You are 'Here'

 

Who’d have thought that we’d be here

in this place of doubt and fear,
where laws are broken constantly

and hate spreads rampant, like disease

and nothing is exactly clear

Who’d have thought that we’d be here?

The happiness we used to feel

seems far away and so surreal.

We’re struggling to keep afloat;

I think we’ll need a bigger boat.
Who’d have thought that we’d be here,

led by cons and profiteers?

Yet I, for one, won’t give up hope;

for that would be a “slippery slope..”

I’ll stand my ground and persevere–

Yet who’d have thought that we’d be here?

© Ginny Brannan 2026

"Some believe it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love." J.R,R. Tolkien

"Never be cruel,

Never be cowardly...

Remember hate is always foolish

Love is always wise

Always try to be nice,

but never fall to be kind."

—The 12th Dr. Who

Just Another Bleeding Heart

I bear this weight, this ball and chain

impedes each step with unchecked pain.

The new day dawns yet clouds draw near

reminding me that you're not here.

 

I try to lift my thoughts, in vain

weighted down by ball and chain-

pretending that I’ll be okay

when my whole life's in disarray.

 

"One day at a time," I'm told,

and as another day unfolds

I try to break free from this chain

but sink where memories remain.

 

The wound’s still raw, it doesn’t heal.

I cannot think, I only feel.

my heart lies bleeding in the rain

my cross to bear, this ball and chain.

© Ginny Brannan 2021

Hook, Line and Sinker

You’ve swallowed the bait and surrendered your pride

caught in the netting of copious lies,

entangled in alternate facts you’ve been reading

so numb to the truth and the anger you're breeding.

 

What happens when ideals are thrown to the side,

when you swallow the bait and surrender your pride–

fueling intolerance, such deep-seated hatred

with morally bankrupt beliefs you’ve inflated?

 

You flounder to swim with the sharks in the school,

Yes, it’s said ‘even God attends children and fools’

while you swallow the bait and surrender your pride

for an alternate world where deception resides.

 

Comes now a time I would never conceive

as I witness the bias of what you believe,

and how in your heart now such darkness presides

since you swallowed the bait and surrendered your pride.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Written in the rhyme scheme of a Quatern, but not a true Quatern as that would be 8-syllables per line only.

Remember, Safety First!

Without coffee my brain’s on five-second delay:

I see your lips moving, then hear what you say.

The mind is still dark, the shades are still drawn,

it’s best sipped in quiet so don’t make a sound.

And should you have something that you must convey?

Remember my brain’s on five-second delay—

speak softly and slowly so I understand,

or you’ll pay with retort or a sharp reprimand.

You think that it’s funny, this look on my face?

Before I’ve had caffeine, I’m really half-crazed!

While the brain may be set on five-second delay,

I’ll still plot your demise and how you’ll repay.

The first cup went down with barely a blink;

the second more slowly, I’m starting to think.

The clouds are dispersing, so you’ll be okay… 

without coffee my brain’s on five-second delay!

©Ginny Brannan 2020

Ah Coffee, nectar of the gods!!

#25 NaPoWriMo 2020

The Temptation of Eve

Good and evil, dark and light

condemned from Eden, taking flight

scorned as wicked for her sin

and all the knowledge held within

Did they blame her out of spite

for good and evil, dark and light?

Temptation spoke with forked tongue

and in that moment, she succumbed.

Punished with indignity,

in pain, she birthed eternity.

Good and evil, dark and light,

her weakness seen as mankind’s blight.

Her reputation thus impugned,

mankind’s bloody, gaping wound—

and to this day, recall her plight

of good and evil, dark and light.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Sharing at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: The prompt stated a poem in any format, or a 55-word prose.

Image prompt by Cat Schappach, who is a marvel of dark surrealism. She has kindly given permission for us to use her piece entitled Seamstress. 

 Sharing attribution to Cat, at the following link: https://www.instagram.com/catschappach/

No Excuses

I’m sorry I was late today,

I really don’t know what to say.

Could blame the traffic or the clock

—but that would be a bunch of crock.

The sky dawned bright, for once, not gray

I’m sorry I was late today—

a moment in that April air

prompted me to tarry there.

I stopped to gaze upon the trees,

and ponder possibilities…

I’m sorry I was late today

the new spring blooms got in the way.

