As you are now, so once was I…

Google Images: '70's Teens

I remember the days were longer then—

the skies bluer; the load lighter;

we held the future in our fingertips.

That was long ago,

    when time ran slow…

Now we’re status quo,

    go with the flow—

tripping along a perpetual loop

trying to eke out a living —

wondering where our innocence went.

I still can recall

    how we were going to change the world.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

No Further Than My Own Backyard

Image by author

The manger on the mantle—

our family history time-lined

by the collected ornaments

gracing the Christmas tree;

greens and berries…

crafts from long ago

making their annual trip

up the stairs to shine for the holidays—

the warmth of grown children in the house,

the sound of my husband turning

the pages of his book;
his occasional sigh.

All of these things remind me

of how precious and fragile life is,

how very fleeting time can be—

I pause to absorb this moment,

to take a mental snapshot; a reminder

that the most important things

are right here, right now

…family, friends, all I hold dear,

    knowing I am loved.

 My heart is full

    and I am content.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

In the famed words of Dorothy Gale from somewhere in Kansas...

“If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

Taken to Task

I wallow in this mindless space

with no time left to call my own;

no time to spare, no time to waste.

I wallow in this mindless space

all work, no play…while I bemoan

the day expires without a trace.

I wallow in this mindless space

with no time left to call my own.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

No More Than You Can Handle....

Don’t pander me with platitudes to try and ease this pain

nor pass along your empty incantations…

there’s nothing in the words that heal, and nothing to be gained:

when spoken rote, they won’t invoke your pathway to salvation.

I understand you’re just concerned and trying to express it,

but words alone ring empty in the hollows of this soul.

Sharing thoughts and prayers for things that could not be prevented;

sometimes there's just nothing that will make a person whole.

How many hurts does it take until we fall immune—

to numb this pain inside us that we carry on our own?

Is it on this rock-strewn path through which our souls are hewned,

inside such heinous places that we’re meant to tread alone?

I’m grateful for the ones who hear my pain without remark,

who listen without trying to think ahead to what they’ll say—

who, for a moment carry all the weight that’s on this heart,

knowing there are many things that words will not allay

When in the sea of empathy I feel that I might drown

I search to find the quietude, to find the strength I need.

It’s in the love I feel when all the walls come tumbling down

from those who understand and know that listening’s the key.

When life overwhelms, becoming more than I can bear,
don’t send to me your platitudes just let me know you’re there.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image from Google Images: Masseu Learns to Sketch

Under a Cloud

The darkness spreads like an infection

while hate and anger breed, unbound

amid the lies and the deception

Each concocted interjection

turns into a battleground—

as darkness spreads like an infection.

Acting on some predilection

his mock pretention paramount

amid the lies and the deception.

Denials, constant misdirection—

our search for truth turns tantamount

as darkness spreads like an infection.

Has this become some strange reflection

of just how far we’ve run aground

amid the lies and the deception?

Another vote, a new election

praying for some turnaround…

as darkness spreads like an infection

amid the lies and the deception.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Tribute

Be grateful for the little things

the laughter and commingling

the friendships and the fellowships

the quiet times alone

Be grateful for the scars and lumps

for life is messy, full of bumps

every wrinkle that we earn

attests to how we’ve grown

Be grateful for another breath

for all the trials and the tests

for there’s no light without the dark

honing strength unknown

And so we shed our outer skin

reveal our fortitude within

as twilight abdicates its grasp

we rise again, reborn

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Halo

Her indomitable spirit glows:

a beacon, a halo, emanating

between the broken pieces

the cracks and scars; the surface mars

from every trip, every slip,

every storm that’s threatened

to bring her down and drown her.

She is a survivor, not despite the odds,

but to spite them.

Fist first, she stands, again commands:

“I’m still here, you bastards,  

   “I’m still here.”

Living testament that it’s not about the fall,

but how many times she's stood;

how many times she's spit in the devil’s eye

and said:

   Nope, not today—

            …today is MINE!

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image: Sculpture by Paige Bradley "Expansion, Third Life"

Inspired by two people that I know and greatly admire. That which would probably break the rest of us has allowed them to expand, to grow, to become stronger versions of themselves, and we are the better for having them with us. 

Trigger Words

Certain words turn us around

or stop us dead within our tracks,

we pick ourselves up of the ground

while trying to comprehend the facts.

