Be Careful What You Wish For

 

Setting pen upon the page

thoughts a-jumble in my head

I cannot write for fear that you

will judge me by my simpleness,

the insufficient words I choose.

There is no ‘grandness’ in my speech

no eloquence from bygone years

no flowing lines inspiring awe

to elevate the common reader.

I fall somewhat short of Yeats

more Seussian in awkwardness.

The script inside this muddled brain

is clamoring for liberation,

yet just as fast as it arrives

it twice as quickly dissipates

inside of failed imagination. 

I will never soar to heights

with such a feeble grasp of words,

and there is little I can share

that won’t offend a finer writer

Guess that makes you the “better fool”

to entertain this hopeless mess

as an equal, or at best

a dalliance for entertainment.

Whatever reason that you choose

I feel it best that I disclose

you’re also here at my behest,

sharing your thoughts, unopposed

because you pique my interest.

              

Beware this humble scribe you see

for there is much that waits for thee.

© Ginny Brannan 2026

Undefined

 

I’m drawn to the broken poems

written in imperfect rhyme

painting shadows on a page

where emotions intertwine
Where lines may halt without good reason

breaking formulaic rule;
scripted for some revelation–

a purpose-driven, cryptic sign?

Or a puzzle with some hidden meaning,
meant for someone else to find.

Hiding truth protects the bearer,

in life riddled with old scars

candor hurts as well as heals

and yet, defines just who we are.

With no proof that you are worthy

I build a wall till trust is gained
not meant to hide my broken parts
but to protect all that remains.

Our stories lie outside the lines

and sometimes in the broken poems:

where two divergent souls align

in friendship from a different time.

Some might say that “It’s a sign”
I just call it ‘undefined’

© Ginny Brannan 2026

How Still the Strings

 

Sits the guitar upon its stand

awaiting player's gentle hand

to strum the chords and coax the songs

knowing well how it responds.

In silence now, how still the strings,

and yet, your words are echoing...

no one who’s loved is ever gone

in each of us, their song lives on.

 

We weren’t that close, you and I.

Not really, not in the scheme of things.

Though we knew each other all our lives,

you were always someone who

skated on the outskirts of my existence:

small town, same schools, mutual friends.

Eventually we both moved away

moving onward and outward to live life.

We would bump into each other

on those occasions when we were called back

to relive our high school memories;

or in those moments of mutual celebration or loss.

I never told you how much your kind words meant

during my own loss; how they felt like a warm arm 

around my shoulder; a gentle reminder 

that even in distance we are not alone.

No, we really weren’t that close, 

but in a sense you’ve always been there

somewhere on the edge, on the periphery.

Two kids who shared a certain kinship...

 

and I am better for the knowing of you.

© Ginny (Karpinski) Brannan 2024

Godspeed, my friend...

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.

Unfinished Pages

 

We’ve always had rapport, you and I–

a tongue-in-cheek way of coming at something,

an understanding based on similar youths 

in dissimilar settings. We seem to share so

many parallel congruities (but perhaps I project 

inside of my own wishful thinking).

Romance is alive and well in that damaged heart of yours

filled with the angst of lost love from long ago

and the dream of some connection that you hope to find.

I, too, seek connection as I read between the lines.

Yet I am pragmatic; it’s doubtful that someone like you

would ever pen a word or two with someone like me in mind.

We create our stories using subtle vagaries, 

meting out those tiny bits that we wish to share.

But somewhere in the margins

                                         or deep within the fold,

perhaps another story’s waiting to be told?

 

I have often wondered of this image that you paint

–the broken man still searching for redemption–

someone always seeking/never finding what they need,

inked in words of vagueness and ambiguity.

Is this persona that you share just some fantasy?

Has it been a lie from its inception?

Leaving me to ponder of my own uncertainty

or if there's something more in our connection?

Another blank page lying here between us–

       What shall we write?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Just another tale filled with vague references, plot holes, unrequited feelings, and no happy ending.

 

For One I called "Friend"...

Upon a spinning top we sit

caught up in our limitations

making sure our needs are met.

The days and years go rolling past

with little thought of time and tide;

always thinking there will be

another chance to say “hello”

to gather the periphery

and spend some time with those we know.

And so it is, and so it goes

till one’s called to another realm.

I see the old friend that I knew

in the light of who you were

youthful, teasing, schoolmate, chum

family man, who you became

excerpts shared upon the pages

interwoven through our lives.

