Bringing Down Goliath

The news crests in waves

its burden grows,

its burgeoning weight unfolds

as the story is told

 — again and again.

New, yet old, we’ve been here before…

the victims, the heroes, the rescues…

and the underlying, the incident defining,

the never-ending question—

        “Why?”

What is the common thread

that weaves through these events?

Columbine, Aurora, Sandy Hook, 

Virginia Tech, Miami, Las Vegas, Parkland...

“Guns don’t kill people, people do.”

“If you outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns”

Did our forefathers foresee automatic weaponry

when they constitutional-ized the right

to “Keep and bear arms?”

How many innocents must be lost?

How many children must die?

How many husbands, wives, fathers, mothers,

brothers, sisters, friends, loved ones?

If now is NOT the time to address this, then when?

Tired of the “bought and paid for’s“

sweeping it under the rug.

This isn’t about the rights of the hunters

to keep their rifles—though the NRA

will make surely make it seem that way.

It is about the ease at which anyone

with money and an i.d. can by a gun.

It is about how one person can amass

an arsenal, an armory, and go on a shooting spree—

while there is no accountability,

no central data base, no red flag  

to track the would-be crazies.

“The people have rights.”

What about the rights of all citizens

to go to school, to go to church,
to go out for an evening,

without fear of never returning home again?

Accountability starts with us—

 you and me— speaking out.

If enough Davids take on Goliath

he will fall,

and maybe, just maybe, mass shootings

will cease to be so commonplace,

maybe, just maybe, we can feel safe again,

and maybe, just maybe,  we won’t have to hear the words

“the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history”

   … again.

© Ginny Brannan 

Image: Bierberg, conceptart.org

Full credit to Bierberg who conceptualized the perfect image of a modern day Goliath. Link with image, above.

Highly Combustible

When darkness falls upon this day

to threaten ill, to take away

the ember glowing from within - `

the burning heart, covert desires

that feeds the passion, fuels that fire

till well dries up,  and life spreads thin.

When words appear, then dissipate

and we cannot extrapolate

before they fade to turn obscure—

and noise that permeates the day

inspires chaos, disarray

while we slip further in arrears.

So rare now comes that blinding light

that kindles urgency to write

hidden deep in shrouded sphere.

With notebook near, with pen and hand

I wait the writing god’s command;

my sacrifice upon the pyre

awaits the spark to start the fire.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

March is a Surly Old Cat

Dusk falls quickly this early March day,

winter not ready to cede to spring;

another nor’easter’s heading our way…

anticipation—bordering aggravation—

as we wait to see what this storm will bring.

And so the flurries begin to fall

floating…swirling…giving chase—

racing over hedges and open lawn,

settling on treetops and old stone wall,

the wind picks up and quickens pace.

We set aside our mixed emotions

awed by wonder that we see:

nature has waved a magic wand

passing her paintbrush in slow motion

over the crooks of twigs and limbs

as pure white crystals settle in

to cloak the bald and barren tree.

A fine sift of confectioner’s sugar

powder-coats all within our sight;

soft pussy willows bend under the weight

while new spring birds have taken flight.

And so it builds—flake on flake

layer upon layer— drifting down;

frozen, heavy, muting sound.

The first signs of spring beat a hasty retreat

as March Lion rears its head and roars,

and plows come out to scrape the  street.

Inside we listen as they make their rounds,

and under this mantle of new-fallen white

we knit our poems on this cold March night.

© Ginny Brannan March 2018

Image: G. Brannan 3/8/18