We’re products of our own emotions

triggered by our past ordeals

at any moment self-imploding

by the scars that never heal.

The words you shared have struck a nerve

then scattered like a ricochet,

I hold my temper in reserve

my dissonance on full display.

Only so much one can stand

there's hell to pay on reprimand.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

What Evil Lies...

Smiling face with orange skin
seems harmless on first observation—

what foul things can pumpkin do?

What rancid seeds are held within,

such benign thing with orange skin?

And yet we feel such trepidation

every time we look at him.

Expression morphs before our eyes

and slowly takes a new formation:

guileless smile, or evil grin?

As we observe we catch a glimpse

of ugly fire deep inside

blackening its pith and soul—

what once was cheerful turning grim;

what once was bright is turning dim.

Observing change, we must confide

as it decays from inside out

and melts to earth from whence it came,

that we feel somewhat mollified

and hang our hope that it's contained.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

The Count

Darkness draws her shrouded cloak

releasing pheromones to flight;

assimilating to the night.

Call out monster by his name,

usurping others for his gain.

Late night when he comes to call—

acquiesce; then give your all.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image: Victorian Artwork by Victoria Frances

And if you liked this, find another along the same classic theme here.

In Case You Didn't Know

Your thoughts transposed upon a page

have pulled me from the deepest dark

providing footlights on a path

littered with worst-case infractions.

In hopeless moment, one small spark,

an impromptu and random action…

you can’t conceive just what it meant

to lose myself for briefest time

within that transient distraction.

A beacon on a moonless night,

a lifeboat on a bitter sea—

I've focused on your ambient light

how many times it's rescued me.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

For my friend on the other side of the mountain, thank you for “harrowing the words.”  And to all whose words have provided an escape when hope has wavered somewhere between staying on an even-keel and wallowing in the pit of despair. Words transport us, written or spoken, and often save us when we need it most.

Into the Vortex

I spend my days barely afloat

awash in darkness and debris,

circling a shallow moat

a tiny raft on tempest sea.

I walk along the knife blade’s edge

one wrong step can take me down

balancing along the ledge

it’s hard to keep to solid ground

Another day of status quo.

another day under the gun;

another day I can’t forego,

another day I’ve not succumbed.

It’s not my nature to make waves,

in silence, I let things accrue.

But to what end? I cannot stave

a tempest so long overdue.

The keel has broken from this boat,

and wind and storm may shred her sail—

yet no one really knows the scope

or fathoms if the ship has failed.

Sucked into the maelstrom's eye

they‘ll never say she didn’t try.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Bobbing for Apples

Ever so quickly now, darkness falls,

along with leaves from yonder oak:

they skitter down the quiet street.

piling up against the poles

and blanketing the shrubs and grass.

Caught on the wind, the smell of smoke,

of wood fires warding off the chill

announcing colder days ahead

as jack-o’lanterns still evoke

sweet memories of childhood past.

Shhhh, quiet! You can hear them still—

those laughing children in disguise,

bobbing for apples, playing games...

their trick or treat bags overflow

held close in the images I've amassed.

While we immerse in warm repast

reminiscing upon our tales of old…

Autumn once more reconvenes

transporting us back to childhood dreams.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Happy birthday to SJM. Remembering the Octobers of our childhood. You would invite us to your house for your birthday party. We'd come in costume, bob for apples, play games. Had to love those stiff plastic masks with the elastic to hold them on. Couldn't hardly see out the eyes or breath through the nose! Ahhh, sweet memories of youth!!

Testament

Why should we believe her?

We never met her, we don’t know her

but somewhere in our lives we knew someone—

a friend, a classmate, a cousin

who experienced something:

rape, molestation, abuse—

at the hands of someone they knew

  or perhaps just met;

Someone they trusted,

or didn’t know well enough yet to trust.

A classmate, a friend, a familiar adult—

someone who took “no” as “yes”

took advantage of the situation

of their youth, their naïveté,

the fact that they were alone

   if only for a moment.

Perhaps they were drinking … perhaps not.

Whatever happened, whenever it happened

does not diminish the fact that it did happen;

   that it wasn’t asked for,

   that it wasn’t wanted.

Boys will be boys? 

How many men do you know

who would force a woman against their will?

Would you? Seriously, would you??

I believe her.

I have no doubt she remembers

          ...because I do
             I remember. 

