Indomitable

There’s a spirit I know

like a butterfly, she soars

with hidden strength behind her words

and beauty deep inside her core.

And none may doubt that she has fought

for everyone that she adores,

turning darkness into light

to find her pathway through life’s storms.

There’s a poet that I know

she’s walked through fire to reap her gains;

despite the hardships she‘s faced down

the passion in her heart remains

There’s a woman that I know
on parallel paths, we seek reprieve,

bleeding words upon the page

in endless quest to be set free.

© GB 2/24/2020

With all due admiration and respect to my poet friend and birthday doppelgänger.

Restored

There hardly seems a time that I recall

when we weren’t pulled in opposite directions,

some days I feel I’m up against a wall

no longer now your object of affection.

But then I see your eyes and feel your touch

your sweet, soft words are tempered with inflection:

you see me for the person that I am

we needn’t mask ourselves in self-pretention.

And when there’s little else I can endure,

when I’ve lost belief in my convictions
it’s by your faith in me I am restored

and through your love am cured of my afflictions.

With you here by my side I am complete–

 enfolded in your arms, I cede defeat.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

For my friend, Yvonne, who challenges a poem with three words included: wall, touch, restore.

Image Credit: Buzz16

With a Flick of the Wrist

With an outstretched hand we can show who we are:

friend or foe, weak or strong, cruel or kind.

With nerves of steel and will unbending

we can stand our beliefs,

and share the subtle reminder

that we will not be silent.

So go ahead, take your best shot!

We will not bend or fold to your will;

we are more resilient than you know.

We are Legion, in numbers you cannot fathom.

Lash out with your bitter words

as you try to subdue the masses.

We don’t need to shout to be heard;

with a flick of the wrist your words are undone,

and try as you might, she's already won.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Elfchens

What is an Elfchen, you ask? Elfchen is the German word for eleven. An Elfchen poem is a poem consisting of eleven words over 5 lines... one word on the first line, two words on the second line, three words on the third line, four words on the fourth line, and one final word on the fifth line. It reminds me a bit of the Cinquan, which does similar but with syllables (2,4,6,8,2) rather than words. 

Here's my takes on the format:

Sacrificed

Hung

on cross:

crucified, nailed, suspended

for all to see—

Savior

Sharing Secrets

Hear

the rustle?

The wind whispers

telling all her secrets…

Listen

Charmed

Liquid

she moves,

yellow eyes beguile;

stealth, agile, cunning, crafty

cat

February Morning

Sunlight

deceivingly bright

through barren branches;

no warmth in her

smile.

Practice Makes Perfect...

Another

poetry run…

trial and error,

still seeking the perfect

Elfchen

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My dear Irish friend and sister-in-writing, Yvonne Brewer put a challenge up on her page to try a new form of poetry I had not heard of. Loving both 'form poetry' and the challenge of learning something new, I could not resist giving it a go!