Be Careful What You Wish For

 

Setting pen upon the page

thoughts a-jumble in my head

I cannot write for fear that you

will judge me by my simpleness,

the insufficient words I choose.

There is no ‘grandness’ in my speech

no eloquence from bygone years

no flowing lines inspiring awe

to elevate the common reader.

I fall somewhat short of Yeats

more Seussian in awkwardness.

The script inside this muddled brain

is clamoring for liberation,

yet just as fast as it arrives

it twice as quickly dissipates

inside of failed imagination. 

I will never soar to heights

with such a feeble grasp of words,

and there is little I can share

that won’t offend a finer writer

Guess that makes you the “better fool”

to entertain this hopeless mess

as an equal, or at best

a dalliance for entertainment.

Whatever reason that you choose

I feel it best that I disclose

you’re also here at my behest,

sharing your thoughts unopposed,

because you pique my interest.

              

Beware this humble scribe you see

for there is much that waits for thee.

© Ginny Brannan 2026

Mud Season in VT

 

Ice melts, water flows

rivulets run down dirt roads

the night slips back to winter freeze,

the change is measured in degrees.

The pas de bourrées now begins,

step light lest you get sucked in,

as winter cedes a fast retreat

we’re stuck in the muddy street.

© Ginny Brannan 2026

Undefined

 

I’m drawn to the broken poems

written in imperfect rhyme

painting shadows on a page

where emotions intertwine
Where lines may halt without good reason

breaking formulaic rule;
scripted for some revelation–

a purpose-driven, cryptic sign?

Or a puzzle with some hidden meaning,
meant for someone else to find.

Hiding truth protects the bearer,

in life riddled with old scars

candor hurts as well as heals

and yet, defines just who we are.

With no proof that you are worthy

I build a wall till trust is gained
not meant to hide my broken parts
but to protect all that remains.

Our stories lie outside the lines

and sometimes in the broken poems:

where two divergent souls align

in friendship from a different time.

Some might say that “It’s a sign”
I just call it ‘undefined’

© Ginny Brannan 2026

Keep Making Noise

We would do well to remember who we are

–to protect the vulnerable

–reject the hate

–inject compassion into all we do,

to embrace our better angels.

The practice of hate in our country

tastes like rust in our mouths,

like the blood of those shot in the street

not because they were criminals

but because they had the audacity
to to stand up for their beliefs–

to speak for those whose voices 

have been stifled for far too long.

A government that is not for its people

isn’t right, it’s just wrong.

A president who profits off the marginalized

while wielding the knife that slices through

all that we are and all that we do

is no more than a dictator in disguise.

Open your eyes to this darkness

that threatens our very soul.

We have a choice:

stay silent in the face of autocracy

and watch these blatant atrocities,

or use our voice

no matter how difficult

no matter how long it takes
keep making noise.

© Ginny Brannan 2026

Credit for top photo: Roberto Smith AFP, Getty Images

Credit for bottom photo: Stock Photo Dreamstime.com