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Views from the Past

I never saw you as beautiful

you were always just there;

a vestige, a mile-marker of childhood.

When I was old enough I moved away,

escaped the dark side of my youth.

And now I see that you remained

—inventing, reinventing—

somewhat changed, but still the same.

My view of you is changing too—

Once I thought you held me back

your memory brought mixed reviews

bittersweet and interlaced

with loss and pain and awkwardness

—so many things I once suppressed

but none of which I could erase.

Was only trying to find my way 

and so, it seems, that you were too,

a place to fit, somehow belong...

I took a circumventious route—

an awkward child who found her voice.

You stayed and grew into the land,

each one making our own choice.

Full circle, how things come around…

I see the child I once knew

and see you now for who you are

awakened to the current view.

How sad the years that slipped us by,

but cannot dwell in “should-have-beens”

  you are you and I am I

  – perhaps we might begin again?

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Both personifying the place I came from,
and reflecting back on some who 

influenced who I would become.

Image taken by Photographer Anne Collins who shares her beautiful images on my hometown site called "Growing Up in Bellows Falls." Looking northbound on the Connecticut River.

Used with expressed written permission.

Three for Kersie

Blazing Her Own Trail

Her spirit rises from within

She sees the world as it should be

and sets her course accordingly

An old soul in a young girl’s skin

with steadfast gaze, new trails to blaze

a fiery storm behind sweet grin

…and so begins her odyssey

her spirit rising from within.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Oh Captain, My Captain…

The tiny helmsman takes control—

determined, never showing fear

committed, steadfast in her role.

The tiny helmsman takes control

though course ahead remains unclear

she pushes past the rocky shoals.

This tiny helmsman in control;

determined, never showing fear.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Tiny Pirate

Softly ceding to the night

the sun has sung itself to sleep,

while moon awakens with delight.

The fairies dance in waning light

as banshees beat a fast retreat

receding swiftly into night.

One by one the stars shine bright

across the dark expanse they sweep

as moon expresses her delight!

The sea monsters have taken flight,

again returning to the deep—

swift now ceding to the night.

The will o’ the wisps and woodland sprites

into the foggy meadows creep;

the moon observes them with delight.

Illuminated by pale light

lies tiny pirate, fast asleep;

so soft receding into night—

the moon enrapt with pure delight.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

I am totally enamored by this feisty and formidable little redhead! We recently spent a weekend in Maine with her and her grandparents where she and I spent a morning trying to "escape the sea monsters" and when that didn't seem to work we fed them "ice cream and cookies!!" These 3 pieces are inspired by her personality and her very active imagination. Such fun we had!! 

For Kersie with love.

Photos by Charlie Parant at Appetite for Photos blog

Also on Facebook: Appetite for Photos

Used with expressed written permission from photographer.

Casualties

We were young then,

kids really…unrefined;

awkward, selfish, ignorant, blind—

stumbling along toward destinations unknown

leaving behind a smattering of fractured hearts

on the shard-strewn road to adulthood.

I could blame it on our innocence,

youthful fear or ignorance

but nothing would be gained.

You and I were never meant to be,

just casualties on the pathway to maturity.

Yet, I'm sorry if I caused you pain.

And I, in turn, have not been left unscathed—

and so forgive the ones who’ve done the same.

For you, who from my past I still recall,

amid the many memories eroding

on the convoluted paths from there to here,

that we even crossed at all is worth our noting.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Unwoven

Pound the world with your lies,

your avant-garde tries at distraction;

your predilection for chaos, the joy

you take watching others crumble:

there’s nothing humble about you.

How you take satisfaction—

throwing insults, no retraction:

you live in denial, just file it away.

Spreading the hypocrisy, dismantling democracy,

shifting the blame in this game that you play.

You claim no collusion while stirring confusion

at best you’re delusional,  spreading the fear.

We see through the hoax of your mirrors and smoke,

each story you’re spinning seems more absurd

your followers unswayed as they hang on each word.

You no longer hide that you’re trying to divide us

and we’re left to wonder “Who pulls the strings?”

Spreading derision with each repetition,

while faking the words to the song that you sing.

You’re good at complaining, better at blaming

but what will remain of those lies that you’ve spun?

The tales that you’re spinning will be your unpinning,

the web that you’ve woven is coming undone.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image: Charlie Parant Appetite for Photos  Used with expressed written permission.