Bulbancha

 

There sits an almost eerie chill

on these cobblestone sidewalks and empty streets

where footsteps of a storied past 

can still be heard while the city sleeps.

Scrolled wrought iron balconies

overlook the avenue;

gaslights fade in the early dawn,

the jazz clubs silent and subdued.

The hectic pace is different here

slower, almost cavalier

as the “Easy” spins her silken web

on all who choose her streets to tread.

Through the shrouded morning mist

a single silhouette appears

its darkened presence more distinct
than the apparitions of yesteryear.

Slow, a new day has begun…

her ghosts are fading with the sun

while in the purview of their gaze,

their spirits keep the city safe.

Ginny Brannan 2025

Bulbancha is the Choctaw (Native American) name for New Orleans.

Image credit: David Florentine, Florentine Photography.com. Shared with me by a friend from NOLA

Against the Wind

 

I try to put my best foot forward

even when the skies are gray;

the darkness always reaching toward us

 

still all my best laid plans are thwarted.

I stumble trying to make headway

while trying to put my best foot forward

 

I doubt I’ll ever be rewarded

for even those we love betray;

the darkness always reaching toward us

 

each new strategy, aborted

our cards are dealt then cast away

while trying to put our best foot forward

 

the words I hear appear distorted,

spinning thoughts in disarray

—the darkness always reaching toward us

 

I do my best to be supportive

while you discourage and upbraid

I try to put my best foot forward

the darkness always reaching toward us.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

"I’m older now and still running against the wind"  Bob Seger

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Day 17 NaPoWriMo 2024 prompt: A poem inspired by a piece of music. Can be used as title

Premonitions

 

It was absolutely real, 

that feeling of foreboding

I tried to tell someone, 

yet no one would believe.

I was just a young kid,

and no one listened to me.

Why would someone change course 

in the middle of the stream?

The plans were set in motion

 and all was going well

why stir the pot and 

make the night unpleasant?

And everyone was fine 

until we hit the pole

Yes, everything was good 

until it wasn’t.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024 

 

Prompt Day 10 Writers.com

Write about an event that you might interpret as a sign from a higher power.

Spring Rituals

 

Determinedly it shows up every year

when the snows have finally melted

and Spring finally shows her face

and brings with her the rhubarb 

that was planted long ago.

I never sought to grow it, find it bitter to the taste

unless it’s mixed with strawberries and sugar

in a jam or pastry dough. 

I often share with neighbors so it doesn’t go to waste.

But there’s still another reason why it still has its place–

this bitter medicinal herb that was valued long ago...

I remember when you planted it, the look upon your face

when the warm days had arrived  

before you had to go.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

 

NaPoWriMo #17 The prompt: Today’s challenge asks you to write a poem that contains the name of a specific variety of edible plant – preferably one that grows in your area. In the poem, try to make a specific comparison between some aspect of the plant’s lifespan and your own – or the life of someone close to you. Also, include at least one repeating phrase.

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

Tribute

Be grateful for the little things

the laughter and commingling

the friendships and the fellowships

the quiet times alone

Be grateful for the scars and lumps

for life is messy, full of bumps

every wrinkle that we earn

attests to how we’ve grown

Be grateful for another breath

for all the trials and the tests

for there’s no light without the dark

honing strength unknown

And so we shed our outer skin

reveal our fortitude within

as twilight abdicates its grasp

we rise again, reborn

© Ginny Brannan 2018

In Tandem

We share an easy affinity,

a kindred familiarity,

a certain kind of intimacy…

a deep alliance streaming over time.

Within this reciprocity

we’ve portaged chasms carefully;

avoiding riffles skillfully--

our focus staid upon horizon line.

But in those times I've run aground

you've saved me from going down;

reached out, wouldn't let me drown--

a steadfast anchor in life's angry sea.

We slip the current past the shadows,

prudently elude the narrows,

mindful of the rocky shallows--

two tandem souls in perfect harmony.

© Ginny Brannan July 2012

Sharing at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night #57

Weather (or Not)

To hang our hope for early spring
on such cute, furry critter...
then learn, alas, his shadow seen--
now six more weeks of winter!
©Ginny Brannan February 2, 2012
*Image Credit: WashingtonPost.com
*Groundhog Day, an annual tradition held each February 2nd in Puxatawny, PA. There, amongst much pomp and circumstance, this poor little critter is pulled out of his customized burrow to predict by his shadow which it will be: if no shadow, an early spring; if he sees his shadow, then six more weeks of winter!! 
(Admittedly, his predictions are even better than our local weather station!!)