You are 'Here'

 

Who’d have thought that we’d be here

in this place of doubt and fear,
where laws are broken constantly

and hate spreads rampant, like disease

and nothing is exactly clear

Who’d have thought that we’d be here?

The happiness we used to feel

seems far away and so surreal.

We’re struggling to keep afloat;

I think we’ll need a bigger boat.
Who’d have thought that we’d be here,

led by cons and profiteers?

Yet I, for one, won’t give up hope;

for that would be a “slippery slope..”

I’ll stand my ground and persevere–

Yet who’d have thought that we’d be here?

© Ginny Brannan 2026

"Some believe it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love." J.R,R. Tolkien

"Never be cruel,

Never be cowardly...

Remember hate is always foolish

Love is always wise

Always try to be nice,

but never fall to be kind."

—The 12th Dr. Who

Tales from the "Crypt"

 

Under the light of a thin crescent moon

two children walked onward, heading for home.

To watch younger cousin, the older agreed,

the younger one thrilled to just follow his lead.
 
’Twas just after dark when the movie had ended,

they exited theater to make their way back;

the street lights shone dim on the staircase ahead

past church into cemetery, the older now led.

Aware now it was getting late

the older suggested an alternate path

and so they passed through the iron gate

past shadowy headstones where the ‘undead’ await…

She tried to keep up in the eerie half light

she knew that their street wasn’t that far 

as he ran up ahead, no longer in sight

—not a sound could be heard, not even a car. 

And as he jumped out, she let out a scream

—he thought it was funny (he's really not mean)

It’s a wonder she didn’t faint then and there 

at being the victim of impromptu scare!

The rest of the trip was spent trying to appease

with the offerings of bribes and apologies,

the older not wanting to face the wrath 

for scaring his cousin on that darkened path

              *  *  *  *  *

To this day, I can still recall

the shadowy path on that long ago night

when I thought that the undead had risen from hell,

my dear older cousin to thank for that fright!

© Ginny Brannan

True story, of being "allowed" to accompany my older cousin to a 7 pm movie, already dark out when movie ended. The shortest route home was the road was through the Episcopal church cemetery, a direct line between two streets.My cousins are great, but when not playing "big brother" to protect me, I am apparently "fair game" to be picked on.

* *Image of Immanuel Episcopal Church, Bellows Falls. Yes the actual church and cemetery. Apologies to the photographer who took this image. I found it online, and cannot seem to find it again. Name credit will be added when found.

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

Things That Go Bump in the Night

 

Soft footsteps echo through the empty hall

to startle me awake from dreamless sleep

as ghostly shadows dance along the wall

 

Ever cautiously so I don’t fall,

across the barren oaken floor do I creep

toward the sound of footsteps in the hall

 

Over gabled roof a Screech owl calls

before escaping into woodlands deep

while limb-like shadows creep along the wall

 

By the bedroom door I pause, then stall­–

the aging floor condemns with a loud 'creak'

to warn approaching footsteps in the hall

 

I wonder if I have the wherewithal

to crack the door a bit and take a peak,

while shadows hold their council on the wall

 

I think back under covers I shall crawl

inside my blanket shroud I’ll burrow deep;

hidden from the footsteps in the hall

and those shadows, ever watchful, on the wall.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

With Naught to Fear but Fear Itself...

It’s said that on All Hallows Eve, the Spirits are allowed to enter and roam the realm of man… 

There’s a chill that abides in damp Autumn days

a feeling of sadness that cannot be shaken

a sense of misgiving, a deep trepidation

as grayness adheres, the mountains encased

in a heavy gray shroud, barren trees now erased.

Midday gives way to a sinister pall

casting the world in an evening like somber

Increased sense of dread tells us “linger no longer!”

composure implodes to deter and forestall 

stirring fear uncontained that we’d best not allow… 

 

There’s something that rides on an October wind

a mist of contention that soaks to the ground,

in a fog of misgiving that coats and impounds.

Even those who possess a strong rationale

feel a panic that rattles the sanest and sound

The lost spirits wander, just hidden from sight

concealed under cover of drizzle and gloam,

doomed between worlds, unseen and unknown.

—shadowy creatures that roam undeterred,

searching for pathways to find their way home

 

Feel the goose bumps that rise to make hair stand on end

hear the wailing that drifts on an inclement wind

light the fires to chase all shadows within

to bury the fears which we can’t circumvent

and the deep-seated nightmares that never relent.

 

The end of October just hours away­–

  All Hallows eve ascends even now

the late autumn juncture seems darker somehow…

even now the gates open, the spirits hold sway

     but will they be gone by the light of new day?

© Ginny Brannan Halloween 2020

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

Ode (Owed) to Poe

Darkness falls, a banshee calls

the headless horseman rides tonight;

a veiled moon shines through Eastern pines

there’s not a single star in sight,

and in the dark the chill wind brings

the scurrying of furry things—

the whisper of  nocturnal  wings.

The spell is cast, our heart pumps faster

the fears inside begin to fester;

the moonlight casts an eerie pall

while spiders spin their silken webs

to catch the nightmares in our heads

above the sleeping masses crawl;

and I wonder…

  Is all this that we see or seem

      but a dream inside a dream?

A monster lives within us all

a fractured beast that never sleeps

disguised inside discordant minds.

Self-doubts arise, no turning back

like speeding train down one-way track—

if you look close, what will you find?

The cauldron boils, the potion reeks

of newts and toads and buzzard beaks;

   enchantments thrown into the fire…

Zombies rise with sunken eyes—

ghostly wraiths with sallow skin

tattered clothing, gruesome grin

   on the hunt with one desire.

The outer fringes of our sight

have raised the curtain to unveil

the hideous creatures of the night—

preoccupied inside our fear

of losing everything that’s dear

we’re  held immobile by the fright!

Our minds play games, “There’s nothing wrong”

yet  from our throat escapes a scream…

... So is it real, this fear we feel?

     Or but a dream inside a dream

© Ginny Brannan October 2019

I borrowed…okay, blatantly stole…the key phrase from Poe’s poem A Dream Within a Dream I honor and a bow to the “master” of  the macabre!

In the Interim

I’m still here, reading between the lines—

pondering all hopes and dreams,

while stuck in these confines;

fearing what’s unknown to me

and what is yet to be—

the many things that march on by

and what I hope to see.

Oh!  All those hours that I’ve spent, 

trying to get from here to there…

waiting for the sun to break,

the storm to pass, the clouds to part

I wallow in this in-between

stuck in this empty shell…

grappling for stability,

I live my life vicariously,

in this limbo I'm assigned—

 observing others pass on by,

  I read between the lines.

© Ginny Brannan 2019