The Secrets of the Trees

 

Every leaf has lifelines

stretched from tip to stem

that tell the tales of  wooded glades

of sunlight filtered through the shade

of long ago beginnings 

and as yet, unknown ends.

The secrets of the forest

murmur through the trees

the dryads and the fairies keep 

them tucked away in woodland deep

and guard their mysteries .

 

©Ginny Brannan 2024

Prompted by the Good Universe Next Door  to use an idea from artist Mike Ousley.

And 2023 prompts, same site "Make like a tree and leave" to avoid using the word vein.

The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants...

 

Where do your dreams go when they wander free?

Do they settle on one time or place,

or stumble the path of unfamiliarity

where past and present coexist, 

but future is a point far in the distance?

And I wonder when you dream, if you see a face?

Is it someone from long, long ago?

Or someone you might like to know?

Most paths we choose don’t follow set rules

no straight lines to get there from here

filled with twists, turns and bends, forks and dead ends

so we test out the waters, dipping our toes, 

deciding if we should dive in.

Sometimes I dream of someone I’ve known

but often I don’t dream at all,

searching for clarity inside of disparity

it’s no wonder we pause or forestall—

so I’ll ask, noncommittally, without any bias:

    Where do your fantasies fall?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Caught in a Landslide, No Escape....

 

In the early hours,  where 

reality and fantasy meet as one,  

and imagination has free rein,

I think not of what is, but what could be.

We really aren’t so different, 

we’ve seen more than our share;

and so we  throw up walls 

for our protection.  But I feel them

closing in on me inside this empty tomb

keeping me from any real connection.

And it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten

everything I know,  yet another

reason to forestall; and that the first rule 

of communication is just to say “hello.”

Would it be a start? Or our downfall?
                 ~~~~~~~~~

So in the early morning light I play the “what if” game,

~and wonder of the chances that you have done the same?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Lassoing the Wind

 

I wish I could tell you 

but it’s late and the words 

would trip over my tongue

and come out twisted and wrong

and then where would we be?

I wish I could explain

as jumbled thoughts turn metaphor

and emerge as something else entirely…

and the last thing I would choose to do

is have you think me a fool.

I wish I could somehow express 

how kindred minds like ours 

know no home or time, 

we are the specters in the night, 

fireflies drawn to each other’s light

compelled, but unconfined.

I wish that I could verbalize

and yet how awkward that would be

when we both dwell upon this line

between our truth and fantasy.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2021

 

The Rise and Fall of Xanadu...

In early days of Xanadu

when we were young and evergreen

and I was me and you were you—

 

the world lay bare for our review

encased in nights of velveteen

in early days of Xanadu...

 

The most mundane was seen anew,

and nothing ever felt routine

when I was me, and you were you.

 

Who could conceive you’d bid adieu

while thwarting enemies unseen

 …thus came the fall of  Xanaudu.

 

And all those dragons that we slew,

were they real or just a dream...

when I was me, and you were you.

 

Let us conspire to rendezvous

inside the realm of in-between

outside the gates of Xanadu,

where I am me, and you are you.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2021

Xanadu is defined as a place of great beauty, luxury, and contentment. See also: Shangri-La, Eden, Utopia.

 

The Count

Darkness draws her shrouded cloak

releasing pheromones to flight;

assimilating to the night.

Call out monster by his name,

usurping others for his gain.

Late night when he comes to call—

acquiesce; then give your all.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image: Victorian Artwork by Victoria Frances

And if you liked this, find another along the same classic theme here.

Three for Kersie

Blazing Her Own Trail

Her spirit rises from within

She sees the world as it should be

and sets her course accordingly

An old soul in a young girl’s skin

with steadfast gaze, new trails to blaze

a fiery storm behind sweet grin

…and so begins her odyssey

her spirit rising from within.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Oh Captain, My Captain…

The tiny helmsman takes control—

determined, never showing fear

committed, steadfast in her role.

The tiny helmsman takes control

though course ahead remains unclear

she pushes past the rocky shoals.

This tiny helmsman in control;

determined, never showing fear.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Tiny Pirate

Softly ceding to the night

the sun has sung itself to sleep,

while moon awakens with delight.

The fairies dance in waning light

as banshees beat a fast retreat

receding swiftly into night.

