Where my heart lies...

Ireland I am coming home

I can see your rolling fields of green

And fences made of stone

             ~ Garth Brooks 

Petergate, with a view of York Minster, York, UK photo by Tess Kincaid

Unknown…yet familiar,

we walked the cobblestone streets—

jaws dropped agape into

“Pinch me, am I really here?”

position

Were we actually on foreign soil,

or had we finally found our way

‘home’

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Photo: G.Brannan, Kilkenny, Ireland 2006

Photo: G.Brannan, Galway, Ireland 2003

Written for Magpie Tales #261, inspired by Image taken by Tess Kincaid.

           She provides the image, we the story!

Changing Partners

Come October wind and rain,

the chill that to November calls—

bright harvest moon long come and gone;

crisp brittle leaves converge on lawn.

We pull our wooly sweaters down,

the heavy socks, the warm knit shawl…

find brief respite in waning sun—

while season’s final song is sung.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Written for Magpie Tales #243, Image provided by Tess Kincaid.
Come visit see what others are sharing!
Shared also at dVerse Poets October Open Link Night—Homecoming. Check it out!!

Loosing the Floodgates

Both blinded by the rage within—

my words, a knife to penetrate

to slash; to watch exsanguinate.

You tore away the underpin

your words cajole —I lose control;

no holding back…no discipline.

You volley to eviscerate—

both blinded by the rage within.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Written for Magpie Tales #238. Image provided by Tess Kincaid

She provides the image, we the story!

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Meeting the Bar: Octain Refrain 3/25/16

Deception

Shining beacon in the night

incandescent, phosphorescent

hollow glowing orb of light…

In my quest for something new

I flew to you, drew to you,

in blissful blindness I pursued…

—till ever late, I see the lie:

your brilliant luster misconstrued

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Written for Magpie Tales #236, image provided by Tess Kincaid.
She provides the image, we the story. Come by and see what others are sharing!

The Fisherman

N.C. Wyeth, Dark Harbor Fisherman

I navigate through rocky shoals

out to the canyons dark and deep,

where dolphins swim and monsters sleep.

The fickle sea exacts her tolls—

through stormy squall, the Sirens’ call…

on wind the cries of captured souls.

Yet there is little time to weep

while navigating rocky shoals.

               * * * * * 

Along the downeast coast I trawl;

every inlet and each isle

in memory, now reconciled.

The craft fills up with netted haul—

no fast return; it must be earned

before this boat may make landfall

…yet on this day the gods have smiled;

    while on this downeast coast I trawl.

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

Written for Magpie Tales #235, Image provided by Tess Kincaid.

She provides the image, we the story. Come see what others are writing!

(This is sort of a two-fer. Being a New England girl, we are familiar with both coastal and deep sea fishing, this captures a bit of both)

A Game of Patience

Meredith Frampton, 'A Game of Patience' 1937

Take me back to the place where time stood still…

Would each one of us were able

to read the other’s thoughts so well—

            anticipate the other’s fate...

to lay our cards out on the table,

expose what’s guarded deep within.

How discomfiting to tell

what it is you feel inside…

            Might there be something left for me?

I never knew that when we fell

then stood again, a piece was lost…

And so compelled, I now confide

no poker face; my cards exposed...

(yet through the years you’ve never shared;

            nor have I, although I’ve tried)

constrained in limbo to remain 

            ever by another’s side.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

On concept of 'love's labours lost'

Sharing at Magpie Tales #226. Image provided by Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we the story!

Foreplay

Boris Hopek's Tokyo Exhibit:"Ever"

Unhook…unclip…while slow we slip and sway;

dispense pretense; begin the dance risqué.

Soft breaths imply...intensify…convey…

igniting heat, scent moist and sweet; replay.

Caress, digress; find youthful lust astray--

no rings, no strings to hinder this ballet.

We feed the need and shun the roles we play;

adrift to sift the remnants of that day.

©  Ginny Brannan January 2010

Image courtesy Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we provide the story.

