Spring Clean–Up

I tidied up the yard today

raking up the Autumn leaves;

along the fence where they had cleaved—

and from the garden where they strayed,

once hid below the winter snow

now damp and brown and in decay.

With work complete, I’ve found my peace

in tidying the yard today.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

#26 NaPoWriMo 2020

Moonstruck

I step into the cool night air

to see her face among the trees—

her soft white light shines down on me

I pause a moment just to stare...

in quietude I am renewed

erasing burdens that I bear

Hard-pressed to let this peace recede,

I linger in the cool night air

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Three for Kersie

Blazing Her Own Trail

Her spirit rises from within

She sees the world as it should be

and sets her course accordingly

An old soul in a young girl’s skin

with steadfast gaze, new trails to blaze

a fiery storm behind sweet grin

…and so begins her odyssey

her spirit rising from within.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Oh Captain, My Captain…

The tiny helmsman takes control—

determined, never showing fear

committed, steadfast in her role.

The tiny helmsman takes control

though course ahead remains unclear

she pushes past the rocky shoals.

This tiny helmsman in control;

determined, never showing fear.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Tiny Pirate

Softly ceding to the night

the sun has sung itself to sleep,

while moon awakens with delight.

The fairies dance in waning light

as banshees beat a fast retreat

receding swiftly into night.

One by one the stars shine bright

across the dark expanse they sweep

as moon expresses her delight!

The sea monsters have taken flight,

again returning to the deep—

swift now ceding to the night.

The will o’ the wisps and woodland sprites

into the foggy meadows creep;

the moon observes them with delight.

Illuminated by pale light

lies tiny pirate, fast asleep;

so soft receding into night—

the moon enrapt with pure delight.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

I am totally enamored by this feisty and formidable little redhead! We recently spent a weekend in Maine with her and her grandparents where she and I spent a morning trying to "escape the sea monsters" and when that didn't seem to work we fed them "ice cream and cookies!!" These 3 pieces are inspired by her personality and her very active imagination. Such fun we had!! 

For Kersie with love.

Photos by Charlie Parant at Appetite for Photos blog

Also on Facebook: Appetite for Photos

Used with expressed written permission from photographer.

With Certain Inevitability

We know neither time nor place, only that it is inevitable…

… but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. 
                                                                                    — Ben Franklin

In “Tweets” and “Posts” the world responds
to Death’s uncertain rendezvous—
  just two of many that we knew…

As one day ebbs, another dawns
and real or feigned, we mourn each name—
   another faded star now gone.

“Celebrity” does not preclude…
    in ‘Tweets” and “Posts,” the world responds.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Actress Carrie Fisher 10/21/1956 — 12/27/2016
and her mom: Actress Debbie Reynolds 4/01/1932 — 12/28/1932
The 'Force' was strong between mother and child.

April Showers

Soft April rain falls on the lawn—

it lures new life from brown decay

while chasing winter blues away.

How fast past season now absconds;

with no remorse, spring sets her course

in bursting bud and unfurled frond.

The misty scene evokes Monet,

through April rainfall on the lawn.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

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

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)

When the Stars go Blue

A supernova, burning bright:

we worshiped every word you shared

while you sank deeper in despair

till darkness overtook your light;

sucked in black hole with no control,

you gave your soul back to the night

as we continued, unaware

that supernova burned too bright.

© Ginny Brannan 2014
For RW Some stars are too hot and bright for this world, and burn out way too soon. We were in awe of your "light." Rest easy.

Sharing at Magpie Tales #234, Image provided by Tess Kincaid. 
She provides the image, we the story! Come see what others are sharing!

Starry Night by Alex Ruiz

"Dancing little marionette, are you happy now? 

Where do you go when you're lonely? Where do you go when you're blue? Where do you go when you're lonely? I'll follow you…
when the stars go blue…"

Glimmer

Photo by Kelsey Hannah

The veil recedes as in a dream…

in shadowed corners once concealed

now by soft rays of light, revealed.

They skip and soar within the stream,

exposed uncloaked—these faerie folk

dance with delight upon the beam.

In sunlight now, their world unsealed;

till veil recaptures to the dream.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

 Written for Magpie Tales #214  

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

Absence

A melancholy day at best…

a pall weighs down upon this soul

that words do little to console

I function like a man possessed

no longer whole, I play a role

while open wound remains abscessed

Unspoken loss exacts its toll...

  on melancholy day, at best.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

For someone dear to me on their birthday, celebrating a year of "firsts" after loss. My words on one of the almost daily photos he has shared. 

Winter Blues

Image by author's son

Incessant cold takes hold again…

observing world through frosted glass,

while opaque cloak obscures the grass.

