Disinterred

I believe you…

Buried for decades, comes a time

to heal yourself from the cancer

that day-by-day eats away

pieces of the person you once were.

Don’t listen to those who question your motives

that scream “fake news”

as if to say that it's okay

to lust after a 14 year old

or force the hand of a 16 year old

to justify their own perversions.

I believe you…

I know that there are certain truths

invisible to naked eyes

that take the innocence of youth.

Even those who know you best

might never know or realize

that you felt you were to blame—

inside bleeding from the shame.

I believe you…

For every Weinstein, Trump or Moore

are other unknown predators

ones with little the cash or fame

that prey upon the vulnerable.

Their victims each recall their name,

and every look and every leer—

how vivid still their face remains.

I believe you…

Those who choose to speak up now

who’ve forged ahead despite the cost;

it can’t make up for time that’s passed

or what was taken, what was lost;

the naysayers may ridicule,

but those who’ve been there know the truth.

I believe you…

Though by the past we’re not defined

at times its shadow lingers on.

We should not let it blight our soul.

The truth should never be confined—

admission waits, long overdue:

I add my voice and say

          “Me too”

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Goddess: When She Rules — New Book Release!

“Women's stories are as powerful, inspiring, and terrifying as the goddess herself. And in fact, these are the stories of the goddess. As women, we know her because we are her. Each woman, no matter how powerless she might feel, is a cell within her vast form, an embodiment of her essence, and each woman's story is a chapter in the biography of the sacred feminine."
 
Jalaja Bonheim

Welcome to “GODDESS: When She Rules: Expressions by Contemporary Women”, the fourth anthology to emerge from the Journey of the Heart: Women’s Spiritual Poetry Project.

The time is here to celebrate the contemporary woman: our strengths, our passions, our creativity and our beliefs and how they relate to the world around us and within us .We are all part of something more: we are a sisterhood whose voices rise in love, in strength and in support of one another.

Proud to share that proceeds from this book will to go to the Malala Fund  

~ ~ ~

I have come to understand the ‘ Goddess’, once unknown to me, as an extension of my own spirituality—I see her as the source of inner strength that guides our feminine self; I sense that she lives in each of us as our spiritual guide, especially in times of turmoil. In an era of change, she is our inner calm, our voice of reason, the whisperer of compassion, a proponent for persistence, our endorser for resistence, and our promoter of peace. Within each of her many identities, she reminds us that we are not alone: that our words and voices can be source of hope, of transformation; drawing light out of darkness as we travel the pathways of understanding on this continuing journey of self-discovery

**********

I am so very honored to have two poems in this book:  Birthing Rites which reflects upon that moment during childbirth when we finally grasp what it means to be the conduit that brings new life into the world. The second, Illumination is about embracing our courage and inner strength, and about conceding that we are so much more than even we may realize.

Please join me along with our other contemporary poets and writers as we celebrate the Goddess, and embrace the Sacred Feminine, on this newest and most sacred Journey of the Heart!

Available Here at Amazon: GODDESS: When She Rules

With very special thanks to our primary Editor in Chief, Catherine L. Schweig for her tireless efforts and never-ending support, enthusiasm and encouragement, and much gratitude to her editorial assistants for this project: Sandra M. Allagapen, Julia W. Prentice, and Tammy Stone Takahashi; and all of the amazing poets and writers who share these pages.

Published by Golden Dragonfly Press
**********

And please check out our other publications at Amazon:

Journey of the Heart

Poetry as a Spiritual Practice

Where Journey's Meet

                                    

Come November

How fast now fade the autumn hues

chill wind gives chase across the fields

as cooler season now ensues

Once camouflaged with leaves profuse

stand barren trees, their limbs revealed

while on the ground, their autumn hues

And Mother Nature takes her cues

as to the longer nights, she yields

this change of season that ensues

Warm summer days have long diffused

as chill November comes to steal

the disappearing autumn hues

Once more does Autumn bid adieu—

her white coat frosts the ground to seal

this cooler season that ensues

And so the shortened days accrue

too soon by winter snow concealed

the dry and faded autumn hues

as cooler season now ensues

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Image: C. Parant Appetite For Photos Used with Permission

Parallelograms

You are my friend, as surely

as any who have come before… or since.

