Sea Glass

The smell was in the air tonight,

drifting in on an eastern wind

recalling those summers at the Cape.

We’d walk along the shore, collecting

shells and bits of colored glass,

watching the sun wrap itself in threads

of peach and pink and purple and gray

before slipping slowly past the horizon.

A chorus of crickets would be heard,

mixed with raucous laughter that trickled

down from the road and tickled our ears

as cars cruised by, windows open,

searching for relief in the cool night air.

Up the lane colorful lights beckoned to the line

forming outside the ice cream shack,

frosty reprieve on a warm summer's eve.

One of the great unproven laws of physics is

that the closer you get to the beach,

the longer the days seem to stretch.

We’d finally crawl off to bed, our

sunburnt bodies finding cool respite

between soft cotton sheets.

If we listen carefully, we can hear the sound

of the waves kissing the shore; as the

warm breeze rustling through the trees

calls us back to the sea once more.

 © Ginny Brannan 2018

Cape Cod near Harwichport, MA 2016

Top Image: Seamarias/Etsy

Bottom Image by author, taken on Cape Cod.

Breaking "Even"

Lady Luck is a fickle bitch

making random choices—

who will win…who will lose.

We play a steady and patient game

biding our time, knowing the odds

are rarely in our favor.

In this game, sometimes just

breaking even counts as a ‘win’

and given my 'druthers'
I’d druther walk away

with what I came with

      ...than end up in the hole.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Lullaby

Outside now, night has fallen

over hill the moon doth creep,

the sweet boy child with impish smile

says “Mommy, sing me down to sleep.

"I’ve searched for hidden treasures

and climbed up on Mt. Doom

then slipped down through the rabbit hole

and landed in my room.”

The dinosaurs watch from their shelves

the books are put away

the toys are tucked inside their box

to play another day

And so I hug my ‘sleepyhead’

and sing familiar tune

of cowboys and of cattle

as we gaze out at the moon.

Too soon I know this child will grow

for time does not retreat;

I watch his face in sweet repose

and as he falls asleep….

I pray the angels keep.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Images: Top, Google Images Art.Com

Bottom: Pinterest  Best Moon Image

Legacy

What was it that you did that caused

so many to be so angry…

was it the color of your skin,

or that you were educated, well spoken

rose to a position that they couldn’t fathom

because they were so color-blind?

With an impeccable record, devotion to wife and family,

class, faith, dedication, selfless love of country

you were everything they were not.

They hated that you were unimpeachable.

They thwarted you at every turn,

resorting to epithets and insults.

Maybe it was your easy manner, your ready smile,

your rapport with others

your unwavering sincerity,

and the ability to see through lies,

identifying those who’d try

to pass something by you.

Your one fault: your faith in humanity;

your belief that even those who disagreed 

would finally see, would come around

to recognize the end results, 

this legacy that you would leave…

but they couldn’t get over the anger they felt

or the color, the color, the color of your skin;

discrimination by any other name is still the same.                  

The ugly green-eyed monster embarks on his campaign

using fear and ignorance to build up his own gain.

his constant rants become a chant, the anger his achievement

at every turn he’d watch you burn while citing disagreement.

Yet history will long denote the ones who gave their best

who knew the laurels of the past are not a place to rest;

the ones who shored democracy; unselfishly they stood,

the ones who had integrity, who worked for greater good…

no matter who comes after, their legacy remains

known not just for who they were, but the leader they became.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image credit: Stencil by Stencilstarter JB at DeviantArt

Ripples

Though each part of some other story

we have our own to tell—

concentric circles overlapping

filled with truth and allegory

expanding and expounded on

within the script we’re dealt.

 Bit players playing out our parts

with each line improvised—

and when another takes the lead,

we're left to wing it from the heart

as each new chapter brings a turn

of ‘hellos’ and ‘good-byes.’

Sometimes the mainstays can’t be found

they skip an act or two—

reappearing just in time

to prompt the now forgotten line,

they bring the story back around

—again our play renews.

With every turn, with each new scar

the tale becomes our own—

the narratives that we reprise

recall the people in our lives

not by their stories, but the part

that each has played in ours.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Vesica Piscis is the elliptical space in the center where circles overlap. I imagine each of our stories like as circles overlapping,  to become ripples in the ever-expanding sea of time.