I’ll plead the 5^th and then recuse,

(there really is no good excuse)

I’d rather stay outside and play…

…  I’m sorry I was late today

© Ginny Brannan 2019

From a suggested prompt from a previous year for NaPoWriMo: to write an apology. The format is called a Quatern.

Tug o' War

We’re opposites in every way

I am the night and you are day

I am the storm and you’re the calm

the angry fist and open palm.

You toe the line from which I stray—

we’re opposites in every way.

The path I’ve chosen is uphill,

in endless battle of the will.

Once again, I’m called to write

I’m neither sorry nor contrite.

We’re opposites in every way:

you’re here and now; I’m faraway.

If attraction's opposite

then we are the perfect fit…

if you command, I won’t obey—

we’re opposites in every way!

© Ginny Brannan 2018

A wee bit of "tongue-in-cheek" humor on this lovely April Saturday.

April Showers

Image: G. Brannan

The rain falls soft upon the grass

erasing signs of winter passed,

it calls out to the barren trees

“Release your buds now, spread your leaves!”

The stage is set, the players cast

as soft rain falls upon the grass;

the robins have come out to play,

to chase their worms in light of day.

It seemed that winter wouldn’t end,

just days ago watched snow descend.

Now soft rain falls upon the grass…

—a change is in the forecast.

We hope indeed that Spring has come

to lift us from this winter slump;

as April slowly lifts her mask,

the rain falls soft upon the grass.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

The Words Unspoken…

Words ricochet inside my head

of all the things I should have said:

the “thank-yous” that lie half-composed

caught up inside of life, transposed.

I stare off into space instead

and chase the words inside my head—

What do I say to family,

and strangers who have carried me…

for kindness shared, for love they’ve shown,

reminding I am not alone?

The words remain inside my head—

resisting form, are left unsaid. 

We’ve struggled under life’s demands

 —seems nothing ever goes as planned,

with all the words I might have said

  preserved unspoken in my head.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

Until we meet again…

I will not say good-bye, my friend,

for that would mean our time must end.

Let’s linger here for just while,

it’s been so good to see your smile.

For just a moment, let’s pretend

to put aside good-byes, my friend.

We’ll reminisce on days long past,

on family, and friendships cast.

Then talk about what’s yet to be

the places that we’d like to see.

It’s too soon for good-bye, my friend,

there’s much to life we need attend.

How hard it is to see you go,

but there is one thing you should know—

  I’m sure one day we’ll meet again

    so this is not ‘good-bye,’ my friend

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

The Polish side of my family never said good-bye when leaving a gathering, but rather "dopóki się znowu nie spotkamy" i.e.: "until we meet again…" We don't know what will happen on any given day, but we hold onto the hope that no matter what, we will all meet again. This is for  one of my classmates. We were not close in school, but we reconnected on FB and then at class reunion in June. A heart attack took him suddenly on Saturday, August 23rd. For Tom..."until we meet again."

What Goes Around…

Image: H. Kopp-Delaney

There is no going “gently” into the night

regardless what you think, maybe in spite;

first comes the loss of all you had and who you are—

favorite treasures, then the home, and then your car.

This role-reversal somehow doesn’t seem quite right—

grown children argue with frustration through the night.

Undecided what to do now that you’re ‘old,’

yet all agree you won’t be left out in the cold.

They understand the care you need is specialized:

your memory’s fading; so’s your hearing and your eyes.

On top of that you can’t get out of bed at night;

the list of meds you take is too long to recite.

In-fighting really is the saddest thing to see

to observe when adult-children disagree

through selfish needs they’re losing track of parent’s plight;

they forget their turn will come to "face the night."

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Inspired by two adult-children of a nonagenarian I know. Neither wants to step up and be in charge of parent's mail, so they left a basket in parent's room for whomever decides to go through first.

A little exercise to put aging into perspective:

Write down 10 things that really mean something to you: 

i.e. spouse, children, grandkids, pets, traveling, reading, writing, movies, etc. Whatever you feel is important to you.

Now take away two. Okay, not bad right, two you can live without, right?

Now take away three. Getting harder isn't it? What's left--spouse, children, grandkids family friends?

Now take away three more. Getting even tougher isn't it?

Left with two, pick one more to lose, leaving one. This is really tough when choosing between two that you really love. I had to "choose" between husband and son. How do you do that?!!

This really hit home with me on what happens as we age and lose everything we love, everything that we were. Thought I'd share and leave you with some food for thought too.

Faded Leaves

As leaves fade yellow, cracked and worn,

cast on the wind, a seedling borne;

inside small kernel, thought takes flight—

though none may know where it will light.