I always waited for the joke

running through the words we shared

more oft than not a bit of snark—

somewhere in our conversation

a smile, the tease in your remark!

And so it was with you and me

and that’s how I’ll remember you

etched upon the times we shared

as we await new rendezvous

in the place where old friends meet,

in the place where laughter reigns

and all who were a part of us

still exist and still remain,

I believe we'll meet again

 

© GB 2022

For David Paine

Friend. Family.

All I Have Are Words

I sense the emptiness you feel 

the pain that you don’t talk about

impending loss you won’t reveal.

I feel these on another plane

where such thoughts are spoken freely.

Would that I could lift your heart

raze the darkness that you carry,

yet I don’t know where to start.

Would that you might trust a friend

who wonders at this path you travel

and listens as your dreams unravel

yet doesn’t know where to begin.

On this map we’re left to follow

not every road comes to an end

sometimes we can’t see ‘round the curve

to where the path starts up again.

Many have gone on ahead

and for a while some stay behind—

and through the seeds your words have sown

just know that you are not alone.

 

© GB 2022

For a friend whom I see struggling.  Wishing you light and love on this road you travel.

 

What's Left Unsaid...

 

Photo by C. Parant Appetite for Photos "Watercolors"

How often we have said hello

during times when things are status quo

and every day blends into one;

it’s during those times that seem mundane

the times when everything’s the same

we banter over little things,

maybe share a laugh or two

parade our memories for review;

these moments somehow keep us sane.

And on the days with clouds and rain

when there isn’t much to say,

when the wind picks up the waves

and threatens us with hurricane

and world takes on an ugly hue…

you’ve talked me through the hurt I feel

lifted me beyond the pain

to set me on my course again.

And when there’s nothing left to add

when the words have petered out

and it’s time we bid adieu,

I will tell you to ‘take care’

it means exactly as it sounds

…stay safe, be well, you’re part of me

and I am here and I’m your friend…

and so much more that isn’t said.

It stems from that place deep within

where friendship and where love abide

camaraderie between two friends

 rolling with the wind and tide

 

© Ginny Brannan 2021

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

 

In the Wind

 

A wild wind blows on the hill

to fell the leaves still clinging on

it chases them across the road

and leaves them scattered on the lawn

We are like the fallen leaf

chastened by a feral wind:

spun by gales in tempests tossed

no symmetry, undisciplined.

A voice emerges from the past

it echoes through the barren tree

calling out through rasping gale

to such unworthy progeny.

Yet heartened by this song I hear,

held captive in this solitude;

in its chords my fears are quelled

all stress and pain have been subdued.

I mourn the days of youth, misspent

but in the years that have ensued

there’s not a thing that I’d repent

the cherished friends that I’ve accrued

 

…a wild wind blows upon the hill

    and in its voice I hear you still.

© Ginny Brannan

Image by Charlie Parant at Appetite for Photos. Used with expressed written permission. Thanks, Charlie.

No Apologies

Family, friends, acquaintances
we give away shards of who we are

pieces of the whole. 

You left a hole, an empty space 

—something I can’t quite put a finger on.

   We never hung out

      never met in person.

But I know you had depth. Layers.

That like so many of us you’d been broken.

That because of that brokenness 

you loved and lived with passion.

You never minced words.

You had an appreciation for the “real”

       in all of us.

 

So glad our paths crossed

and, no matter how briefly,

  that I called you friend.

 

© G.Brannan 2020

"...he gave what he had...a premature epitaph

not recorded in granite, or soil
but in the hands of a stranger
that needed a hug

aren't we all strangers"

-- Rob Dyer

https://eyeonlifemagazine.com/poetry-unlocked/strangers

Excerpt from "Strangers." R.I..P. Rob

At Heaven's Gate

We were inseparable, us three;

neighborhood kids, schoolmates,

playmates…friends.

Life moved forward around us

others came into our lives,

yet the bonds that held us never changed:

There are so many kinds of love:

the steamy passion between lovers,

the playful fondness of siblings,

the devotion deferred for parents and grandparents...

– and then there is that special affinity of the heart

reserved for those who walk our path, 

who uplift us, and remind us how we

are better because we’re in this together.

It never leaves us, this alliance, this kinship we share.

It bides silently,  awaiting the confluence

when the gate is opened,  the heavens smile,

and we are laughing together once again.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

NaPoWriMo #18   4/18/2020

In fond memory of my dearest forever friend on this, your 64^th birthday.