The snow falls silent on the pane—

another day turns dark and gray;

delight has faded to disdain.

This frigid season slow to pass,

as winter tightens hold again.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Sharing at dVerse Poets Open Link Night #131.

Written for The Mag #204 Image provided by Tess Kincaid.

Coincidentally I follow a site called Writers Write, and this was their prompt of the day:

When Doves Cry

Image: C. Parant

I hear a dove’s cry through the pane…

she coos her soft and mournful tune

about a loved one lost too soon.

This illness…was it preordained?

As you slip helm for higher realm

we‘re left to bear this earthly plane.

While waiting time to heal this wound

I hear the dove’s cry through the pain.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

My dearest sister-in-law Susan is resting easy now from her more than 2 year battle with liver cancer. She earned her wings late this afternoon. My heart mourns, but also celebrates this beautiful woman whom I loved dearly was proud to call sister for the past 28 years. Godspeed, dear Susan....until we meet again...

Wormholes

As night wanes into predawn light,

I dream-slip holes through time and space

where past and present interlace,

and for a moment we retrace

the fervent fire…the sweet desire;

we coalesce in youth's embrace—

till morning rays again erase...

as night wanes into predawn light.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Shared at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #102

“Well, Isn’t That Just a Fine Bucket of Fish?!!”

"A fine bucket of fish!"

"Loose Connections"

Her thoughts go ‘round in circles now--
mid-sentence they change direction,

as signal loses its connection.

She still communicates somehow;

sometimes we hear her words quite clear

when lesser gods choose to allow.

Perfect in her imperfection;

her thoughts go ‘round circles now...

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Finding the joy in rare moments…

Communication--another piece of the Dementia puzzle:  At work I observe the elderly,  many who are challenged by dementia. Though bittersweet to watch their slow, progressive decline, many manage to do okay within their limited world. On occasion their frustration and thoughts run with perfect clarity, especially when we don’t grasp something quick enough.  Unable to come up with an answer for one of our residents recently, she started to ask again, then stopped mid-sentence, looked at me and said “Why am I asking you, you don’t know!! Well, isn’t that just a fine bucket of fish?!!” ZING!! Much to my chagrin, I’d say she communicated that quite well, along with sending a zinger back to me!! 

We do love our people, especially during the rare moments when  they make us laugh! 

**Lesser god: Originally coined in Alfred Lord Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, and then taken as title of a movie about someone deaf, it is a reference suggesting that if God created man perfect in His image, then  “lesser gods” created all who would be disabled, disfigured or challenged.

I have written of the more serious side of this subject before, and was honored to have it published by Journey of the Heart, Women’s Spiritual Poetry, here.

Desperado

Bold outlaw rides a feral wind,

attacking in our waning days...

he lays down frost with single gaze.

We feel his gelid breath within--

unwelcome guest assumes his quest,

his frozen hands tear tender skin.

Long after leaves are felled, ablaze

this outlaw strikes on feral wind.

© Ginny Brannan November 2012

There's a chill wind been a blowin' up here in New England...
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night Week #69

Caught in Your Deadlights

How intricate those lies you spin--

well-shrouded in the perfect guise,

as subtly you hypnotize . . .

then soft, your touch against the skin

ever so light--until the bite

that paralyzes life within.

Your silken web now my demise,

entrapped within the lies you spin.

© Ginny Brannan October 2012

“For if you stay, you’ll lose your little mind in my deadlights.”

  Pennywise,“It,” by Stephen King

*Image taken by author of Nebscona Crucifera (Brown Orb Weaver)
**Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #65. Stop by and read a spell!

Bone on Bone

The molten dagger finds its mark,

myopic focus, bone on bone--

affliction's cryptic cause unknown

Corroded wires, electric arc

ignoring skin, strikes nerve within

as searing flash impales the dark.

Confront this demon all alone,

as molten dagger finds its mark.

Copyright Ginny Brannan May 2012

Shared at d'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night Week 46 5/29/12

What Do You Want?

Photo by: Donna Creamore (Used with permission)

What is it that you want from me?

it’s hard to know when you won’t say.

<sometimes I feel I'm in the way>

Give me a clue that I can see--

not just some squawk, we need to talk;

perhaps you'll find that we agree.

You preen and then you walk away...

what is it that you want from me??

© Ginny Brannan April 2011

This lovely photo of a Great Blue Heron was one of several amazing photos shared by Donna Creamore at New World Creative Union, with permission to choose one and write a poem.  

White Noise

You never hear a word I say

made up your mind, you’ve made your choice--

now all you hear is background noise.

This fettered life in disarray--

still you ignore, while I implore,

and passion wallows in decay.

Seems I no longer have a voice,

you never hear a word I say.

© Ginny Brannan February 2012


Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night 2/28/12