It's Not "All About Me"

 

In your words I’ve sometimes sensed

—at least in my interpretation—

that hidden in the metaphor

or sometimes in the lines themselves

they might have been inspired by me–

(am pretty sure they wouldn’t be.)

Presumption, or perhaps a wish
that surfaces from time to time…
I am the one you’ve never met

who hears the echos of your thoughts

and in our commonality

understands where you have been:
two kindred spirits who’ve been scarred,

and in our words we spin our shards

confessing dreams in their inflection

lest we admit our feelings there 

hidden in these words we share.

© Ginny Brannan 2025

An Obstinate Lot

 

I come from an area of proud tradition

filled with people as tough and as strong

as the seasons that rule it—

Farmers who toiled the rock strewn fields

turning soil to grow their food

learning to make do; to build stone walls

with the rocks they turned each spring.

We forged the rivers, sending lumber

from the northlands to the mills 

 and factories in the south.

We built bridges. 

We built the first navigable canal.

We stood our ground against tyrants and kings.

The "shot heard round the world?"

That was us!
We know that democracy is right,

that oligarchy can never be our course.
We gave birth to founding fathers

and Presidents: John Hancock,

 John Adams, John Quincy Adams

Calvin Coolidge, Franklin Pierce, 

and John F. Kennedy were born here.

Our heroes did not wear capes.

They stood their ground against tyranny.

Ethan Allen, Deborah Sampson, Paul Revere,

just some of the names from our past.

Ordinary people placed in extraordinary circumstances

carving their place in our country’s proud history.
People like Joshua Chamberlain of Maine

who, at 34,  despite  the odds,

led his troops to victory in the battle

of Little Round Top at Gettysburg.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Today I've chosen remind you of just who we are—
We are a tough and obstinate lot, we New Englanders.
We are not afraid to ruffle feathers and go against the grain.

We don’t hold to lies nor cruelty; we grew up around cows

and can smell the bullshit long before we see the bull.
Our countenance is as tough as the hills, the valleys

and the rocky shorelines that we come from.

Our humor is as dry as our August summers.

We stay here not because of the frozen winters

the muddy Springs, the heat of our summers, 

nor even the brief reprieve of autumn.

We stay because we are as a surly lot

as surely a part of this place

as it is a part of us...

and we are family, and like family

we may argue amongst ourselves

but, God forbid, you go after any one of us,

then you face the wrath of all!

Never forget who you are 

Never forget the ones who forged the path you walk.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2025

Image: Early view of Bellows Falls, VT borrowed from Bellows Falls Historical Society page.

 

 

Ode to the Days of Wonder!

 

Dawn breaks, I awaken to find

that overnight new snow has fallen,

coating lawn and trees alike.

It softens harsh lines and, to our delight,

brightens the monotone landscape

with untainted softness and purity.

Even the gray hills, once indistinguishable 

from the clouds above, have donned caps of winter white.

As children, we relished the new-fallen snow

Bundled in warm jackets and snow pants

boots, hats, scarves and mittens, barely able to move,

we would pull our sleds from storage sheds

heading for the nearest hill, cocoa and cookies

awaiting our return. Years pass, and time takes it’s toll.

We no longer see snow as a welcome reprieve

but more of a chore, an obstacle to get past

I miss the days of mittens drying by the heat, 

of rosy cheeks, of less worry and no hurry.

In every adult fraught with concern and responsibility

 lives an inner child yearning to be free.

 

 

© Ginny Brannan 2025

Image One: Three Children Sledding by Vickie Wade, full credit to the artist

Image Two: Photo of author and friends, circa early 1960's

Inside the Cadence of Friendship

 

The date, once set, is sacrosanct;

we need this time together,

this gentle reminder of who we are.

where we’ve come from —

that despite all we’ve been through

we are still here.

The ties that bind are many and varied,

but the love? That is our constant.

We are healed in each other’s presence,

made whole again by our stories and laughter

by our words, by music, by camaraderie.

