Sink or Swim

 

I’m doing it again…

writing the same poem over and over

Same words, different order
exorcising my ‘demon’ thoughts,

as if in doing so, the outcome might be different, too.

I’m old school, taught long ago

that girls don’t make the first move.

Times have changed, but I’m not sure how to.

Sometimes I sense that we are connected. 

“soul friends” as they say,

living parallel lives, with a deeper understanding

of each other than either of us care to admit.

But words don’t come easy to unpracticed hearts.

And where might we even start?

All we seem to come up with is 

an occasional tempered “How do you do?”

Two strangers testing the waters with our words 

–being ever so careful not to drown.

© Ginny Brannan 2025

Skeleton Bones!

 

Spooky, spooky skeletons

dancing on the lawn

their shadows move in firelight

to their favorite song.

Witch’s kettle on the flames

stirring up a stew

eye of newt and toe of frog

in their special brew.

From the woods there comes a howl,

an otherworldly sound;

watch dismembered body parts

crawl out of the ground.

Spooky, spooky skeletons

dancing on the lawn

while batwings whisper from their caves

into the woods beyond.

The will o’ wisps blink in the mist

what secrets might they share,

preying upon simpletons 

to catch them unaware?

The undead rise before our eyes

searching for the feast

We do not know which way they’ll go

– no rest for the ‘deceased.’

Spooky, spooky skeletons

dancing on the lawn

on the edges of the night, 

Blink…and they are gone.

© Ginny Brannan 2025

In no small part inspired by Disney's "Skeleton Dance", couldn't get the tune out of my head. The words, however, are my own!

It's Not "All About Me"

 

In your words I’ve sometimes sensed

—at least in my interpretation—

that hidden in the metaphor

or sometimes in the lines themselves

they might have been inspired by me–

(am pretty sure they wouldn’t be.)

Presumption, or perhaps a wish
that surfaces from time to time…
I am the one you’ve never met

who hears the echos of your thoughts

and in our commonality

understands where you have been:
two kindred spirits who’ve been scarred,

and in our words we spin our shards

confessing dreams in their inflection

lest we admit our feelings there 

hidden in these words we share.

© Ginny Brannan 2025