Transmuting

 

You see her there in silhouette

standing all alone,

sequestered in the shadows

defiant in her tone

Sadness overtakes you

marked in monochrome.

The tears you spill sit shining

on sallow cheek and chin,

broaching an enigma

that will not let you in.

Simple in complexity,

trapped inside her soul

always yearning to be free

of things she can’t control.

So save your suppositions

those ill-spent inclinations,

the false and feigned frustration

and just let her be...

 

for she’ll accost the ardent fool who skirts her limitations

and woe to all who disregard her need to find salvation.

© Ginny Brannan 2024

The Starving Artist's Club

 

Starving artists searching for identity

tortured poets searching for our place

bleeding tales of love and of humanity

confessing the challenges that we face.

Drawing from the past, where we retrace

all the things that we’ve repressed;

in rhyme, or simple turn of phrase

our failures and our dreams confessed.

 

And each experience? A test—

in every hurt that leaves us scarred,

in love that’s carried, unexpressed,

and all the secrets that we guard.

 

And we wonder what our words impart–

Common ground? Familiarity?

In meting out pieces of our heart

we share our vulnerability

 still searching for identity

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

A Certain Slant of Light

 

There’s a certain slant of light

that casts on us in Spring

it calls the flowers to come out

and prompts the birds to sing.

 

The days stretch longer than before,

the stars are slow to shine;

an ocean breeze is sent to tease

and we respond in kind.

 

We watch the young males preening;

–a startled flock taking flight;

with each new dawn so earth responds

 to this new slant of light.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

 

Using NaPoWriMo 2024 prompt for Day 24, to start a poem with the first line of a favorite poet, mine is from Emily Dickinson’s  “There’s a Certain Slant of Light”

'Practical' Magic

 

It calls to us in the predawn hours,

sweet on the lips, warm to the touch–

like addicts we follow, like moths to the flame;

 its heady aroma drawing us closer–

arousing our thirst, staking it’s claim.

What can this be, this curious thing

igniting our senses to make us give chase?

An unknown enigma? A wonder vaccine?

Or a magical potion that’s brewed from a bean.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

From Writer's .com for Day 23: Write about a mundane task that (secretly) doubles as a magical ritual.

 

Broken Heart Syndrome

 

How do I mend a broken heart

that doesn’t want to mend?

How do I piece the shards together

to make it whole again?

How do I rebuild something

that no one else can see–

shattered into a thousand pieces

there, inside of me?

The ache I bear weighs heavy

and makes it hard to breath;

it would have been much easier 

 if you didn't leave.

There is little to be done

 and nothing to be gained...

the wind blows through this broken heart

and tears, they fall like rain—

tell me why is it when someone leaves,

it’s we that bear the pain?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

*Takotsubo cardiomyopathy or "Broken Heart Syndrome" is when the heart muscle becomes suddenly stunned or weakened. It mostly occurs following severe emotional or physical stress. The condition is temporary and most people recover within two months.

Good Universe Next Door prompt Say 22 How to Survive Heartbreak. I have no answers, just do the best you can, I guess.

When Everything Turns Gray

The charcoal sky grows darker

with the impending storm,

the shadows blend together

where they cast across the lawn.

Hear the thunder rumbling

its drum-roll lingers on...

lightening flashes thunder crashes–

the leaden sky responds.

Everything turns monochrome

as earthen as the clay;

mood is foul and scowling

as blue sky turns to gray.

Bleak and austere scene is cast

does nothing to allay;

the ashen clouds foreboding

to add to somber fray.

A pall is cast across the land

where once bright colors shone

we’re left morose and resolute

standing here alone. 

 

 © Ginny Brannan 2024

From NaPoWriMo 2024 prompt to write a poem that repeats or focuses on a single color. Mine is less about repetition and more about different iterations of a certain color.

An Ode to the Outspoken Woman

 

 

How very swift we tend to overlook

the woman fighting for equality

wanting to discover who she is—

how often she has been misunderstood.

 

And should she take a stance, politically

while fighting to preserve the greater good?

It’s always been the same through history:

that girls who speak their mind are seen as rude,

redacted for their nonconformity.

© Ginny Brannan

NaPoWriMo Prompt for Writers .com Day 18 Write an ode to something you've seen hundreds of times that has never lost its beauty.  And what is more beautiful than a strong woman that knows her own mind and fights for the greater good?

Against the Wind

 

I try to put my best foot forward

even when the skies are gray;

the darkness always reaching toward us

 

still all my best laid plans are thwarted.

I stumble trying to make headway

while trying to put my best foot forward

 

I doubt I’ll ever be rewarded

for even those we love betray;

the darkness always reaching toward us

 

each new strategy, aborted

our cards are dealt then cast away

while trying to put our best foot forward

 

the words I hear appear distorted,

spinning thoughts in disarray

—the darkness always reaching toward us

 

I do my best to be supportive

while you discourage and upbraid

I try to put my best foot forward

the darkness always reaching toward us.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

"I’m older now and still running against the wind"  Bob Seger

.

Day 17 NaPoWriMo 2024 prompt: A poem inspired by a piece of music. Can be used as title

Beware the Parseltongue

 

One is a sly parseltongue.

He lies like a snake in the grass.

He undulates charm while threatening harm;

the color of skin hides the poison within—

he truly is evil ‘unmasked’

 

The other, a man of his word

who struggles, at times, to be heard

moral and kind is such a rare find

no need to insult, or to have his own cult

and rarely, his anger incurred.

 

The difference is like day and night,

we watch and hope fate intervenes.

Which one will hold sway at the end of the day?

Will kindness rebound and the other leave town?

Our future remains to be seen

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

 

 Day 16 Writers.com Write about two opposing yet co-existing realities.