Like buds anew, lie words unborn…

still fresh and green; unused, unworn;

and as with thaw when sap flows clear,

ideas on paper now appear.

From simple seed that has escaped

its only goal: to find true shape;

these new leaves spring—not cracked or worn,

just searching for their destined form.

Like seedling grows into a tree,

some verses bloom as poetry;

in well-read book where words adorn

the leaves fade yellow, cracked and worn.

© Ginny Brannan January 2014

Inspired by "Under the Canopy" with Bjorn at d'Verse, which I came up too late on due to work! Mixing my metaphors for a bit of writing on "leaves."

Sharing at dVerse Open Link Night Week #129.  Come see what others are sharing! 

Deja Vu

Deja Vu

The mansion looms with windows black,

old portico barely intact;

while boarded panes enhance the gloom

to amplify the sense of doom.

On dead end street we follow track,

‘round ancient home with windows black,

and creeping through a splintered door

we sense that we’ve been here before.

We tiptoe down the creaking halls

our shadows race along the walls,

in austere home with windows black,

till bloody mallet flails attack.

As once the threshold’s crossed, it seems

this house imbeds you in its dreams…

there’s no escape, no turning back

from haunted manse with windows black.

Ginny Brannan October 2012

Written for FB Kindle Obsessed 10/14/12

A haunted tale for the Kindle Obsessed FB site contest, a short story to go with a picture prompt. I wrote this, only to learn I'd jumped the gun, that they were looking for an actual "Short Story" of 2500 - 7500 words. Ooops!! Here's the link to their site for any short story writers interested:
http://www.kindleobsessed.com/uncategorized/short-story-spooktacular-contest/

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #67. 'Tis the Season!!

'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.

Behind the Mask

He hides behind the perfect guise,

obscures the truth with well-masked lies

so audience will never know

assume its all part of the show.

Immersed in jagged compromise,

he hides behind the perfect guise,

and wields his pride like two-edged blade

while sinking deeper in charade.

Sequestered in this circus tent

and contemplating life misspent,

he hides behind the perfect guise --

within some rings there is no prize.

Well-camoflauged by painted smile,

he swallows back the bitter bile;

and even friends don’t realize ...

he hides behind the perfect guise.

© Ginny Brannan  May 2012

Image: The Circus with the Yellow Clown, 1967, Marc Chagall

Written for The Mag #118  (Magpie Tales), image provided by Tess Kincaid. She provides the image, we provide the story!

Edward Remembered

Calverton National Cemetary, Long Island, NY

He sleeps among the rows of stone

where grass grows thick, and flags are flown;

can hear the rustle of the leaves

as sweet salt air blows through the trees.

Remembered for each kindness shown,

he sleeps among the rows of stone.

Quietness and slight of stature,

camouflaged unselfish nature.

A navy man who did his tour,

he screamed the nightmares of that war.

He sleeps among the rows of stone

the horrors lived remain unknown.

Childhood sweetheart, wartime bride

now lies resting by his side.

Mated in life, in death atone;

he sleeps among the rows of stone.

©  Ginny Brannan November 2011
*In loving memory of my dear father-in-law, Edward Brannan, and his loving wife Elizabeth of almost 50 years.

Image provided:Magpie Tales

Written for and shared at Magpie Tales #90: they provide the photo (bottom) we provide the story.
Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #19 11/10/11  

*using word 'atone' as 'to be reconciled.' According to dictionary, it is considered archaic or obsolete in this usage, but I thought it worked with the feel of the poem, so I used it anyway.

Edward Remembered... by gbrannan

Unraveled

Soft-woven scarf upon her head

a  rock-strewn ground on which to tread.

Observances at last complete,

escape to 'Playland' for retreat--

Employee states that guest must ‘shed’

the woven scarf upon her head;

“We have firm rules for safety’s sake;

that park cannot defer or break.”

Who knew this statement would incite

as scuffle breaks into a fight

from woven scarf upon her head

and regulation left unsaid.

Did Muslim clothing segregate

incite inert religious hate,

unravel First Amendment’s thread,

by woven scarf upon her head?

©  Ginny Brannan  September 2011

In the news,  August 31, 2010:  http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2011/08/31/2011-08-31_muslims_cops_scuffle_at_rye_playland_over_amusement_parks_head_scarf_ban.html

Photo from article, NY Daily News online

*

Shared at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #9