Can't See the Tree for the Forest...

 

I used to wonder what would happen

in the realm of never be’s

as I contemplated what we were

I to you, and you to me...

a simple little game I’d play

just to wile the hours away.

Now I listen to the tales you share

and what they might inveigh,

and realize it’s foolish

to play this game I play.

In the forest of each life

there are many trees

it’s difficult to sort them out

once they’ve shed their leaves,

or to know how deep their roots are

by the broken limbs you see.

And I realize it’s grueling
to get back in the game

where everything’s ambiguous

and things are not the same.

And you’re so giddy with the prospect

of finding something new

that you can’t see past the forest

for the tree in front of you.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Endurance Testing

 

nothing around me

nothing about me

nothing within me 

nothing to grasp

what to hold onto

when all else escapes me

nothing’s forthcoming

and nothing will last

I wait for an answer

and look to the heavens

but there is no inkling

to what is the key;

some say it’s God-sent

or comes from within us

my vessel is empty

there’s nothing to see.

there’s no light that shines

at the end of this tunnel

your words have no meaning

they’re just cursory.

alone on this path 

without rhyme or reason

that many have travelled

long before me

There must be some limit

some end to this testing

a way to deter it

some way to insure

that for all that we carry

and all that we’re put through

that we’ll be rewarded

for what we endure

 

© ginny brannan 2024

Held in Stasis

 

I did not forget you, my darling,

I just hit pause for a while,

my self-defined procrastination– 

the inner writer whispered, “sit”

and I surrendered to temptation.

I did not forget you, my sweet,

 but I wrapped myself instead

inside of that creative fog, resetting 

from the week that’s passed, 

regrouping for the week ahead.

I did not forget you, my love,

nor all the years we spent

and what you meant to me.

You’re still in every breath I take

nothing was in vain.

I carry your heart inside of my own

and so it will remain.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

There is nothing ordinary about April 7^th, but for once it didn’t hit me with the usual sense of anxiety and dread; no painful moments running like a loop in my head. And while I don’t believe such moments will ever really disappear, for today there was reprieve. Perhaps a gift. He always read me so well!

Caught in a Landslide, No Escape....

 

In the early hours,  where 

reality and fantasy meet as one,  

and imagination has free rein,

I think not of what is, but what could be.

We really aren’t so different, 

we’ve seen more than our share;

and so we  throw up walls 

for our protection.  But I feel them

closing in on me inside this empty tomb

keeping me from any real connection.

And it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten

everything I know,  yet another

reason to forestall; and that the first rule 

of communication is just to say “hello.”

Would it be a start? Or our downfall?
                 ~~~~~~~~~

So in the early morning light I play the “what if” game,

~and wonder of the chances that you have done the same?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

We Don't Talk About It

 

We choose our words so carefully

afraid to give too much away;

deciding just what to reveal

but never saying what we feel.

We dance across each other’s thoughts

while masking our inadequacies

one step forward two steps back,

must rein emotion skillfully.

We always choose the safest route,

to shield ourselves from being broken–

and when we’re unsure who to blame

 just blame it on the words unspoken.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2021

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

No Going Back

Every day holds the potential

to do better than the last

—what’s passed is past.

We do not control all events,

only how we react to them.

Open minds know that greater knowledge

brings better understanding.

Once we understand the effect of painful imagery on others

are we so selfish that we are unwilling correct it?

If we live our lives in a shell and come to believe that 

our world IS the shell, then learn that there 

is a broad expanse of world beyond that shell

how do we pretend that it just doesn’t exist?

Just like we know that the earth is not flat,

  …it’s as simple as that.

Keep an open heart and mind.
Be kind.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

If we are not growing, we are dying. And if we lose our empathy to put ourselves in another's place, then we are nothing. There is no putting the toothpaste back into the tube. To do so would only confirm our ignorance.

Our Lady of the Ashes

I gazed upon the scene, surreal,

  a theater of the absurd,

and wondered deep within this heart

  How could such thing occur?

I watched her cry through stained glass eyes

  as ash and soot rained down,

yet in the nave where fire raged

  the angels stood their ground.

And in the streets the voices rose

  avowed their love for thee,

and from the ash, a spark of hope,

  against such tragedy.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

My heart was heavy watching the scene unfold in Paris on Monday 4/15/19. And yet even as she burned, in the streets Ave Maria could be heard as local Parisians lifted their voices. A spark; a glimmer that she will rise again from the ashes. Besides, we all know that you can't keep a good woman down.

Second Chances

I was the quiet one, the odd one,

the one that you whispered about in the hall...

How many times a day did you walk by me?

How many times a day did you remind me? 

Still, we were friends once, for a minute.

You were the social climber,

busy collecting new friends.

I was the one with no social graces;

never knowing exactly what to say

so never saying anything.

Some hurts are easier to let go of than others,

       and some, not so much...

  

Funny, isn’t it, how time becomes the great equalizer—

It's taught me that we are all less-than-perfect,

that we’ve all been through stuff,

and that it’s okay to let our sleeping pasts lie.