We arrive from different places,

tied by a common thread

of like-minded interests

bound through words,

our strengths woven

by home and family,

the places we’ve been,

and all we have known.

We share a penchant for curiosity—

the need to read, to learn;

to feed our imagination

on this perpetual path

to becoming more than the

sum of our whole.

Our views are formed through

our own unique perspective:

while some see only black and white

we view this world in shades of gray

discerning details some will never see.

We are collectors of words:

quotes and lines that define our existence

on this earthly ship we call home.

We share intuitive understanding

as each one of us subscribes

to our own unique role.

And we are better on this journey

in knowing there are others

that are searching for the meaning,

the truth that still lies waiting
on this sojourn of the soul.

© Ginny Brannan

In a Nutshell

We cannot let our fears take hold

that threaten now to paralyze

to eat away at who we are—

from those who’ve traded out their soul

for living out a life bazaar.

The moment that we realize

each stop and start, each interruption

devised to keep the truth at bay;

meant to divide and polarize,

the repetition to hold sway.

Smoke and mirrors for corruption

from leaders who would dummy down;

there’s so much more than meets the eye:

with plans to take healthcare reductions,

bold-faced lies on tax deduction,

and votes on women’s reproduction—

each new derision ‘systemized.’

It seems this ship has run aground

in shallow seas and rocky shoals,

overcome by waves of hate.

But even kings can come uncrowned

when their thoughts become unsound.

And so we must assess our goals—

call bullies out for what they are

and listen to that inner voice

that holds our path and keeps us whole.

For each of us, we have a choice—

and even if we do not know

the course that history will take,

we must hold to that spark of truth,

and never cede to undertow,

standing ground for what’s at stake.

The simplest of rules apply:

Let your conscience be your guide

find the truth inside each ‘lie’

Trust inner voice to recognize,

to see through cleverest disguise…

and though you may be criticized,

never take the compromise.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Late September

Image: Charlie Parant Appetite for Photos

Time hides between the second hands

while evening takes the hinterlands;

the treetops bask in orange glow

as twilight falls upon the land.

Their shadows dance, simpatico;

as daylight fades we watch them grow;

while Autumn sings her ripened tune

and summer bedlam starts to slow.

And through the trees, a harvest moon

now peaks through shroud of cloud cocoon

ever soft, her afterglow

whispers “Winter’s coming soon.”

As late day sky turns indigo

the cawing of a lonely crow

reminding us it’s time to go;

...reminds again, it's time to go.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

*Image taken by Charlie Parant and used here with expressed written permission from photographer.

Note: the image is formatted correctly. It is a reflection in the water, hence appears "upside down."

The Time Thief

Another year has come and gone

how quick the days fly past

ever forward time moves on

nothing ever lasts

The secret of “forever young”

is not just youthful looks;

it’s in the friendships that we forge,

the ‘chapters’ of our book.

So dwell not on what isn’t done

and give yourself reprieve—

look instead from whence you’ve come

and all that you’ve achieved!

© GB 2017

A wee thought in honor of a dear friend's birthday.

Still Searching for Answers

I have lifted my eyes to the heavens to pray

trying to renew the faith I once felt;

coming to find at the end of the day

that life as I know it is centered on doubt.

How can a God sanction such anger and hate,

the loss of a parent to such a young child;

the illness and pain that never abates…

too many questions left unreconciled.

We thank God for all of the good things that come,

but who takes the blame for the unanswered prayer?

Time intercedes until we become numb—

stuck in this place between hope and despair.

I believe there are angels who wander among us:

in the friend who just senses when you need to talk;

in the kindness of strangers when we are in crisis,

who lift and support us when we cannot walk.

Life lessons learned have hardened this heart;

still God bless the ones who can truly believe.

Blind faith without proof is really an art;

it’s in love and kindness I’ll find my reprieve.

