Valinor

If I were to tell you that there is a light 

that is waiting for you, 

even if you cannot see or feel it, 

you probably wouldn’t believe me.

Nothing we do in life is ever easy. 

Carrying the pain of another

is harder than most. 

It is constant, It is exhausting;

and all we can do is hope 

that in some small way

we have made a difference…

            * * * * * * * * * * 

You came to us after the hurricane.

Amid chaos and confusion,

you quietly picked up our broken pieces.

You were the calm after the storm,

the safe space we all needed.

You gave us back our sanity, our security.

Never selfish. Never loud. Never self-serving.

You worked behind the scenes without accolade.

You didn't need to be the center of attention.

Now the Grey Havens are calling

where a ship awaits to carry you west

to the undying lands.
While those you love may not yet follow,

there will come a time when you will meet again.

Rest easy, knowing that you always did 

the best you could; that your legacy will live on.
Let the warm winds carry you to journey’s end,

where the ones who have gone ahead

are waiting to welcome you...

 a place of no more pain, 

 no more worries, 

  —only peace.

© Ginny Brannan 2026

For Jo, and Joe B. and family, and all who are dealing with their own loved one's illness or loss.

Photograph:"Rockport Harbor" Charlie Parant at Appetite for Photos

*Used with expressed written permission

                                                   * * * * *

"We are all broken, that's how the light gets in" Ernest Hemingway

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are those who suffer persecution for righteousness' sake, 

for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Excerpts from The Beatitudes, Matthew 5:1-12

"Valinor" is a fictional place spoken of in J.R.R Tolkien's writings where the Elves and the Ring-bearers go when their time on Middle Earth is done. It is comparable to the Garden of Eden before the fall of man. The technical rule is that mortals aren't allowed—the real rule is that the Valar make the determination and can make exceptions. From "Fans of Middle Earth" 

In Dreams

 

Implausible, or so it seems

but real or not, can you conceive

the truth that hides inside our dreams?

Where deep within such altered state

the past and present interweave.

and hidden secrets come to light
in rhythmic breathing of the night;

and all the things we dare not say

slip the confines of the day

to acquiesce. reshape, refine

and coalesce inside our mind.

Somewhere in this tug of war,

the soul cries out for want of more:

the long forgotten touch of skin

the ardor hidden in a look

a thirst, found quenched in our rapport,

the heat exploding from within,

new worlds to map, and to explore–

for now we tread this in-between

 and bide our time inside a dream.

© Ginny Brannan 2026

In the Empty Spaces

In the empty spaces that surround me

in the silent echos of each day

I miss the sound of breathing from another

the gentle touch of skin against my skin,

the warm caress of your arms wrapped around me

—kindling the passion deep within.

I’ve adapted, seeking to find comfort

in knowing there’s no longer any pain

My prayers aren’t heard, there is no bargain-making,

 still, I’d trade my soul to feel you once again.

© Ginny Brannan 2025

Meting My Needs

 

I carry so much inside of this heart

sometimes I feel it will burst.

I am not patient; ruminating anxiously,

watching, wondering what holds the key?

And I do my best to keep moving forward

pondering if second-chances

are based in reality, or if they’re a myth

that we tell ourselves to keep on keepin’ on.

Joy is gleaned in all of  the small moments.

Hope carried on the fringes of those moments,.

But the light that we that seek,

the love that we reach for,

isn’t always as forthcoming.

We may feel its warmth from time to time,

a will-o-the wisp that rests for a heartbeat

then moves on, leaving us wanting for more.

It’s hard to find stability in an unstable world,

to feel confidence when nothing is sure.

Our want for companionship seems impossible to obtain,

but the need to find love, to give love, to be loved still remains.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

*Meting = measuring

 

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.

Held in Stasis

 

I did not forget you, my darling,

I just hit pause for a while,

my self-defined procrastination– 

the inner writer whispered, “sit”

and I surrendered to temptation.

I did not forget you, my sweet,

 but I wrapped myself instead

inside of that creative fog, resetting 

from the week that’s passed, 

regrouping for the week ahead.

I did not forget you, my love,

nor all the years we spent

and what you meant to me.

You’re still in every breath I take

nothing was in vain.

I carry your heart inside of my own

and so it will remain.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

There is nothing ordinary about April 7^th, but for once it didn’t hit me with the usual sense of anxiety and dread; no painful moments running like a loop in my head. And while I don’t believe such moments will ever really disappear, for today there was reprieve. Perhaps a gift. He always read me so well!

"Testing, Testing...One, Two, Three"

 

Hope lies between the lines

of dreams and of unanswered prayer

as we, mere mortals, search to find

peace from pain we've buried there.

               *  *  *  *  *

Believe in the power if you choose

that parts the seas and turns the tides

Could such entreaty be refused;

a whispered word of urgency

from the place where love resides?

 

When all else fails we’re left to conjure

hope beyond all hope to cure

the ills from which there’s no returning;

I watched you fade into thin air...

you wonder why faith disappears?

 

How many prayers have you seen answered?

How many hearts are left to bear

the pain of loss despite “believing”

that there’s a God that truly cares

while undeserving loved ones leave us

    lost in our unanswered prayer.

                  *  *  *  *  *

“No” has always been the answer,

reprieve short lived; the end’s the same.

We look to pin the fault on someone,

but really there’s no one to blame.

Miracles are not forthcoming

we bear our loss as best we can

our questions gather dust, unanswered

derived from pitting God to man.

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Image: Photographer C. Parant, Appetite for Photos. Used with espressed written permission.

The Price We Pay

 

‘Pinch me,’ I cried, ‘awake me from this dream

 I’m stuck somewhere between

  the place of love and loss.”

My losses have been many,

  too well I know the cost. 

 

Alas, I do not sleep,

too many hearts I keep...

  love is never cheap

 

 

Joining De Jackson at D’Verse Poets Pub today for Quadrille #193. 
A Quadrille is a small succinct poem of exactly 44 words. It may rhyme...or not. Today's Quadrille is to be written to include the word "pinch" in one of it's many forms.

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

In the Still Hours

 

“But little Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men Go often awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain, For promised joy! 

Still you are blessed, compared with me! The present only touches you:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary! 

And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear! “

                 Excerpt ‘To a Mouse’ by Robert Burns
 
The empty house is quiet now

it echoes sounds from Christmas past

of footsteps running down the hall,

the moments that we thought would last.

The frost lays heavy on the sill

to set upon us winter’s chill,

no children’s giggles filled with mirth

or Christmas greetings of goodwill.

The stillness breaks, another dawn

our children grow to leave the nest

to make new memories of their own–

as roles reverse and are recast.

A star still shines from highest bough

traditions passed from mom to son,

and in the baubles on the tree

images of yesterdays

filled with love and family...

and so it is we pass baton

and watch them leave and carry on.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

*The piece by Robert Burns is written in heavy Scottish dialect, and while a pleasure to read and see in original form, it is a difficult read to translate and grasp, so I chose the English translation.