It Probably Wouldn't Work Anyways

 

The seed of a thought has planted itself

in a niche somewhere deep in my brain

it whispers of some kind of normalcy

and murmurs of new possibilities

the idea of which both frightens me,

and lifts from the pain that remains.

Still, I question of the practicality 

of pondering such triviality.

it probably wouldn’t work anyways

and inside of this current reality

any hope that I hold feels in vain.

Yet the idea persists, won’t cease or desist,

it even appears in my dreams–

it’s hard to ignore as it plays tug o’ war

insists on existing despite my resisting

rattling me to my core.

It’s not like we don’t have rapport,

yet this doesn’t adhere to the norm...

it takes on theme that isn’t mainstream;

but at this stage, must we conform?

And it might cause a few heads to turn–

I weigh that, while trying to make sense.

It waffles between established routine

taking us both to a different extreme

both exciting and pretty intense.

Have I ever mentioned that I over-think things

no matter how large or how small?

I hash and rehash them and sometimes I save them

take out, think about, and sometimes replace them

while weighing the risks and pitfalls.

And I’ve thought all this out, six ways to Sunday

and won't argue for or against...

so if it gets awkward, well what can I say?

If one of us chooses to just walk away?

 At least we both came to the dance.

© GB 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

Tracking the Bleepin' Box

 

As they arrive on this bleak little place

that circles the planet of some long ago race

They pickup the image of something unknown

so they seek the anomaly that they've been shown

 

Geared in their suits, with shields ‘cross their eyes

with little for shade but a crater nearby,

their orders quite clear, to retrieve and retreat.

Then head home again with their mission complete.

 

Their radar emitted an ominous sound

a beeping and bleeping meant to confound

it finally led to another deep crater

at the South Pole, nowhere near the equator

 

The markings were strange on the package they found

it was filled with odd discs, neither square nor quite round

their translator thought it an archive of sorts

full of writing, and artwork, and other recordings

 

On the trip back to their own galaxy

they took it apart to see what they’d see,

and what they discovered left them dumfounded,

I guess you could say they were even astounded!

 

The capsule they found, and all that was stored

were by artists and writers they’d heard of before,

This box once thought lost, was finally found

they were somewhat familiar with it’s sights and the sounds

 

Those with keen vision and infinite wisdom

insured that their stories lived past their existence.

and long ago saw that these works were archived

and sent to this place with the hope they’d survive.

 

And so the descendants have vowed to preserve

the treasures brought back to this place called “New Earth”

© Ginny Brannan 2023

The prompt for Day 20 Explore a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.

I chose a project close to my heart: a Lunar Codex time capsule!

Proud to have 5 anthologies with my poetry heading to the moon on the third capsule.

For Griffin Mission 1 (GM1) - which will carry the Codex'sthird time capsule Polaris - a stacked analog-digital storage system is used.
 This consists of alternating layers of nickel shielding, NanoFiche memory discs, and digital memory cards, optimizing capacity and archival longevity.

​Digital, analog, and hybrid time capsules will again be contained in a single sealed MoonBox canister bolted to the lunar lander's structure. The Griffin lander becomes a permanent marker of the location for the Polaris collection of the Lunar Codex.

To learn more, follow the link here: Lunar Codex

On Occam's Edge

There was a madness about her

it ate at her days and affected in ways

that very few saw and even fewer knew.

She hid it well, the only ‘tell’

the occasional tear. She didn’t yell

or scream. She kept it under wraps.

When the constant ringing got too loud

she’d escape.  Some would wonder

where she’d been. Oh, they’d see her now and then.

Her pleasant smile would lure them in,

and they’d believe that all was well.

And for a time, she might too.

But sadness is a bitch, it seems...

it sneaks its way through lock and key

and ever lurks inside our dreams.

It lies of its identity,

and the nearest I can tell

is that it does it very well.

And so she walks the Occam’s edge

through never-ending test and trial

and hides behind her practiced smile

And only those who know her well

understand where she has been,

how every day she starts again;

and of the strength it takes to quell;

how tentative the balance is

between her sanity and hell.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Obols in Half-Measures...

 

When darkness slips in

    I do not fear the night–

there is comfort found

in the touch of bare feet

against soft cotton sheets.

I watch the pale green glow 

of digital numbers chase shadows

across the ceiling, my ever-present

passive-aggressive antagonist

ticking away the passage of my time.