Within this haven of kinship

in the company of those

who have seen our worse, know our best, 

and like us in spite of ourselves,

we are safe to speak of our dreams,

of our hopes and desires,

of our worries and fears—

free to be ourselves.

And it is in the cadence of our friendship that we shine,

carrying each other’s light within us

until we meet again.

 

© GB 2024

 

Top photo: Google Images

Bottom photo by author.

"Olly Olly Oxen Free"

We were young, only six as I recall, 

when you moved to the neighborhood.

I was an ‘only,’ but you were the middle 

child of three. You had the biggest

yard. We would gravitate there:

the 'big' kids, the 'little' kids, and us. 

I learned how to ride a bike on yours,

up and down in front of your house.

In the summer, we played from dawn to dusk

—croquet, Red Rover, frozen tag, Wave Me Out—

shooed home by your parents before it got dark.

I was the wild child of the three friends,

Never bad, but a bit undisciplined.

It didn’t matter. Our common ground

defied our differences. You never judged.

The friendship we have is indelible; 

time, distance, age and death­ are all inevitable

but the bonds we form in youth are unbreakable;

you have been, and will always be, my friend.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

NaPoWriMo Day 6: Writers.com prompt: Think of a memory where the details aren’t clear. Fill in the details in a poem.

"Wave Me Out" is a hybrid take on Hide and Seek. No one I know has really ever heard of it, and yet I know we played it. I "googled" it, and sure enough found it! See #4 "Secret Wave" in link "Hide and Seek Variations"

It's April. This is for E. Loved and missed.

In these Grains of Our Existence

 

We are all made of stardust–

the signs are everywhere.

For four and a half billion years

floating on this spatial sea,

collecting bits of every planet that ever existed, 

every sun that no longer shines.

Quantum and classic physics aside,

deciphering our place on a finite line 

in an infinite universe boggles

even the sharpest of minds.  

Even our atoms resemble tiny solar systems.

and the elements that compose our human body

are also found inside the stars.

Made of stardust? You bet we are.

We are a miracle of evolution,

breathing the air from plants 

that existed a hundred million years ago.

We need not question who we are.

It is in everything that surrounds us.

All of us travelers in time

 walking among the stars.

© Ginny Brannan 2024

The grains of sand at Hoshizuna-no-Hamma beach in Okinawa, Japan are shaped like tiny stars. The star-shaped “sand” grains in Okinawa are actually the calcite endoskeletons of microscopic organisms known as Foraminifera.  Foraminifera are a quite old phylum, having been around since at least the Cambrian era (over 500 million years ago), 

A Work In Progress

 

Like a puzzle, we put together the pieces—

framing our thoughts, studying the board

deciding what fits where, arranging,

re-arranging until the picture we’ve created

makes sense, everything in its rightful place.

Yet sometimes we think it done, only to find

a piece has gone astray. We search high and low

to no avail, only to discover much later 

that the piece was not gone, but hiding in plain sight

waiting to be found, to become part of the whole.

Sometimes we stare too long, trying to discern,

even trying to make things fit where they do not belong.

Some things cannot be rushed, they unfold

as they should, in their own time, not in ours. 

And as the puzzle unfolds, we discover correlations

with our own life: words, lines, actions, emotions—

all are small parts of a very large picture. 

And sometimes we must step back to see 

the beauty of what we have created.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Like a Strand in the Wind

 

“And the days go by, like a strand in the wind

   In the web that is my own, I begin again”

                                     – Stevie Nicks

 

I lost myself to the grayness of days,

my light hidden inside the recesses of a broken heart.

The nights passed slowly, one to another

rare moments of peace were swallowed 

by the endless hours in the half-light.

They say that “time heals,” yet it does not erase.

We somehow come to live with these changes

wondering if we can ever get back to that place

where the glass was half-full, where hope survives.

 

It was a cold winter’s day when the sun broke through

and I finally felt the heaviness slipping away. 

