Angel Tears

I awaken in the wee hours

to the sound of heavy rain

as it pounds against the roof

and am left to contemplate

whether truly raindrops,

or perhaps angels

mourning the loss

of both human life

and our humanity.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Rooted on the Wind

I am the sworn protector of all that I hold dear

if push should ever come to shove, I’ll still be standing here

and though you may not recognize this me that I’ve become:

I'll finish what I’ve started; I’ve only just begun.

To those who sit in judgment pretending that you care,

and all the trolls with empty souls, sent out to spread despair;

we adapt accordingly, going to great lengths

to draw upon our character and play upon our strengths.

Remember how the tiny wren sings her song so clear,

the way her notes hang in the air before they disappear?

Or how the slightest little seed can turn green into gold

when it lands on fertile ground, roots firmly taking hold?

I scatter words upon the wind into the stratosphere,

and raise my voice to amplify reminding all that I’m still here.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Views from the Past

I never saw you as beautiful

you were always just there;

a vestige, a mile-marker of childhood.

When I was old enough I moved away,

escaped the dark side of my youth.

And now I see that you remained

—inventing, reinventing—

somewhat changed, but still the same.

My view of you is changing too—

Once I thought you held me back

your memory brought mixed reviews

bittersweet and interlaced

with loss and pain and awkwardness

—so many things I once suppressed

but none of which I could erase.

Was only trying to find my way 

and so, it seems, that you were too,

a place to fit, somehow belong...

I took a circumventious route—

an awkward child who found her voice.

You stayed and grew into the land,

each one making our own choice.

Full circle, how things come around…

I see the child I once knew

and see you now for who you are

awakened to the current view.

How sad the years that slipped us by,

but cannot dwell in “should-have-beens”

  you are you and I am I

  – perhaps we might begin again?

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Both personifying the place I came from,
and reflecting back on some who 

influenced who I would become.

Image taken by Photographer Anne Collins who shares her beautiful images on my hometown site called "Growing Up in Bellows Falls." Looking northbound on the Connecticut River.

Used with expressed written permission.

Bringing Down Goliath

The news crests in waves

its burden grows,

its burgeoning weight unfolds

as the story is told

 — again and again.

New, yet old, we’ve been here before…

the victims, the heroes, the rescues…

and the underlying, the incident defining,

the never-ending question—

        “Why?”

What is the common thread

that weaves through these events?

Columbine, Aurora, Sandy Hook, 

Virginia Tech, Miami, Las Vegas, Parkland...

“Guns don’t kill people, people do.”

“If you outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns”

Did our forefathers foresee automatic weaponry

when they constitutional-ized the right

to “Keep and bear arms?”

How many innocents must be lost?

How many children must die?

How many husbands, wives, fathers, mothers,

brothers, sisters, friends, loved ones?

If now is NOT the time to address this, then when?

Tired of the “bought and paid for’s“

sweeping it under the rug.

This isn’t about the rights of the hunters

to keep their rifles—though the NRA

will make surely make it seem that way.

It is about the ease at which anyone

with money and an i.d. can by a gun.

It is about how one person can amass

an arsenal, an armory, and go on a shooting spree—

while there is no accountability,

no central data base, no red flag  

to track the would-be crazies.

“The people have rights.”

What about the rights of all citizens

to go to school, to go to church,
to go out for an evening,

without fear of never returning home again?

Accountability starts with us—

 you and me— speaking out.

If enough Davids take on Goliath

he will fall,

and maybe, just maybe, mass shootings

will cease to be so commonplace,

maybe, just maybe, we can feel safe again,

and maybe, just maybe,  we won’t have to hear the words

“the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history”

   … again.

© Ginny Brannan 

Image: Bierberg, conceptart.org

Full credit to Bierberg who conceptualized the perfect image of a modern day Goliath. Link with image, above.

The Stray (Conflation)

There was snow on the

ground when they appeared

for the first time: four feral

cats playing in the empty

lot behind the fence.

Could not let them starve,

so started putting a bit food

out each day. By summer,

three had moved on, and

only one remained: a

scrawny  tri-color female

nick-named Ragamuffin

who finagled her way

into our house and life.

Each day when I arrive

at work I find him in

his usual spot-- on the

sofa near the lobby

where he can observe

all who come and go.

At 94, mobility is limited

to use of a walker, but

his mind is still sharp.

He is a “fixture” in this

nursing home, an enigma

of sorts; attracting friends

just by nodding hello to

all who pass--residents,

employees and visitors alike.

Amazing how the little

strays captured our heart

to become family.

©  Ginny Brannan November 2011

*Recently at d’Verse Poets Pub, emmet wheatfall hosted a Meeting the Bar entitled Conflation. It means “To bring together: meld or fuse; to combine (two variant texts, for example) into one whole. I found this intriguing and thought I would give it a shot, though I did not get done in time to post on that day. The Challenge: Write a poem that is constructed using conflation. This means the poem must possess at least two different, wholly unrelated themes package together.

Not sure if this works, but this was my composition for the topic.    http://dversepoets.com/2011/10/27/meeting-the-bar-critique-and-craft-conflation/   
Dedicated to my favorite resident Kenny, who passed away on 10/28/11. Fondly remembered.
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #18, 11/15/11