 

Imperceptible

 

So many things slip by, unnoticed

barely seen with the naked eye:

one day all is barren and cold

sepia-toned in brown and beige;

then coaxed from sleep, so nature yawns­—

the resting lawn returns to green

forsythia dons her yellow dress

dogwood and cherry follow suit.

Yet all is lost to the busy minds

caught up in work and counting hours,

no time to hear the wind in the trees

nor see the sun calling to the flowers.

And in the course of a blink of an eye

in what could be moments, or merely hours,

leaves burst forth in golds and greens

as once more nature deals her hand

with nary a nod from the likes of man.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

For Day 15 going "freestyle" without a prompt. 

Photo: by author "Apple Blossoms"

 

Self Portrait

 

I tend to self-depreciate 

a lot more than I should.

Growing up the fodder

for other people’s laughter            

you can either self-destruct

or learn that you are no one's punch-line.

I chose the latter.

Behind every wink or smile

sits a childhood memory,

when confidence and self-esteem 

were not my strongest suits.

I still balance on that fine edge

of what others think of me

while knowing then I’m so much more

than what they may perceive...

ever-mindful of my life

  and all I have achieved

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

 

Day 14 Writers.com prompt to write a portrait of one's self.

A Bit of 'Frost' and 'Poe'

 

In the wee hours while still napping,

ever gently came a rapping,

ever soft there came tapping

there, against the window pane.

Deep into the darkness peering

starless night no moon appearing

heavy clouds now commandeering

giving way to steady rain

The budding trees await the calling

of the rain, now heavy falling

that winter storms have hindered, stalling

staving springtime flower show.

The steady downpour falls for hours

sometimes softer, sometimes louder

soaking ground to tease the flowers

where yesterday there still was snow.

 

 © Ginny Brannan 2024

Day 12 Loosely based on Good Universe Next Door Prompt to pay homage to a favorite poet using a line from their poem.  I did not choose one particular line, but instead chose two of my favorite poets, borrowing the style of one (Poe's 'The Raven), and the capture of change of seasons from another (Frost's 'Spring Pools)

Premonitions

 

It was absolutely real, 

that feeling of foreboding

I tried to tell someone, 

yet no one would believe.

I was just a young kid,

and no one listened to me.

Why would someone change course 

in the middle of the stream?

The plans were set in motion

 and all was going well

why stir the pot and 

make the night unpleasant?

And everyone was fine 

until we hit the pole

Yes, everything was good 

until it wasn’t.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024 

 

Prompt Day 10 Writers.com

Write about an event that you might interpret as a sign from a higher power.

Eclipsed

 

There is so much we take for granted

sailing our days upon this course

on this boat called “Earth.” 

Like the way the sun can

light the sky, even through the clouds .

Hidden, yet its warmth still felt.

Friendship is a lot like that:

unseen, yet always felt.

We are eclipsed in this great expanse

dwarfed by moon and sun

Setting out to conquer all

before our life is done. 

And with some luck

our paths may cross 

on this celestial sea

riding on a wave of stars

to find our destiny.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

 

Day 9 with inspiration based loosely on prompt for Day 8, Good Universe Next Door’s Prompt for Eclipse Day. 

*Adobe stock image.

Held in Stasis

 

I did not forget you, my darling,

I just hit pause for a while,

my self-defined procrastination– 

the inner writer whispered, “sit”

and I surrendered to temptation.

I did not forget you, my sweet,

 but I wrapped myself instead

inside of that creative fog, resetting 

from the week that’s passed, 

regrouping for the week ahead.

I did not forget you, my love,

nor all the years we spent

and what you meant to me.

You’re still in every breath I take

nothing was in vain.

I carry your heart inside of my own

and so will remain.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

There is nothing ordinary about April 7^th, but for once it didn’t hit me with the usual sense of anxiety and dread; no painful moments running like a loop in my head. And while I don’t believe such moments will ever really disappear, for today there was reprieve. Perhaps a gift. He always read me so well!

Unfinished

 

"

I think ageing is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person you always should've been." --David Bowie

 

Forward, ever forward

we wander through time

seconds, minutes, hours,

days. weeks, months, years,

wearing remnants of our past.

There’s no backtracking

and I won’t be pigeon-holed

by those who think they know me.

I know who I am

 and all that you don’t see.

There’s fire in my heart

   passion my soul;

I won’t be diminished.

I’m still a work in progress

—just call me unfinished

 

© Ginny Brannan

Day 7 From Good Universe Niext Door: Write a poem about learning to love yourself. It can be aspirational (what it would be like), or it can capture where you are right now in your self-love journey. 

Image: Head of a Woman; unfinished by Salvador Dali

"Olly Olly Oxen Free"

We were young, only six as I recall, 

when you moved to the neighborhood.

I was an ‘only,’ but you were the middle 

child of three. You had the biggest

yard. We would gravitate there:

the 'big' kids, the 'little' kids, and us. 

I learned how to ride a bike on yours,

up and down in front of your house.

In the summer, we played from dawn to dusk

—croquet, Red Rover, frozen tag, Wave Me Out—

shooed home by your parents before it got dark.

I was the wild child of the three friends,

Never bad, but a bit undisciplined.

It didn’t matter. Our common ground

defied our differences. You never judged.

The friendship we have is indelible; 

time, distance, age and death­ are all inevitable

but the bonds we form in youth are unbreakable;

you have been, and will always be, my friend.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

NaPoWriMo Day 6: Writers.com prompt: Think of a memory where the details aren’t clear. Fill in the details in a poem.

"Wave Me Out" is a hybrid take on Hide and Seek. No one I know has really ever heard of it, and yet I know we played it. I "googled" it, and sure enough found it! See #4 "Secret Wave" in link "Hide and Seek Variations"

It's April. This is for E. Loved and missed.