Besides, I'm liking you so much better the second time around!

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Observations from the Peanut Gallery

Guilt breeds…it spreads like disease

in the heart of deflectors and liars

so riddle me this—though I might be remiss:

is the art of the deal to conspire?

What motivates all that anger and hate,

if not guilt, then some darkness within you?

What do you conceal behind each rant and spiel

while background and warrants accrue?

An innocent man would have nothing to hide

and truth comes by way of accounting;

yet with each new conflation there comes revelation

your dubious motives are mounting.

So tell me now, sir, why do you stir up,

if not to deter from the queries?

If repeated enough, do the lies become truth

as you spin your alternative theories?

We’re tired of the hatred, the endless debasing

instigation, denigration, and enmity—

when facts are revealed, and if we should heal,

if we find our way back to some sanity…

will these new truths we learned help us hold firm,

will love conquer anger and bind us

or will some other enemy find us?

© 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

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. 

Trigger Words

Certain words turn us around

or stop us dead within our tracks,

we pick ourselves up of the ground

while trying to comprehend the facts.

We’re products of our own emotions

triggered by our past ordeals

at any moment self-imploding

by the scars that never heal.

The words you shared have struck a nerve

then scattered like a ricochet,

I hold my temper in reserve

my dissonance on full display.

Only so much one can stand

there's hell to pay on reprimand.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Casualties

We were young then,

kids really…unrefined;

awkward, selfish, ignorant, blind—

stumbling along toward destinations unknown

leaving behind a smattering of fractured hearts

on the shard-strewn road to adulthood.

I could blame it on our innocence,

youthful fear or ignorance

but nothing would be gained.

You and I were never meant to be,

just casualties on the pathway to maturity.

Yet, I'm sorry if I caused you pain.

And I, in turn, have not been left unscathed—

and so forgive the ones who’ve done the same.

For you, who from my past I still recall,

amid the many memories eroding

on the convoluted paths from there to here,

that we even crossed at all is worth our noting.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

The Devils That You Know…

I’ve come to understand
the power that bullies have:

how they come to hold their sway.

By their own bravado they entice

those with low self-esteem.

By their swagger and their ego

they collect the like-minded.

With selective inclusion they encourage

the ones with no compass to follow their lead—

for their power lies in the masses,

and fostering their words and ideals in others

puts them ever higher on their own pedestal.

A bully is never wrong, and even if

they are, they’ll never admit it.

They twist the facts to suit their

narrative, in a place where lies reign as truth,

and truth becomes non-existent .

When perception is everything,

they must not be perceived as weak, and

so the elderly, the handicapped, anyone

with physical infirmity or even an ounce

of compassion becomes a free-range target.

When they speak, they speak in constant

repetition, peppering…hammering…

and so the brainwashing begins.

Who doesn’t want to be seen as confident?

Yet,  there is a difference between

being confident or pompously ignorant.

It’s no wonder that those

without a platform of their own

would be attracted to

such a larger-than-life personality,

whether they agree with them

or are just enamored by power and spectacle.

No matter who goes under in their wake

they no longer care, for they are riding high

on the wave of new found popularity.

I’ve known the power that vicious words create

when uttered from the mouth of someone who

thinks only of their standings with their peers

elevating themselves with malevolence and hate.

Self-proclaimed gods filled with delusion.

They forge ahead, while those who follow them

ride along on the coattails of the inept and ignorant,

trading their soul for just momentary illusion.

A bully shines like polished silver in the sun —

a visual trick to attract, a closer look reveals

something more akin to cheap tin.

A bully feeds off anger and resentment

with a dash of fear to retain

anyone who might dissent .

When the tipping point comes,

when the smoke clears and

all those mirrors disappear

the bully will never see he’s losing:

far too smug to admit his grasp has loosened

he’ll denigrate all who jump ship

with lies and insults of his own choosing.

I’ve come to understand the power of bullies

I’ve seen my share come and go—

those with a huge ego and

the words to stir the masses.

Their reign almost always passes

as dawn breaks to reveal the empty soul

of a narrow-minded power-tripper.

A few will have been turned by his reality

to create power trips of their own.

Many will recoil from their actions

and many will just walk away,

but most will scratch their heads in wonder

of how such person could hold sway.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

"...whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." 
   Epistle to Galations, 6:7 King James Version

I have seen my share of bullies...middle school, high school, in work, daily life, politics. Their power is gleaned from the ones that follow, either enthusiastically, or in silence that they never become a target of the bully's vicious attacks.  Karma is a bitch, and she always comes back to haunt them.

Survivor

Invisible,  unseen—

each cut to the bone,

 each sin unatoned.

Faded, yet never gone…

hunting us… haunting us

surfacing like a stain

even when clouds disappear

 and days render clear.

Still, what is to be gained

     by complaining?

Each is dealt a specific hand

—if you are still in the game

     then you’re already winning.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Photo: C. Parant Appetite for Photos Used with Permission.

Sharing at with Hedgewitch over at Verse Escape for Friday 55.