How Did You Know?

 

naive and clueless,
I stumbled upon you

and you? witty, sharp
always the rebel

you cracked the shell

calmed the chaos
the 'yin' to my yang

bonded, yet alone,
we move forward

 …still (and always) becoming

© GB 2026

My attempt at minimalistic poetry. It may be too minimal, too vague, but again, that's the point. There is a story in this that comes full circle, timeline condensed. If you know, you know. With gratitude.

For Me, Alone

There is a song that I can hear

the words have faded, not as clear

as in my youth, yet there’s a truth,

    and I am listening.

 

I remember when we called it ours

our stories written in each line

as I awaken with the dawn

they disappear, until they're gone

 

An empty heart looks for release

inside the memories it cleaves

as it searches for reprive,  

without goodbye, without reply

 

A writer cannot write a song

nor can they fill an empty page

unless they’ve walked the broken path 

where nothing’s left, and nothing lasts

 

I float inside this empty space

in no specific time or place

and I'm still searching for the song

the tune that's meant for me, alone

     and I am listening

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

 

IF I only had a ....

 

 

…And now I am the ‘Tin Man’

a rusting carapace of my former self

        seeking redemption

through a love that eludes me

  as time ticks ever forward  

        inside the hollows

        of this empty shell.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

**Image borrowed from and full credit given to the artwork of Greg Hildebrandt. He and his twin brother, Tim,  are well-known artists in the fantasy art world, . Their illustrations have illuminated The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Favorite Fairy Tales, and the original Star Wars poster, to name a sampling of their work.  

Looking Through You

 

 

“

I’m looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know

You don't look different, but you have changed
I'm looking through you
You're not the same”

      Lyrics “I’m Looking Through You” The Beatles

 

We all change;

we adapt to face challenges,

we encase ourselves in a shell 

shielding from outside forces

that conspire to break us…

 

It doesn’t matter who we are

how much time passes

or how we’ve struggled

to stay on our feet.

It doesn’t matter how hard we’ve worked

the sacrifices we’ve made

there is always someone waiting

to step on our words,

to break our wings

to crush our spirit
to eviscerate our existence.

 

You think you know me because you knew me back when

   … but you only saw what I showed you.

There are but few who've really known me

who’ve seen all of my scars 

and know the crux of my soul…

who can sense my moods by my inflection,

understanding that what I don’t say 

is just as important as what I do.

There is an intimacy to such a relationship,

a trust given and received when we allow

someone to hold our beating heart in their hands.

And while I share moments, glimpses of my life each day

I still keep my shell, lest I give too much away.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2021

But Only If

 

It grows like a cancer 

the darkness keeps spreading

meme by meme, 

thread by thread—

infecting the masses

impeding their values

while passing appraisals

through lies they’ve been fed.

The commandment was given

to love one another

the words of the Prophet

by which we atone.

He walked with the sinners

He spoke to the masses

He never passed judgment

this rage and resentment

  He’d never condone.

There are no exceptions

no hidden clauses

no “just if you’re white

or not gay or not trans”

How narrow the mind

of the self-righteous critic

who swallows in ignorance

what he won’t understand?

Are we being tested

to show our true colors?

I carry a rainbow

your choice is your own.

And I will remember

the voice of the Prophet

whose words and example

become my touchstone.

© Ginny Brannan 2021

 

Some things are not a choice, we are who we are.  Acceptance is a gift that we can give to others, that we receive from others. May we all be accepted and loved.

*Matthew 22:36-40, John 13:34

Best Foot Forward

For some it appears to be effortless

like breathing or blinking your eyes—

the words just form and fall into place…

–yet others, like me, still search nonetheless

to extricate perfect expression.

Devices and adages paint a disguise

where only the baptized might see,

the truth that is masked inside of our lies,

and whether each story is real or contrived,

in pursuit of our own evolution.

Did we rely, perhaps too heavily,

on abstract ideas or deflection?

Could you decipher the writer’s approach?

Did language and narrative flow fluently,

or did storyline lose its intention?

It really depends on the reader’s perception

just how they interpret the words,

and if they can feel what you’ve tried to reveal

and if so, give some vindication,

in this ultimate quest for redemption.

A writer shares stories with hope they’ll be heard,

that others will find a connection…

in each poem that’s shared,  there’s a piece of our truth,

and a glimpse of the pathways that we have incurred

in each word, a new revelation

on this journey to find our salvation.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

NaPoWriMo #28 I was shooting for 30, but this is a long one so maybe it counts for more! That's my story and I'm stickin' to it!!

Found Along the Way

We were young then, oh, so young;

teens on the cusp of adulthood.

Did you even have an inkling that 

your acceptance would bind us for life?

Indelible moments accrued over time,

memories circumscribed by love

...I was the girl who came to dinner

   and never left.

Siblings by circumstance,

family by choice...

I would not be who I am, without you.

 © 2020

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 10

April 10^th is National Sibling Day

I am an only child blessed by 4 sisters and a brother who allowed me to "stay." Forever grateful that fate intervened all those years ago.