 

Still I ponder the words that we heard in our youth:

to pray, to have faith that our voice will heard;

but have come to acknowledge this as my truth—

my divinity’s found helping those here on earth.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

“God helps those who help themselves.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

 origin: 409 BC  Sophocles (before Christianity) from Wikipedia:

— “No good ever comes of leisure purposeless, and heaven ne’er helps men who will not act.”

Displaced

Hope floats in little boats

through flooded streets and avenues

while silent cries rise in our throats

A factory goes up in smoke;

this life they knew now turned askew

their hope afloat in little boats.

The news folk capture every quote;

each sound bite shared for all to view—

while silent cries rise in our throats.

The charities all self-promote,

with daring clips of those rescued

floating past in little boats.

For leadership, the day was rote:

they paused a moment, then withdrew;

the silent cries rose in our throats.

Across the globe the world will note

the ones who stood and made it through;

their hope afloat in little boats
while silent cries rose in their throats.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

The aftermath of Hurricane Harvey

In the Shadow of the Night King

From heated debates venting so much hate,

temperatures rise; before our eyes

a storm rolls in; we’re at the beginning

of bigger things. Who could have imagined

this turn of the tides: whitewater churning—

every day now spent “unlearning”

the truth as we knew it? History shows that
we’ve been here before…hard to ignore

how it repeats, how it depletes our energy.

Once more drained, the power remains—

with whom you say? On any given day

we’re being slammed, completely hammered

with lies and innuendo. Who has the truth?

It’s been lost at a cost we cannot grasp.

When shit starts at the top and rolls downhill

the mirrors go up to reflect the swill

that we’ve become. It isn’t pretty…

When we ourselves get caught in the heat

then Evil Incarnate’s plan is complete

Ever further from middle ground

we wait for the “other side” to fall down.

When common sense itself rescinds

we divide to be conquered from within.

Brother to brother, friend to friend

that’s how a civil war begins.

Have we been played from beginning to end?

The climate is changing as leadership wanes

no respect in the masses, no political gains

stagnant, repugnant, recalcitrant too

how sad, indeed… What can we do?

No strong enough leader to rally behind

would it be surprising to see an uprising?

With daily inciting the Devil’s enticing us;

will we be caught up in his little game?

When every day promises more of the same.

We’ve stepped back into the Twilight Zone

where blatant hatred thought unknown

marches in the streets again—

everyone loses, no on wins.

So “savvy up” people, look around

only we can make the change that’s needed.

We see the writing on the wall,
how long before the warning’s heeded?

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Carrying the Torch

We are the tired, the poor

at one time elevated

now we’re denigrated;

we watch the “disillusionist”

slam our front door.

Where are the promises

that called to our elders

who risked life and limb

to come to this shore?

Who raised up their families

despite any hardship,

now find they are ‘pink-slipped’

and welcome no more.

We need to get back to the basics once promised

we need to return to the truth at our core

where hard work’s rewarded

where cheating is thwarted

where bullshit and liars are shunned and ignored

She stands in the harbor, where some call her ‘Lady’

yet others are known to have called her a “whore”

this symbol of “Liberty“ who welcomes the masses,

this emblem of all who have come here before.

Hold high your lamp, oh, Symbol of Freedom!

Call out the losers, and those who’d abhor…

Remind them our strength is not just in numbers

but in our allegiance for all we stand for!

Remind us stand tall, and help the afflicted

ravaged by hunger, by thirst, or by war.

Help us remember that we are their beacons;

and that trust only comes when you build a rapport.

Just like all families, sometimes we bicker,

yet when push comes to shove we are hard to ignore;

for we’re so much better when we stand together

diverse but united, our country endures.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

In the Still of the Night

Image by author: Back yard, hard edited.

Over the fence what was once a garden

ten, twelve, fifteen years ago

has rendered itself unrecognizable;

 a winding of undergrowth, an overgrown tangle

of weeds and vines, sumac and bittersweet.

The old owner of the land passed on long ago,

his tiny hoarder’s cottage left to a friend.

Uninhabited,  left as tinder to burn to the ground—

faulty wiring or arson for insurance­...we’ll never really know.

The sun has dipped now below the horizon,

dusk turns to darkness,  the former garden

takes on an other-worldly view—

shadow images of arms and hands

stretch out, reaching for the waning moon.

