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 "Here and Now"

You have no idea of the dark places I’ve been

how it took all I have to crawl out of them

I pray you never have to deal, never feel

such loss. But then we all have felt it, haven’t we?

In one way, or another, we all know the cost.

I hear your ‘sorrys,’ your apologies, 
your “I don’t know what I’d ever dos.”

All I know is we put one foot in front of the other.

And we endure.  And we get through.

Don’t mistake my quietness for sadness,

nor my laughter for indifference.

Life moves on and so do we.

We learn to smile more, to hug more. to share our hearts more.

Because when given the choice to curl up in a corner

and close out the world, or to live, 

I will take ‘life’ every time.

I don’t know what lies around the next bend, 

but I know what I have, 

and I know who I am.

And for now, that's enough! 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Transmuting

 

You see her there in silhouette

standing all alone,

sequestered in the shadows

defiant in her tone

Sadness overtakes you

marked in monochrome.

The tears you spill sit shining

on sallow cheek and chin,

broaching an enigma

that will not let you in.

Simple in complexity,

trapped inside her soul

always yearning to be free

of things she can’t control.

So save your suppositions

those ill-spent inclinations,

the false and feigned frustration

and just let her be...

 

for she’ll accost the ardent fool who skirts her limitations

and woe to all who disregard her need to find salvation.

© Ginny Brannan 2024

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

Begin Again

Love once lived here…

built stone on stone, year on year,

mortar mixed with sweat and tears.

a photo worth a thousand words

of what was built back in the day.

now broken down and in decay;

Nothing ever stays the same,

all falls prey to wind and change,

and every tumbled brick and stone

reminds us of the things that were

and all that we once called our own.

Yet what is viewed a casualty

holds endless possibility…

so clean the cobwebs, sweep the sill,

shine the hearth and light a fire;

set the beams and cornerstone,

breathe new life into this place

once abandoned, overgrown.

Dreams are hope filled with desire

and lost inside this reverie

an aspiration from within;

that what was lost can be rebuilt,

just waiting to begin again.

© Ginny Brannan 2022

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but credit where credit is due in that first line that inspired this is borrowed, but all that follow after are not.

Rooted on the Wind

I am the sworn protector of all that I hold dear

if push should ever come to shove, I’ll still be standing here

and though you may not recognize this me that I’ve become:

I'll finish what I’ve started; I’ve only just begun.

To those who sit in judgment pretending that you care,

and all the trolls with empty souls, sent out to spread despair;

we adapt accordingly, going to great lengths

to draw upon our character and play upon our strengths.

Remember how the tiny wren sings her song so clear,

the way her notes hang in the air before they disappear?

Or how the slightest little seed can turn green into gold

when it lands on fertile ground, roots firmly taking hold?

I scatter words upon the wind into the stratosphere,

and raise my voice to amplify reminding all that I’m still here.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Unconstrained

Ever so subtle, the banjo begins

as the beat of the bass makes its mark,

the melody's captured now by mandolin

till the strings of the fiddle embark.

Clear and concise there’s a single voice heard

then others to bridge harmony...

clapping and tapping ensues, undeterred;

and the lyrics they share— poetry.

They build to crescendo, then slow to a whisper

and hit all the notes in between…

we conjure the places the music now takes us

the land and the people they’ve seen.

Their tone and inflection belying the depth

of the pain and the hardships they’ve known—

they’ve travelled this country, the length and the breadth

now we garner their seeds as they’re sown.

For they bring an escape for a moment or two,

    the music: a balm to our soul—

in the lyrics we’re gifted; transported and lifted

left healed to this feeling of  'whole.'

And always the music that carries us back...

  a reminder of who we should be:

kinder, more mindful, without animus

  no anger or need to appease.

We entered this place to escape from the rain

and in doing so, found a release:

the melodies shared have unlocked the constraints
and leave us encompassed in peace.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

On June 6th we went to hear one of my favorite genres of music, a mix of folk/bluegrass/country, played by The Steel Wheels, a wonderful and talented group of young musicians out of Virginia. There is thought and depth in the lyrics they share, perfectly arranged and impeccably played. There is something in the sounds of a banjo, fiddle, mandolin, bass. In words that speak of home and things that touch our hearts and our lives. One of their songs was inspired by a man who learned that Federal land was to be auctioned off cheaply and under the radar. He went to the auction, did not know how to keep the land in trust, to keep it pristine for his daughter and new generations to enjoy. Ended up bidding, however foolish in knowing he could never pay. He got thrown in jail, but the incident brought light to something that would have been left unknown and ignored. These are stories of  hope and of love, of country, of family, of the beauty of this land. How can one not leave feeling uplifted and inspired!!

Cityscape

N.Y. at Night, Vivienne Gucwa

Another story rewritten

under smooth, new skin—

rough worn paths

and broken dreams

  well-hidden within.

Almost invisible in the night

 all forgiven under pale light

  of streetlamp or moon…

Concealed in the shadows

the glory, the beauty

once held as her own,

as time stakes its claim;
 her innocence lost

  much too soon.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written for The Mag #201. Image provided by Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we the story!

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #127

After all what is NYC but a woman always preening, upgrading, reinventing. I love how the beauty of her early years still peeks through in her architecture and old cobblestone streets!

Becoming

darkness into light

not death, but transformation

life’s circle complete

Bending light and shadow

elevated to sanguine plateau

closing old for new;

over medial plains, I pass.

Mourn not this loss—

I spread these eager wings,

no longer constrained;

girded in peace, I fly!

© Ginny Brannan

Image: Waking, Walking, Singing, in the Next Dimension, Morris Graves, 1979

Written for The Mag #171.  Image provided by Tess Kincaid. She provides the image, we the story.
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night Week #99.

In Stasis

Image: Alex Stoddard, courtesy of The Mag

Held captive in a man-made womb

composed of glass and wooden stave,

adrift inside this watery grave

while oak and hemlock guard my tomb.

I rest on decomposing bed

of rotting life and fictile earth;

awaiting on some grand re-birth

I float in stasis state instead.

©  Ginny Brannan April 2012

Written for The Mag #114. By Tess Kincaid; she provides the image, we provide the story!

Out of the Shell

Image: Egg Island by Djajakarta

floating aimlessly…

a life of non-existence

in an empty shell

hull begins to crack

self-esteem eclipses pain

I emerge, unscathed

finding strength anew

I shed the broken pieces

to learn who I am

© Ginny Brannan April 2012

Written for The Mag #112--they provide the image, we provide the story!
and sharing at 
d'Verse Poets Open Link Night #39  4/10/12

Changeling (Haiku) Odd Lots/Brief Thoughts #3

shunning sheltered past

to howl freely at the moon

confidence instilled

©  Ginny Brannan October 2011

Sometimes one has to step out of one's shell, throw back their head and literally "howl" at the moon, to change from who they are to who they want to be. Confidence gained through encouragement, and even a brotherly "dare!" Thanks my 'brother!!'

Dragonfly Dreams

I am a mixture of extremes

not just wife or mom it seems--

dig a bit perhaps you’ll see

the many different sides of me.

Mind swims with creative themes,

while hands tap out rhyming schemes.

Writer picks up pad and pen,

daydreamer escapes again.

Fledgling poet kicks and screams-

ideas bursting at the seams.

Have to sit and write a spell,

voices in my head to quell.

Does this help to understand

a bit more of who I am?

I am a mixture of extremes

metamorphosed through my dreams.

©Copyright Ginny Brannan April 2011
Internet Photo

*The dragonfly symbolizes change...change in the perspective of self-realization, the kind of change that has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life... to be able to see beyond the mundane into the vastness that is really our Universe...our own minds.