How Still the Strings

 

Sits the guitar upon its stand

awaiting player's gentle hand

to strum the chords and coax the songs

knowing well how it responds.

In silence now, how still the strings,

and yet, your words are echoing...

no one who’s loved is ever gone

in each of us, their song lives on.

 

We weren’t that close, you and I.

Not really, not in the scheme of things.

Though we knew each other all our lives,

you were always someone who

skated on the outskirts of my existence:

small town, same schools, mutual friends.

Eventually we both moved away

moving onward and outward to live life.

We would bump into each other

on those occasions when we were called back

to relive our high school memories;

or in those moments of mutual celebration or loss.

I never told you how much your kind words meant

during my own loss; how they felt like a warm arm 

around my shoulder; a gentle reminder 

that even in distance we are not alone.

No, we really weren’t that close, 

but in a sense you’ve always been there

somewhere on the edge, on the periphery.

Two kids who shared a certain kinship...

 

and I am better for the knowing of you.

© Ginny (Karpinski) Brannan 2024

Godspeed, my friend...

Bows and Strings

 

The fiddle player plays her tune

under violescent sky,

enrapt inside each note she plays

the player gently rocks and sways

and as the song grows more intense

she taps her toes, kicks up her heels

awakened by the bow and string

blithe inner-spirit now revealed.

For music calls our very soul

it lifts the weary when we’re low

it fells the dark that lives within

to heal; to make us whole again.

So is it really happenstance,

some ancient rite, forgotten lore;

or could it be the song and dance

that whispers to our very core

and lives inside us, evermore.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2022

"Challenged" by an Irish friend to write a poem that included the word fiddle, reveal and violescent, a word I'd never used but means as it sounds! 

Image: Máiréad Nesbitt Fiddle player from Celtic Woman

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!!

Swayin' to the Beat

Been pecking away at this Jazz Poem since September. Still consider it "work in progress," but saw the call to share, so am sharing at dVerse Meeting the Bar: Looking Back, Looking Ahead

He plays a mean guitar, this one-time star,

  the crowd waits, anticipates

            those old tunes, crooned…

Takin’ ‘em back to that old Rat Pack—

            movin’ to the groove;

Frankie and Dean, Sammie and Tony…

  then he turns it around,

                        lowers voice down

adds some scat 

            ‘n quick as that 

Louie and Nat are in the house.

Not done yet, throws in some clarinet

  and a little sax from his combo tracks—

he holds the crowd, 

                        cranks it loud;

  turns up the heat with that steady beat,

            that keeps it rollin’ down to their soul.

Then he takes the sound and slows it down

             orders up another round

and settles the score with a song or two more.

Too soon then, his evening ends…

  he walks away,  leavin’ crowd swayin’

                        to the beat

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

Inspired, in part at least, by many singers, including this gentleman who has entertained where I work and does an amazing Louie Armstrong-Mr. Jerome Robinson.
*Image: Google Images, guitar player.