The soft rustle of leaves can be heard, interjected by

the crackle of a branch snapping now and again—

perhaps a skunk or some other wild denizen of the night,

but more than likely one of three feral cats whom

have adopted this yard and made it their home.

The sound of a passing shower, raindrops on tree tops

adds its whisper to the chorus

odors of wet leaves and dampened earth

come slipping through the screen.

There is a certain comfort

in the night sounds, a normalcy…

a sense of security;

counterbalancing the chaos

to erase the lunacy of the day,

I close my eyes now, and surrender

and to my dreams, now slip away.

"Goodnight room"

"Goodnight moon"

© Ginny Brannan 2017

* Quote from children's book, "Goodnight Moon" by Margaret Wise Brown

Judging You, Judging Me

“We all judge. that’s our hobby.

Some people do arts and crafts. We judge.”

—Stanford, Sex and the City

I heard you say you have no vices,

and see that you’ve taken to judging others

on a sliding scale of perfection;

with no one quite as perfect as you.

You know all that there is to know

on a myriad of subjects

and a multitude of points.

Alcohol, tobacco, drugs…

the bane of the 'weak-minded,'

and anyone with such affliction

should rid themselves of their addiction.

How fast you counter with your opinion,

to expose such ‘weaknesses’ to your minions.

—God forbid you ever knew the anguish of abuse

    the pain of infection that eats the bone

    the torment that rips out  the heart

    the invisible suffering that tears one apart.

I dare you to walk a mile

in the other person’s shoes—

yeah, that person whom you're sure

lit up that cigarette just to “spite” you;

the one you’ve deemed as thinking

“only of themselves”

polluting the air that’s there

for only you to breath

Perhaps they, like you, needed

a night out, a reprieve—

from the worries that they carry,

from a life you could never understand.

How hard it must be to keep up that image of the perfect man…

Don’t you see that they, too,  pull their pants on one leg at a time?

In another lifetime, you also might have been judged...

but we no longer talk of lifestyle choices

in once-hushed tones and whispered voices.

So best not judge lest you be judged...

We ALL have vices, some obvious

and some so subtle that even those affected

cannot see them for what they are.

Yet, if we take a good look in the mirror

we might realize —with some measure of shame—

inside all preconceived notions lies this truth:

   we really are the same...

not one of us is perfect, no matter what we claim.

So, be careful where your laurels rest

  and whom you would defame

© Ginny Brannan 2017

*TY to C.B. for the perfect quote above, which I saw and remembered on your page from such a long, long time ago.

Historically Speaking

Image: G.Brannan, Little Roundtop, Gettysburg, PA-rendered as painting

We have history, you and I—

it goes back quite a ways, back to the days

when we were younger—so much younger

It was something even back then,

all fresh and new, pure and pristine…

with youthful exuberance we forged ahead—

where there were no roads we blazed our own,

finding strength in our common bonds,

discovering  that even in disagreement

a deeper understanding can be born.

Yeah, we made mistakes along the way…

words, like blades, cut deep and heal slow.

Scars remain, reminders that this too, will pass.

Life has brought us here,

forward is the only direction we can go—

so we build our course, layer upon layer…

there’s no bullshit, no lyin’ and no denyin’,

we are acutely aware,

that we are grounded

in this place, this space,

this history that we share.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Somewhere Between the Rapture and the Rain…

We are, each of us, scarred—

sullied and carved

by jagged remnants

of nameless afflictions.

I will never judge

your scratches and flaws,

nor diminish what you’ve borne

with platitudes and empty words.

For what one sees is minimal,

barely a mar on the surface—
like an iceberg, the trauma

we've incurred sits deeper:

invisible to the naked eye

yet felt on the days

when the sun lies veiled

and old memories rise

to fester once more...
And yet, we survive —

despite our flaws,

or maybe, because of them.

I have felt your distance

as your thoughts turned inward

before focusing once again.

There’s beauty in your nakedness

where only truth remains

no need to cover up the welts,

nor pull away in shame.
Each one of us has a past,

so who can ferry blame?

