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