Monday, February 24, 2020


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.

Monday, February 17, 2020


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

Thursday, February 6, 2020

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

Sunday, February 2, 2020


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:


on cross:
crucified, nailed, suspended
for all to see—

Sharing Secrets

the rustle?
The wind whispers
telling all her secrets…


she moves,
yellow eyes beguile;
stealth, agile, cunning, crafty

February Morning

deceivingly bright
through barren branches;
no warmth in her

Practice Makes Perfect...

poetry run…
trial and error,
still seeking the perfect

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!