I’m filled with conjecture
yet at a loss for words–
the ink’s run out the well’s run dry
this is where it ends.
But it’s like a bite that itches
waiting to be scratched,
a muscle twitch I can’t control
and sometimes, it’s a high.
Mostly it’s my drug of choice
the pen is my syringe
a blank page waits in front of me
and I begin again.
© Ginny Brannan 2024
NaPoWriMo Day 30: Read that it's about beginnings and endings, or endings and beginnings. This is where my words went with it.
I reserve a certain sadness for what I leave behind
I've always had a hard time letting go...
an albatross around my neck, a rope that chafes and binds
secret and clandestine, all things are intertwined.
I'm searching for a bright light, an incandescent glow
with self-effacing honesty expressing what I know...
yet cold and Machiavellian, the soothsayer some seek
his doctrine antithetical to everyone's beliefs.
Often viewed mercurial, his moods change like the wind;
no altruistic tendencies, no kindness to rescind.
I mourn the ruination of all who’ve lost their soul;
then buttoning my cardigan, I brace against the cold.
© Ginny Brannan 2024
NaPoWriMo Day 29 Prompt: To use one of the following words in a poem:clandestine, Machiavellian, incandescent, altruism, self effacing, albatross, antithetical, mercurial, elegy, cardigan I chose some form of all of them
TY to TS for challenging our vocabularies with her brilliant use of words.
leaving is always the hardest part
not knowing if we will ever return
holding tight to all the memories made
as we climb the steps for the long flight home
it was all I had imagined and more
castles and strands, blue skies and rain
medieval banquets, bread dipped in salt for friendship
oh, how I would go back again!
this small country in a big sea
it’s always been part of me
travelling narrow roads and byways
filled with love for this distant land
we were smitten from the start
held enrapt in the palm of their hand
with stories and tales passed down through time
how the locals charmed us
on this trip that we’d scrimped and saved for
not knowing what was in store
filled with anticipation, so we embarked
a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step
© Ginny Brannan 2024
Photo by author
Write a poem that begins at the end of something, then moves backwards.
I’ve written a sonnet once or twice before, though
not one without strict meter and format that
speaks more like a conversation. Is it prose?
Or is it poetry? This bastard child without rhyme!
It’s funny where the words go when we let them
run free; thoughts all a-jumble on a page. It kind of
sets a stage. It frees the mind from rhyme, although
mine tends to fall back into old patterns, despite
my best efforts not to. Old habits die hard. Yet
we all know that poetry is in the eyes of the beholder.
Not the writer who births the words, ever trying to express
something, always feeling she’s made a mess of things.
If one credits where credit is due, so too should go ‘blame’
After all, they’re pretty much the same, aren’t they?
© Ginny Brannan 2024
NaPoWriMo Day 27 Prompt: Today we’d like to challenge you to write an “American sonnet.” What’s that? Well, it’s like a regular sonnet but . . . fewer rules? Like a traditional Spencerian or Shakespearean sonnet, an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter.
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
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
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”
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.
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.
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.
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?
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
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Day 17 NaPoWriMo 2024 prompt: A poem inspired by a piece of music. Can be used as title
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
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"
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
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.
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)
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.