Sharing at Magpie Tales , d'Verse Poets Pub , and at Poetry Jam "Sensual Poetry" 

Little Girl Lost

Ah, Norma Jean, a lovely girl,

Image: Bert Stern

takes on her glamorous disguise--

the platinum hair, the painted face

hides well the child behind those eyes.

Glitter and glitz, and bright smile flashed;

sad day for all when this star crashed…

to lose her light was such a sin,

forever remembered, Marilyn.

©  Ginny Brannan December 2011

Written for Magpie Tales #97

Damaged Goods

Photo: Christine Donnier-Valentin courtesy Magpie Tales

He found another

to fill his needs

bright, rich, sleek

to fit his

narcissistic

lifestyle

and left me

used and tainted…

forgotten by the wayside

©  Ginny Brannan  November 2011 
         

Photo prompt provided by Magpie Tales, they provide the image, we provide the story! Sharing at Magpie Tales #93 11/28/11  

Reservations

Image provided by Magpie Tales

gone on before me

leaving memories behind--

hope they save a seat!

© Ginny Brannan November 2011

Written for Magpie Tales #91, they provide the photo, we provide the story.

Bright Lights, Big City

Written and recalled for Magpie Tales:

Uptown, Midtown, Downtown, Chinatown...

Twenty-two years old, exploring alien world of concrete and skyscrapers, eyes drawn upward, jaw agape and dragging on the sidewalk.  I smell the exhaust of a thousand taxis, the acrid odor of burnt pretzels from the corner vendor, the sour steam rising through sidewalk grates from unseen subterranean passages. Getting the grand tour today from city-savvy friends--Penn Station, Broadway, top of the World, dinner in Chinatown. We take the subway to Canal Street, north lies Little Italy: south, we step into another country—bright little shops with neon signs boasting their wares in strokes and symbols. As we pass by one I pause and stare, amazed to see whole birds, plucked, smoked and ready for purchase, not neatly cut and packaged like in the supermarkets I am used to.

February 1978, New York City --"Toto, we're not in Vermont anymore!"

©  Ginny Brannan October 2011

 Photo courtesy Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales            

Shared at Magpie Tales: http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

This photo reminded me of my first trip into NYC with some of my friends. I was assaulted with sights, sounds and smells the likes of which I had never witnessed before. To this day I remember the total amazement of it all!

    

Broken Umbrella

Under broken umbrella I huddle,

poor shelter from this bitter storm…

Acid words rain 

scouring raw emotions,

eroding, undermining

until all that remains

are underpinnings

and floating debris

of the once

solid pier

that was

‘us’

Sadness and anger
hammer barrier walls

Berms of resolve dissolve,

grain
by
grain.

Pain floods in;

salt stings my face

as nothing remains
intact in the wake
of our 

personal

hurricane.

©  Ginny Brannan August 2011

Image: Flickr, Umbrella left behind by Tyler J. Clemens VIII

Shared at Magpie Tales #80. 

Shared at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night Week 7-- 8/30/11 

Throwing Money Away

We nicknamed him  ‘Sanford’

(remember that old ‘70’s T.V. show?)

a gray-haired man in a rickety truck

with patched-up fenders

and squeaky brakes.

Each weeknight he roams

a different neighborhood.

Sunday night is our turn…

slowly creeping past each house,

scanning trash for hidden treasure

he stops for a broken fan at one house,

a rusty patio chair at another,

and a bunch of wire hangers that

someone threw out down the block…

We had often speculated on this poor man

eking out his living collecting old scraps…

…until we saw him driving around town in his other car:

              a brand-new Mercedes

© Ginny Brannan July 2011

Photo prompt courtesy of Tess Kincaid, Magpie Tales #76

Sirius

Like modern day 'Lady Godiva’

she cycles through the sky,

pulling the “dog days” of summer behind her;

pleasant days turning hot and dry.

But surely, no “dog” is she,

this bright star that shines through the haze.

