Don't Blink

 

We wouldn’t recognize them

to save our soul

they prefer to remain anonymous

hiding behind the banter

of every day;

till out of the blue,

in a simple act of grace,

their better angel appears.

No warning. No fanfare.

Blink, and you've missed it.

One. Random. Act. Of. Kindness.

making someone’s day—

hearing a need, following through,

bringing it to bear...

 

No visible wings, and certainly no halo

yet, for an instant,

pretty sure they were there...

 

Blink, and you'll miss 'em....

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Matthew 25:40

Losing My Religion

Creativity falls by the wayside

its insignificance highlighted by our own mortality,

just a mote of dust inside this vacuum of disparity…

We view the culling of our dreams by those who dare to speak

—yet no one can predict a frame nor forecast its peak

so we follow stringent guidelines while we wait for this to quell

and watch those on the frontlines trying to navigate through hell.

The pollsters play their politics while living in denial,

and cast their stones against the bones of those who’ve lost this trial;

it’s hard to win a war against a foe that no one sees,

as we wallow in the mire of this new reality.

Another day turns into night, and I remain unscathed

stuck inside this petri dish where all await their fate.

As each one holds to their beliefs while keeping social distance

I pray our better angels find our pathway to resistance.

© Ginny Brannan2020

Title borrowed from R.E.M.

Photo credit: David Parham, taken at Lakelawn Cemetary in his beautiful hometown city of New Orleans. Used with expressed written permission.

Thank you, my friend!!

NaPoWriMo 2020

An Angel on My Shoulder

“There’s an angel on your shoulder,”

he states, adamantly—

I squint my eyes, unable to see

            this profound illusion.

Still, coming from a man

            who’s come back from the brink

                        makes me think…

“Why would such creature come to

visit a woman with stains on her soul?”

Perhaps these months of penance, served

—if you believe in such things—

have set things right to make me “whole.”

After all he’s been through its hard to conceive

that he still perceives angels,

and still can ‘believe’

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

This Cynical Heart

Imagine a place with no pain existing,

where ills that are carried through life disappear.

Like Thomas, this heart is quite bent on resisting,

yet lingering questions insist on persisting;

their answers illusive and ever unclear.

And still I am finding my mind keeps returning

whenever the stillness and quiet appears.

I ponder the purpose of life, disillusioned—

the darkness that settles with no set conclusion;

for ages I've tarried, alone and austere.

I wonder how long I've withdrawn in seclusion,

closed off from emotion, my goals cast unclear—

Where cynical thoughts thrive without absolution,

despondent, in need of insightful intrusion…

does anyone notice behind this veneer?

In my heart I envision a child that’s running

and playing with others, no longer constrained—

surrounded by light of the love that he carries,

his purpose fulfilled, this small emissary

reminds us “Be happy, we'll meet once again.”

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Sharing at dVerse Poets Pub February 2015 OLN. Come celebrate the changing of the guard! Brian & Claudia, we are indebted to you both more than we can express—many thanks to both for all you have done, and for all of your support to the writers that share here. And all the best to both the old and new pub-tenders!

Demons and Angels

Image: Angels Grunge Artwork, Alex Cherry

It’s funny how that early pain

still trickles down through all the years,

to seep into those shadowed spaces.

Who knew how much there still remained

to bleed the heart, invade the soul.

Its funny how the hurt adheres

even if one never mentions

the wounds concealed in hidden places.

It’s hard to talk about past fears

with those who’ll never understand.

In you, there was no condescension.

You listened, bowed, as though in prayer--

then stood and wrapped me in your wings;

(it must have been some odd reflection,

for one can’t see what isn’t there).

We shelve our anger and despair;

raise fast the shields, choose to ignore;

never opting to confide

neglecting life in disrepair

till someone cracks those firm defenses.

Through you, my spirit was restored

the scarring finally reconciled;

my soul redeemed in graced reward.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

*For my co-worker and colleague:

I’d watched the devil from the outside,

you’d faced your demons from the inside;

two different sides of alcoholism.

We are survivors.

This one is a little more personal than most. Our pasts need not define us, and yet they are still a part of us. This is inspired from a lunchtime conversation shared with a coworker, a kindred spirit, sharing stories not often shared.