What are the Odds?

The day breaks slow this January morn

the cloud filled sky cast in ombré gray,

cold sun reluctant to show its face.

As I scan across the barren yard

past the remnants of the last snowfall

still floating atop winter-brown grass,

it dawns on me that this is an odd year.

Not only in the political sense—

I mean, how strange is it that a reality T.V. host,

self-endorsed politician, business man, millionaire—

has promised to be a champion for the people?

—The man who would be President—

Yet, even more so for us, in the numerical sense.

Odd years have never been lucky years…

if bad luck or illness will transpire,

it always chooses the ‘odd’ year.

2001, 2003, 2005, 2009, 2011, 2015

surgery, illness, lay-off, more surgery…

I tick off our laundry list of misfortune and misery.

And yet, the optomist in me still struggles

to break the surface,  even as the sun itself

emerges from behind its gray cloud curtain.

I defer, as we so often do, to a movie quote,

an earworm reverberating through my head:

 “May the odds be ever in your favor”

Indeed—

           

            May they be in all of ours.

©  Ginny Brannan 2017

For You, the 'Other Writer'…

So at this time I would profess

—if the truth were to be told—

how every poem that you’ve refined

whispers through my heart and mind

and touches deep within my soul

Oh, that I had such gift as yours!

With subtlety and fine inflection

each story line and each reflection,

each lover's conflict you’ve endured

frozen there upon the page

seeks and speaks to inner core.

Where indeed do such words come

that touch upon such highs and lows,

to paint the hollows so profound

and grapple the unpolished truth?

I hang suspended and spellbound;

for in your words I see myself—

in this mirror that you’ve shared

each fault and glorious imperfection

through introspective interjection

my secrets called out and laid bare.

And so to you, I now confess,

to maestro wielding quill in hand—

I’ve seen my story on your page

as much as you have shared your own.

Through lines transcending time and age,

your tales regale what we have lived,

revealing secrets I have known.

While some aspire, others lead

in ever reaching for that bar,

as each one tries to plant a seed

in hopes that some may stop and read…

Seems for a moment I’ve digressed,

so venture, somewhat tentative

to credit one where credit’s due:

With admiration and respect

that’s earned or ascertained by few—

from moment when we first connected,
my benchmark has been set by you.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Linked to dVerse Poets OLN #187