With only a single glance,

men weaken under her gaze;

while women become aroused--

as within them she lights a flame;

explaining celebration and sacrifice

that’s been given in her name.

She still spins her seasonal spell

that no mortal man may defy;

seducing all who dare to stare

at her brightness suspended on high.

© Ginny Brannan

Photo prompt courtesy Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales

Magpie Tales #75

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Pretentious Paradise (Flash 55)

Mere miles off Massachusetts’ coastline, this island awaits:

noted summer paradise for pompous politicians and presidents.

Sailboats and yachts anchor side-by-side near sleepy seaside villages.

Well-tanned physiques, perfectly sculpted by personal trainers,

play mock tennis matches and wander through fancy boutiques

that cater to the well-groomed wealthy…

 ~ Welcome to The Vineyard ~

© Copyright Ginny Brannan July 2011

People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

*Chilmark is a village on the island of Martha’s Vineyard. 

A few facts about the Vineyard: During the summer, the usual 15,000 residents swell to 75,000. Presidents Clinton and Obama have vacationed there. The Kennedy's family home is just across the Vineyard sound in Hyannis, and they are known to spend time here. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis owned an estate here. Singers James Taylor and Carly Simon are residents of this island. Steven Spielberg filmed the movie 'Jaws' here. Actor John Belushi is buried here.
This is my first attempt at a Flash 55, a story told in 55 words

Photo prompt courtesy of Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales#73
 http://magpietales.blogspot.com/
Posted at Mr. Know-It-All's Flash Friday 55

http://g-man-mrknowitall.blogspot.com/2011/07/friday-flash-55_14.html

Season of the Sun

Wheat Field With Rising Sun, Vincent van Gogh, 1889

Humid summer season lies before us

languid days and sultry nights combine--

listen, hear the crickets sing their chorus,

smell the sweet fruit ripen on the vine.

Across the valley, fields stretch on forever…

the tall wheat turning golden in the sun;

distant mountains call us to their coolness;

no respite until the day is done.

I wish these summer days could last forever--

basking under Helios’ glow.

Already, our long days are growing shorter…

seems that sadly, all good things must go.

© Copyright Ginny Brannan July 2011

Photo prompt courtesy Tess Kincaid, Magpie Tales #72

Shared at One Stop Poetry, One Shot Wednesday Week #53

One of a Kind?

You’re one in a million--that’s the word;

quite unique, or so I’ve heard.
Then perhaps you might drop me a clue…
Exactly which one are you?

 © Ginny Brannan June 2011

Photo courtesy Tess Kincaid, Magpie Tales Magpie Tales #71

Up For Sale

Beautiful face without a name,

who would put a price on you?

It seems to me it’s such a shame…

Beautiful face without a name,

no family left to stake their claim;

laid out for sale in this venue.

Beautiful face without a name,

who would put a price on you?

© Copyright Ginny Brannan June 2011

A Triolet is a poetic form consisting of only 8 lines. Within a Triolet, the 1st, 4th, and 7th lines repeat, and the 2nd and 8th lines do as well. The rhyme scheme is simple: ABaAabAB, captital letters representing repeated lines.

Photo prompt courtesy Tess Kincaid, Magpie Tales #70 

And the band played on....

The music played on, our food is gone--

she’s hardly touched a bite.

With our attention gleaned on a different scene,

something just isn’t right...

As we turn to watch what’s taking place,

I see her enrapt by young server’s face.

Oh, would it only be that she

might shower that same look on me!

©Copyright Ginny Brannan May 2011

Photo Courtesy Magpie Tales: Banquet Scene with a Lute Player by Nicolas Tournier, 1625

Magpie Tales #67

Leather-bound

I can see you standing ‘cross the room

all adorned in leather and in gold,

long to feel my fingers on your spine --

to unlock the mysteries you hold

What wondrous secrets will you share

once you are spread open and laid bare

for me to get lost in, if I dare?

© Copyright  Ginny Brannan May 17, 2011

Photo Courtesy of Magpie Tales #66 5/17/2011