You may not think I know you well,

but I understand the pain…

no one feels the sun’s sweet warmth

unless they’ve known the rain.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Image Credit: Melanie Mercoglana Photography, Google Images

Love Song

Hey now my darlin’, it’s time to come home

I’ve been waiting on you for a while—

our seeds are all sown

and our grandkids are grown,

it’s time that I shared your smile.

Hey now my darlin’, the voice that you hear

as you try to hold on a bit longer…

you remember it well,

by your eyes I can tell

that each day my whisper grows stronger.

Yet, dearest darlin', I’ve always been here

through the laughter, the joy, and the pain…

through sunshine and sadness,

the moments of gladness—

a part of me always remained.

Hey now my darlin', I’m waiting for you

to hold you again, to embrace;

there’ll be hugging and kissing,

and much reminiscing

as I trace the soft lines on your face.

Hey there my darlin', now just close your eyes—

tell me, whose is the face that you see?

The one who adores you,

who lived his life for you…

it’s time to come home now

          to me

© Ginny Brannan 2017

For J & J—and for all whose love endures...

Unconstrained

Ever so subtle, the banjo begins

as the beat of the bass makes its mark,

the melody's captured now by mandolin

till the strings of the fiddle embark.

Clear and concise there’s a single voice heard

then others to bridge harmony...

clapping and tapping ensues, undeterred;

and the lyrics they share— poetry.

They build to crescendo, then slow to a whisper

and hit all the notes in between…

we conjure the places the music now takes us

the land and the people they’ve seen.

Their tone and inflection belying the depth

of the pain and the hardships they’ve known—

they’ve travelled this country, the length and the breadth

now we garner their seeds as they’re sown.

For they bring an escape for a moment or two,

    the music: a balm to our soul—

in the lyrics we’re gifted; transported and lifted

left healed to this feeling of  'whole.'

And always the music that carries us back...

  a reminder of who we should be:

kinder, more mindful, without animus

  no anger or need to appease.

We entered this place to escape from the rain

and in doing so, found a release:

the melodies shared have unlocked the constraints
and leave us encompassed in peace.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

On June 6th we went to hear one of my favorite genres of music, a mix of folk/bluegrass/country, played by The Steel Wheels, a wonderful and talented group of young musicians out of Virginia. There is thought and depth in the lyrics they share, perfectly arranged and impeccably played. There is something in the sounds of a banjo, fiddle, mandolin, bass. In words that speak of home and things that touch our hearts and our lives. One of their songs was inspired by a man who learned that Federal land was to be auctioned off cheaply and under the radar. He went to the auction, did not know how to keep the land in trust, to keep it pristine for his daughter and new generations to enjoy. Ended up bidding, however foolish in knowing he could never pay. He got thrown in jail, but the incident brought light to something that would have been left unknown and ignored. These are stories of  hope and of love, of country, of family, of the beauty of this land. How can one not leave feeling uplifted and inspired!!

It's All Part of the Promise...

The words fell away when we were young

they rolled off the tongue with the sweet invincibility

of youth, whose only truth was the dream of  

     “Happily ever after…”

The answers we need remain hidden and masked

in youth’s ignorance are left silent, unasked—

and when the storms come, as they always will,

when easy route stops and the path starts uphill

~ will either or both remain up for the task?

The words to "the promise” stay burning within

like a mantra, they echo again and again…

when worse comes a-calling, when poorer prevails,

when time takes our youth, and when illness assails—

we find that those smooth seas were just a illusion

for life‘s often messy and  seeks retribution.

When the unknowns give way to the hard lessons learned,

the depth of devotion will then be discerned.

So we listen as “promise” is given once more

and hope the new couple will  find what we’ve found:

that love isn’t measured in points that are scored,

nor in how hard you fall, but how well you rebound.

The road that lies waiting remains undefined

   we will never foresee all the changes in course;

 it's determined in part by a love that endures

  and confirmed in the warmth of the hand holding yours. 

© Ginny Brannan 2017

For Mike and Ashley, a gentle reminder to be kind to each other, to forgive each other, and to love each other with all that you are.