One by one the stars shine bright

across the dark expanse they sweep

as moon expresses her delight!

The sea monsters have taken flight,

again returning to the deep—

swift now ceding to the night.

The will o’ the wisps and woodland sprites

into the foggy meadows creep;

the moon observes them with delight.

Illuminated by pale light

lies tiny pirate, fast asleep;

so soft receding into night—

the moon enrapt with pure delight.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

I am totally enamored by this feisty and formidable little redhead! We recently spent a weekend in Maine with her and her grandparents where she and I spent a morning trying to "escape the sea monsters" and when that didn't seem to work we fed them "ice cream and cookies!!" These 3 pieces are inspired by her personality and her very active imagination. Such fun we had!! 

For Kersie with love.

Photos by Charlie Parant at Appetite for Photos blog

Also on Facebook: Appetite for Photos

Used with expressed written permission from photographer.

Glimmer

Photo by Kelsey Hannah

The veil recedes as in a dream…

in shadowed corners once concealed

now by soft rays of light, revealed.

They skip and soar within the stream,

exposed uncloaked—these faerie folk

dance with delight upon the beam.

In sunlight now, their world unsealed;

till veil recaptures to the dream.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

 Written for Magpie Tales #214  

Image provided by Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we the story!

River Song

The voices of the forest sing your name

just a melody upon the breeze

inside this stream of consciousness, it guides

to navigate the path from whence you came,

through time and space to place where you begin.

Your story whispers soft among the trees,

where oldest of the old are long since gone;

yet life renews as well as it rescinds

to flow again from roots to tips of leaves.

This ancient woodland biding out its days

was born from stardust scattered at first dawn;

a paradox that kens through cosmic core...

an ancient entity that lives and breathes

yet knows no stillness, bears no word for pond—

rewrites your name instead to 'River Song.'

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Sweet Dreams

Written for dVerse Poetics: The Mind of a Child—hosted by Victoria C. Slotto

One night when I was tucked in bed

I had a dream inside my head…

a magic place for someone small

existed through my bedroom wall.

So it was really kind of weird

when a tiny door appeared;

while mom & daddy thought I slept

over to the door I crept,

Without a key it opened wide,

quietly I slipped inside

and in the glow of soft warm light

before me an amazing sight:

on shelves, and tables, even floor

everywhere were toys galore…

teddy bears and dolls and books

covered even smallest nook.

So many little things to see—

I touched each one so carefully;

I played for hours or so it seems

I did not want to leave this dream.

 I woke with sunshine on my face

the door was gone without a trace.

I searched each night for many days,

but somehow knew it went away—

to find another child in need

for magic room exists, indeed!

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Beyond the Wall

You ‘took the black’ and chose to serve The Wall--

this last defense from wildlings in the night

and ghost white walkers, blue eyes shining bright…

doubt weaves its thread through head as you stand tall.

Here in this place, respect is something earned

though line may blur ‘twixt what is right or wrong

seen many things, though you’ve not come here long

with eyes wide open, each a lesson learned

Now comes the time to venture out beyond

to find that old Nan’s tales are coming true.

Will hope for seven kingdoms fall to you?

Perhaps the Spring will see a different dawn.

Up at the Wall, the Winter has arrived…

  all you need do Jon Snow, is to survive.

©  Ginny Brannan June 2012

Google Images:Credit and link below.

Inspired by The Game of Thrones Book 2, A Song Of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin.This is about Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard (Ned) Stark, Lord of Winterfell. He chose to "take the black", pledging to forego all personal wants, to stand guard against the dangers of the north. Second in my Game of Thrones series. For the first, click this link: Daenery's Song. (Apologies to my Irish & UK friends for my attempts at Celtic inflection in the reading. I do not come from the right side of "the pond" to do it justice!)

*Image: Google Images: from thecoolkidztable.blog

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night Week #47

Foreplay

Boris Hopek's Tokyo Exhibit:"Ever"

Unhook…unclip…while slow we slip and sway;

dispense pretense; begin the dance risqué.

Soft breaths imply...intensify…convey…

igniting heat, scent moist and sweet; replay.

Caress, digress; find youthful lust astray--

no rings, no strings to hinder this ballet.

We feed the need and shun the roles we play;

adrift to sift the remnants of that day.

©  Ginny Brannan January 2010

Image courtesy Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we provide the story.

