amazing how the mind works: because music is stored in a different part of the brain, someone who has dementia may still find comfort in music; the hands remember what the mind cannot. Written about a dear nonagenarian who still manages to 'tickle the ivories.'

The Break-Up

I have lingered in this darkness much too long

waiting for the veil to lift—the sun to shine—a bright new dawn.

Aint it funny how you had your say, had your way, and then were gone…

leaving me to feel your icy bite, the endless night —as your response.

Less than taciturn, you made me ache, you made me hurt; I felt the burn;

yet in that moment you adjourned, I concede—a lesson learned.

I look out to see the dawn has come and I confirm, the tide has turned.

as I watch the darkness dissipate I anticipate that life returns...

I have survived to face another day without your sway...you were so wrong.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Image: C. Parant Appetite for Photos, used with expressed permission

In this piece I have personified winter, which just doesn’t want to go away. Like a bad relationship, I am so over it! This is set to a song I've had in my head for days, an instrumental piece with horns and a sort of Spanish rhythm. Can't place the song, but this is set to that rhythm. Still editing.

Where my heart lies...

Ireland I am coming home

I can see your rolling fields of green

And fences made of stone

             ~ Garth Brooks 

Petergate, with a view of York Minster, York, UK photo by Tess Kincaid

Unknown…yet familiar,

we walked the cobblestone streets—

jaws dropped agape into

“Pinch me, am I really here?”

position

Were we actually on foreign soil,

or had we finally found our way

‘home’

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Photo: G.Brannan, Kilkenny, Ireland 2006

Photo: G.Brannan, Galway, Ireland 2003

Written for Magpie Tales #261, inspired by Image taken by Tess Kincaid.

           She provides the image, we the story!