Healing is a process, and each of us must discover 

our own way out of the darkness,

how to stay afloat, how not surrender to the abyss–

until we finally become the hero of our story:

not unscathed by pain and loss, for

we carry the scars of every battle we have fought

and every person we have ever loved.

Yet, it’s not our losses that define us  

but the ability to continue in spite of them.

For loss is the price we pay for love,

and ultimately, it is that love that carries us 

to the place where we can mend

and come back to the light again.

.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Artwork Maritime Strand, Philip Juras

Between Hostility and Humanity

 

I see their images shared

the sweet little blonde girl taken from family,

the little boy in a Spiderman costume

no family left to mourn him

  no one left to call Kaddish.

    no one to sit Shiva.

Some are collateral damage

others taken with intent

meant to inflict maximum damage;

scorched earth policies in a land

already burned by desert sun 

and too many years of conflict.

There is no place safe from those

intent on doing such harm; no words 

to quell the loathing and madness

that births such heinous acts: 

militant groups filled with rancor and vitriol

defined by being selectively blind 

to the pain and the suffering they leave behind.

Hate begets hate in this land

of an ‘eye for an eye’ reputation, of

biblical vengeance and ramifications,

where double-edged swords

cut to the bone and no one

is safe, no one is left unscathed.

Too many years of resentment have honed

this building enmity, and frayed the fabric of the land.

And we, we talk the talk of civilized nations

while bearing our own conflicted emotions

wondering where we are on this scale between

hostility and humanity, probably closer than 
we realize to the ones we deem "savages."

And we pray, in our ‘holier than thou” way, 

that we never grow numb, that we never succumb

to the baser extremes of raping women

or murdering innocents in the streets.

So look upon these obscene attacks

with eyes wide open, with your heart still intact,

and remember that there, but for the grace of God 

(or whoever you believe in and pray to) 

goes each and every one of us.

© Ginny Brannan 2023

       

My heart aches for the children of Israel, the innocents wounded, taken, killed in the attack perpetrated by the group known as Hamas. I see posts every day shared by a dear friend here in the U.S., and my heart breaks for her loss of family and friends. Hate groups that exact revenge on innocents do so to inflict their terror and scare others into submission. It is neither acceptable nor condonable, and all of good heart must condemn such actions or we are no better than they.

For AZ and those lost that she carries in her heart.

 

Anatomy of a Dream

I dreamed that we met, not 

by chance but with intent.

We shared the instant familiarity

of two old friends with common threads,

and an incredible sense of intimacy

for we have already bared ourselves 

through our words: I know your sadness, 

and you have seen me naked in my grief.

So we met, not as some pimply-faced teens, 

giddy with the prospect of holding hands

or “will he or won’t he kiss me?”

but as two adults, self-aware, who’ve lived 

their share of heartache and pain.

It's not our first dance, but perhaps another

chance to hear the music once again.

 

It’s funny how our dreams are formed:

some we remember and some we don’t

some dream in color, and some say they

never dream at all; perhaps they just don’t recall.

They say dreams reveal our unspoken wishes

no filters imposed by the cognizant mind

our synapses fire at incredible rates, and

we cannot control what visions they’ll rend.

In dreams we can find our heart’s one desire,

or trip crossing lines that we do not intend;

as we search for a meaning that isn't forthcoming

before resolution, the dream always ends.

© Ginny Brannan 2023

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

Courage

 

They say fear

is the

 absence

of courage.

I say

not absence:

"motivation."

 

We are

afraid to live

afraid to love

afraid to leave

afraid to return

afraid to do

afraid to be.

 

Courage whispers– 

tells us 

"We can do this"

not only can

but must....

tells us 

"The only way 

forward, 

is through..."

 

And so, 

heart beating,

knees shaking,

we move...

First one step.

Then another.

Then another;

foredriven.

 

With naught to lose

everything to gain

we saddle up,

gear up,

step up;

most important:

never

give up.

 

Tell me again,

what are we

afraid of?

© Ginny Brannan