Sharing at Magpie Tales , d'Verse Poets Pub , and at Poetry Jam "Sensual Poetry" 

Daenerys' Song

Written for d’Verse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft Prose to Poetry challenge, 11/10/11: Pick a passage from a novel, essay or short story that qualifies as prose, but for you is particularly poetic. Step 1: reformat without changing so it appears to be poetry. Step 2 convert from poetic prose to pure poem. 

The Quote:

"Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords."

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, Daenerys page 29

Prose to Poetry:

Somewhere

beyond the sunset,

across the narrow sea,

lay a land of green hills

and flowered plains

and great rushing rivers,

where towers of dark stone

rose amidst magnificent

blue-grey mountains,

and armored knights rode to battle
beneath the banners
of their lords.

Daenerys' Song

I gaze across the narrow sea

recalling in my memory

a lush green land where rivers flow

fled in exile long ago.

Can see the towers of dark stone,

the castle that was once our own;

and far across the flowering plain

the blue-grey hills call out again.

Armored knights with blades of steel

rode out in service to our seal.

Usurper now sits on the throne

and dares pretend that it's his own.

I know someday I will return

to rule again, and watch him burn.

Winter comes, and time grows nigh

soon they’ll hear our battle cry…

  

as sun sets on this savage land

the dragons wait for my command

©  Ginny Brannan November 2010

It should be noted that full credit for this excerpt, the inspiration for this piece, is given to George R.R. Martin. It is he who created the amazing characters of this tale. My wonderful 26 year old son has introduced me to the books, and A Game of Thrones is also currently a series filmed for HBO. An incredible and fantastic story well worth reading and watching!

Top Photo: G.Brannan personal collection, door at Kilkenny Castle, Ireland

Here is a link for d’Verse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft Prose to Poetry challenge, 11/10/11

Below please find a YouTube link--my words put to music and sung by a lovely young lady from Germany, who prefers to be known on You Tube by the pseudonym: Mother of Dragons. Many thanks to A.B. for contacting me and sharing her wonderful voice!

The Maiden and the Witch (Fable)

My first attempt at a children's fable

Long ago in ancient times when knights and princes roamed,

lived a fair young maiden who called a cave her home.

Long dark hair and bright green eyes the color of the fields,

a witch’s spell cast upon her - - it all seemed so surreal.

Forever to be destined to live in this dark cave

unless someone stumbled on her, and maybe then would save.

The witch’s spell had stated, “Only someone brave and true

with spirit and with pure heart may attempt to rescue you.”

One day a young man stumbled on a wood so dark and deep - -

felt drawn to travel through, though he could feel the evil seep.

He stopped to rest beside a stream and there he saw the cave,

and though no knight, he found the strength to summon and be brave.

He heard a voice from deep within calling to his heart,

but he did not yet realize that his trials were to start.

“Oh, who will ever rescue me from this cave so dark and cold,

  and from the depths of my despair in this vile place of old?”

He made his way along the path, into the darkness stepped

could hear his footfall echo, as distantly she wept.

Deeper went the young man, into this darkened place,

felt the evil growing...wondered what he’d face.

The cavern opened wider, a flash of fire sailed by,

as angry witch transformed herself into a “dragonfly--

not the lovely insect that most of us have seen

but a fire-breathing monster, with gnashing teeth so mean!

They faced each other squarely; the young man drew his sword,

they danced and fought for hours barely uttering a word.

The dragon drew back one more time before shooting her flame,

the young man finally saw his chance and lined up perfect aim…

the sword found purchase in its throat, the dragon breathed no more,

and in its place the young man saw a witch upon the floor.

The cave lit up like diamonds a thousand candles strong,

the young man saw the maiden who'd been there all along.

He gathered her into his arms,  then together left the cave;

the pretty maiden with green eyes and her young man so brave!

The woods no longer overcast in darkness or in shadow,

the birds were singing sweetly as they rode out of this hollow...

Just one more thing to add before this story ends ~~

will share this 'ancient' secret with all of you, my friends:

the moral to the story of the evil witch is this:

You don’t have to be a prince or knight to get the maiden and the kiss!

 ©Copyright Ginny Brannan 2010
Image 'Faerie Dragon' Artist Boris Vallejo
FYI, poem came first. Lucky enough to find an image that fit!