Murder, Mayhem and the Like

Like a storm, the cloud arises

cast against the fading sky;

voices cackling in the distance

others scream back in reply…

The setting sun calls to the darkness

the answer swift on blackened wing—

while some may write of birds returning.

or rites of nature in the spring—

other folks seek out the dark tales

that speak both strength and suffering…

Stories passed down through the ages,

survivors’ tales of battles fought;

tales of anger and of sorrow

behind the guise that time has wrought.

Inside this gathering of the crows

we'd seek the knowledge they’d bestow,

shared with us on this nocturne

they cite for us this lesson learned:

 To find your way back to the light

   first you must confront the night

© Ginny Brannan

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 5

On the NaPoWriMo site, their pre-NaPoWriMo prompt was to write something about birds. I have been pecking away at this one for a few days, pun intended, but it has been ruminating inside for  over a month since seeing large flocks of crows in the trees at dusk around the Medical Center where husband was undergoing surgery. I've since learned that these migrating flocks return to Massachusetts yearly, usually in late February - early March, mostly on the eastern side of the state near Lawrence but apparently we are also seeing them now in the Pioneer Valley. The sheer number of them was amazing, and my darker, Edgar Allan Poe side, has always been fascinated by these birds.

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

Halo

Her indomitable spirit glows:

a beacon, a halo, emanating

between the broken pieces

the cracks and scars; the surface mars

from every trip, every slip,

every storm that’s threatened

to bring her down and drown her.

She is a survivor, not despite the odds,

but to spite them.

Fist first, she stands, again commands:

“I’m still here, you bastards,  

   “I’m still here.”

Living testament that it’s not about the fall,

but how many times she's stood;

how many times she's spit in the devil’s eye

and said:

   Nope, not today—

            …today is MINE!

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image: Sculpture by Paige Bradley "Expansion, Third Life"

Inspired by two people that I know and greatly admire. That which would probably break the rest of us has allowed them to expand, to grow, to become stronger versions of themselves, and we are the better for having them with us. 

Anam Cara

Google Image: The Dark Hedges, Northern Ireland

You’ve always had my back

understanding exactly who I am.

We see past the other's faults

in a friendship not defined by love

but by something deeper:

I see your heart;

I know your soul.

You listen without judgement.

You have lifted me from the depths

and carried me over the abyss.

To say “thank you’ would not be enough

Know that you are part of me,

my Anam Cara

my soul friend.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Resurrection

The sun did not to rise on Easter morning—

it chose instead to hide in the shadows

and slip through clouded passages,

the wait of humanity resting on its shoulders.

Stuck in this twilight world

we search for a balance

where none seems to exist.

Our hope rests on the horizon line

where a thin crack in the veneer,

a small yet widening gap in the atmosphere

promises salvation.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image by G. Brannan

Still Searching for Answers

I have lifted my eyes to the heavens to pray

trying to renew the faith I once felt;

coming to find at the end of the day

that life as I know it is centered on doubt.

How can a God sanction such anger and hate,

the loss of a parent to such a young child;

the illness and pain that never abates…

too many questions left unreconciled.

We thank God for all of the good things that come,

but who takes the blame for the unanswered prayer?

Time intercedes until we become numb—

stuck in this place between hope and despair.

I believe there are angels who wander among us:

in the friend who just senses when you need to talk;

in the kindness of strangers when we are in crisis,

who lift and support us when we cannot walk.

Life lessons learned have hardened this heart;

still God bless the ones who can truly believe.

Blind faith without proof is really an art;

it’s in love and kindness I’ll find my reprieve.

 

Still I ponder the words that we heard in our youth:

to pray, to have faith that our voice will heard;

but have come to acknowledge this as my truth—

my divinity’s found helping those here on earth.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

“God helps those who help themselves.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

 origin: 409 BC  Sophocles (before Christianity) from Wikipedia:

— “No good ever comes of leisure purposeless, and heaven ne’er helps men who will not act.”

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!!

Playing for the Win

Image: Wikipedia, Snakes and Ladders

I’ve never been good at playing games—

I can’t bluff to save my life

all that I feel is written across my face,

so cards are out.

And chess would not be my forte;

I barely have the ability to see one move ahead

much less twelve to the win.

Monopoly, like poker, and chess,

requires certain skills,

none of which I possess.

No, my life is more like Snakes and Ladders

a mix of skill and chance, good and bad

of climbing and slipping back again

How many times have I ended up where I’ve begun

—falling back to square one?

I can only hope when the game is complete

that the virtues will outweigh the sins

and I will find the salvation that awaits

those who persist.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

To learn more about this fascinating game, a pretty good reflection on life itself, check it out at Wikipedia.

Just Another Day

We waken in the darkness before dawn,

to psych ourselves before we face the fray

as day arrives, another night absconds.

While trapped inside of routines that are rote,

how quickly now the time just slips away

while we’re left struggling, trying to keep afloat.

Still, as the sun slips mountains to the west,

and to the moon and stars now cedes the day,

I breathe the stillness, gratitude professed.

© Ginny Brannan 2017 

The Nocturna is basically a nine line poetry form based on the nocturne (night) theme containing three, three-line lessons recited during the night. The subject must be nocturnal and it consists of three couplets linked by the rhyme of the centre line;  a. b. a. c. b. c. d. b. d. Not sure that I got it right, but there's a first time for everything!