Green Sneakers

 

She wore green sneakers on her feet

a heart drawn on the toe

a Marine Biologist future planned

her dreams were set and well in hand

Corpus Christi she would go…

 

I wonder what he thought that day 

as he strode into the school?

What could make a person do

that things that he would do?

Was he lost inside his head,

could he hear their screams…

as he tore their lives apart

cutting short their dreams?

 

Another school has fallen prey,

how many look the other way?

“Thoughts and prayers,” is what they say,

then leave it for some other day.

 

Another child’s life cut short

how hard is it to know

you claim to be “pro life” and yet,

by avoiding you abet

with the 'same ol’ same' retort.

 

We birth our children, raise them up

they are the seeds we sow;

their dreams are ours, we hold them close

never to let go,

then find them in a body bag

a tag upon their toe.

     

The repetition of this crime

reminds us that there comes a time

when we can’t let it go—

for those green sneakers on her feet

 with the heart drawn on the toe.

© Ginny Brannan 2022

Before the Fall...

I remember the warmth of an April morn…

the songbirds singing before the dawn,

the mourning dove with her call forlorn;

the gathering clouds before the storm.

I still feel the sway of a summer breeze…

the breath of God blowing through the trees;

the sound of His whisper inside the leaves

and come the evening, a cool reprieve.

Can still smell the scent of an autumn day

the dry fallen leaves turning to decay

with deep earthen smells of soil and clay

and nature’s full pallet on display.

Last to arrive came the ice and snow,

the garden, now frozen, down below

wood smoke arising from fire’s glow

the world spread before us in white tableau.

I still remember all of these things:

how far we’d come before the fall,

so little of that time remains…

 We never really had a plan.

Now dust storms howl over barren plains

while all things precious turn to rust—

so too, this world returns to dust…

 thus dies the golden age of man.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Bringing Down Goliath

The news crests in waves

its burden grows,

its burgeoning weight unfolds

as the story is told

 — again and again.

New, yet old, we’ve been here before…

the victims, the heroes, the rescues…

and the underlying, the incident defining,

the never-ending question—

        “Why?”

What is the common thread

that weaves through these events?

Columbine, Aurora, Sandy Hook, 

Virginia Tech, Miami, Las Vegas, Parkland...

“Guns don’t kill people, people do.”

“If you outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns”

Did our forefathers foresee automatic weaponry

when they constitutional-ized the right

to “Keep and bear arms?”

How many innocents must be lost?

How many children must die?

How many husbands, wives, fathers, mothers,

brothers, sisters, friends, loved ones?

If now is NOT the time to address this, then when?

Tired of the “bought and paid for’s“

sweeping it under the rug.

This isn’t about the rights of the hunters

to keep their rifles—though the NRA

will make surely make it seem that way.

It is about the ease at which anyone

with money and an i.d. can by a gun.

It is about how one person can amass

an arsenal, an armory, and go on a shooting spree—

while there is no accountability,

no central data base, no red flag  

to track the would-be crazies.

“The people have rights.”

What about the rights of all citizens

to go to school, to go to church,
to go out for an evening,

without fear of never returning home again?

Accountability starts with us—

 you and me— speaking out.

If enough Davids take on Goliath

he will fall,

and maybe, just maybe, mass shootings

will cease to be so commonplace,

maybe, just maybe, we can feel safe again,

and maybe, just maybe,  we won’t have to hear the words

“the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history”

   … again.

© Ginny Brannan 

Image: Bierberg, conceptart.org

Full credit to Bierberg who conceptualized the perfect image of a modern day Goliath. Link with image, above.

Running...

Repainted: 2014 Boston Marathon Finish line.

The colors of the day were blue and yellow—

like golden sun adrift in azure sky;

and those along the route could hear the ‘thunder’

as 35,000 tempoed feet clocked by.

The crowd held sway observing all the runners;

an audience a half a million strong—

till day morphed into night-mare unexpected

when shrapnel-filled explosives ripped the throng.

The color of the day turned red and running,

scarlet dripping on a field of gray—

with unsung heroes bounding to the rescue

—yellow shirts and white hat led the way.

It’s been a year since chaos tore the city

with imagery to last a lifetime long—

like phoenix, runners rise up from the ashes

reminding us to all be “Boston Strong”

© Ginny Brannan March 2014

2013 Image. Rescuing injured after bombs exploded.

 3/25/14 News Boston shared that the marathon finish line had just been repainted in preparation for the 118th marathon to be held on April 21st.  

Carnage

Chaos ensues as

all hell breaks loose;

roiled in bloodbath again.

No one feels secure

as we mourn and abhor, then

gather our thoughts to contend, and

echo as one, “This must end!”

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written after the Boston Marathon bombings.

How Much More?

The devil danced in broad daylight

as angels bore the innocents--

for only Satan could take glee

in such a senseless tragedy.

The wailing echoes through the night,

yet there will be no recompense;

no words that stave collective pain

nor set the broken right again.

Borne in our hearts, the sound, the sight

of these unspeakable events:

a gaping hole that can’t be filled.,

an aching heart that won’t be stilled.

For “Right to Bear” now see the cost--

how many babies must be lost?

© Ginny Brannan December 2012

Just a note: I have many responsible hunters and sportsmen among  my family and friends. I respect them and do not condemn gun ownership in general. However, in my personal opinion, I feel there is a need to limit automatic weaponry. These weapons were made for hunting people. Our forefathers did not foresee these weapons when they wrote the laws. I've heard the arguments, both pro and con. Yet when events like this happen, and become more commonplace as time goes on, something needs to change.

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night Week #75

Speculation

Image by Francesca Woodman

From whence she came we do not know--

all torn and tattered from her plight

and shiv’ring hard against the night,

found on the beach in dawn’s first glow.

This sad-sweet girl could only speak

in guttural sounds amix with sighs.

Was she mute or traumatized;

wet seaweed clinging to her cheek?

The speculation was intense

awaiting her recovery,

but fragile life was not to be;

she’ll never utter her defense.

Perhaps a mermaid washed ashore

found grasping conch shell in her hand

near-naked body in the sand …
the tabloids just reported “whore.”

© Ginny Brannan August 2012

Image provided by Tess Kincaid, she provides the image, we provide the story!

Written for The Mag (Magpie Tales) #130. 
***********************************************************************

Loosely based on the victims of the Long Island Serial Killer, on whom I’ve recently seen a couple of television news documentaries.

'Stained' Glass

Image:  Galway Cathedral, Galway, Ireland 2006

As broken shards fall to the ground

the artist scores another round;

envisions template in his head,

has chosen favorite color, red.

Burnt copper casings fold around

the broken shards spread on the ground;

with heated flash and burst of light

he engineers into night.

Designed to give the most impact,

meticulous in every fact--
these broken shards spread on the ground

create a picture quite profound.

The finished image triggers tears,

and mem'ries that will live for years...

this craftsman’s work now world-renowned

from broken shards left on the ground.

© Ginny Brannan July 2012
*Dedicated to all of the "broken shards" from Aurora, CO this week, and to all families whose lives have been shattered by violence.

**In the making of a stained glass window, first a template is created, then the glass is scored and shaped to fit the template. The glass is held together by H-shaped cames in lead or copper that are bent and heat soldered to hold the glass and  create the finished image. When I learned of the tragedy, I listened to the first hand accounts of a flash, smoke, those closest being burned by hot copper casings as they rained around them. Images of the victims as 'broken shards' haunted my thoughts. Hence, this metaphoric piece came to be. 
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Open Link Night Week 54.