Fate and fortune, joy and loss, desire, expectation

friendship, companionship, aspiration, belief—

 …we are all just shadows in the night

      our dreams dancing on reality’s  rim

   as we await the darkness to ferry us away.

© Ginny Brannan 2021

Image:Charon and Psyche by John Roddam Spencer

What Evil Lies...

Smiling face with orange skin
seems harmless on first observation—

what foul things can pumpkin do?

What rancid seeds are held within,

such benign thing with orange skin?

And yet we feel such trepidation

every time we look at him.

Expression morphs before our eyes

and slowly takes a new formation:

guileless smile, or evil grin?

As we observe we catch a glimpse

of ugly fire deep inside

blackening its pith and soul—

what once was cheerful turning grim;

what once was bright is turning dim.

Observing change, we must confide

as it decays from inside out

and melts to earth from whence it came,

that we feel somewhat mollified

and hang our hope that it's contained.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

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.

Apparitions

Caught in the beam, the strangest scene occurs

as sudden squall calls spirits to arise…

across the empty roadway now they stir

in whispered hush to dance before my eyes.

The softness of their form allays all fear—

these silent apparitions of the night;

as quickly as they've come, now disappear

and I alone left witness to their sight.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

…Or Was It?

 

Into the twilight I went walking

vestige of daylight taking flight,

threshold of evening fast now falling

revealing a veiled and moonless night.

Dry leaves give chase along the footpath

tree limbs stretch bare for all to see...

boney, their arms move in the darkness

—boney wood fingers reach for me—

“Faster” I will my legs, “keep moving.”

“It’s only the wind that creaks the tree.’

Overly active imagination

says: ” No…something darker waits for thee.”

I sprint up the hill past stone wall sentries

as rational thoughts give way to fear—

even the streetlamps flicker slightly

familiar surroundings become austere.

Ever so softly, I hear strange voices…

inaudible words chant spells unknown;

shadowy creatures dance in the half-light

lying half-hidden in the gloam.

“Reveal yourselves!” scream becomes a whisper

—heart palpitating anxiously—

Over my shoulder a chill breath answers

can sense stranger’s eyes intent on me.

Clearing the mountain,  full moon rises

annulling the fears that spirits roam

‘Twas only aberrant imagination

to wrangle my thoughts as I turn home.

© Ginny Brannan 2014
*Image from author's hometown.

On the Periphery

Summer Night, 1913, by Albert Bloch

Felt but never seen,

dancing on peripheral vision--

a movement, a shadow...

Lights flicker upon entering a room,

automatic doors open to no one there,

footsteps echo on empty stairwells... 

What magic is this?

Stories sieved through generations,

folklore igniting imaginations;

spectres, fairies, will-o’the wisps…

What happens to life energy when we pass?

Does it dissipate to a different state,

drifting astral plane until final calling?

Fine hairs on back of neck stand attention,
mysteries passing comprehension--

as truth awaits our circumspection.

© Ginny Brannan September 2012

Image by Author

Sharing at The Mag #133: They provide the image, we the story! 

Harbingers

Evening calls to silhouette sentries,

rainslick roads swift-swallow sound;

lifeblood weeps to parch-dry ground,

while ravens silent-watch from trees.

The banshee wails on late-night roam;

then piece-by-piece, they carry me home.

© Ginny Brannan January 2012

**Image Credit to Whitebook @ DeviantArt, titled A Christmas Story for Rezzan

Planting Magic Seeds

Image credit: mnn.com

"Look what I planted!” is how she began;.
“I think that it’s magic!” she said with a grin.
“Just like Jack’s beanstalk, how tall it will grow,
and up it to fetch those gold eggs we will go!!”
I looked at her, smiled, nodded and said:

“We’ll climb it together...now, it’s time for bed!”

May we view each day through our child’s eyes--

  with love, amazement and happy surprise.

 * * * * * * * * *

I remember a time when my own son was small, maybe not quite four, and we were walking to the store in winter. He would approach each snow mound, poke and kick it, saying that he thought it might hold long-lost buried treasure. As he ran ahead, I dropped a coin or two into one, so that I might see the amazement on his face as he discovered it on his return trip! Feeding a child’s imagination helps to foster and promote curiosity, and a lifelong joy of reading and quest for learning.

©Copyright Ginny Brannan July 2011

 http://bluebellbooks.blogspot.com/2011/07/thursday-short-story-slam-week- 5.html