Where the Demons Hide

 

You may think that I’ve forgotten

the petty insults and the hate,

the way you’d whisper and berate

with words that cut and left a scar.

And though I don’t dwell in the past

I still remember who you are.

Time passes and things aren’t the same.

I wonder if you even knew

how much those taunts inflicted pain

and who I see when I see you.

We grow older, life moves on...

Do you remember us as friends?

I try to view who you are now

and not the person you were then,

but not all pain can be erased

still waiting for these scars to fade

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Sing It Loud!

 

I’ve always been the quiet one, the observer,

happy to bury my voice in the crowd;

not wanting to draw too much attention

not daring to express myself out loud.

Not brave to speak of my actual feelings

content to let all others shine,

I took to heart your “Don’t make waves”

till everything I said was filtered

ever with that thought in mind.

But comes a time when voices matter

no matter how off-tune we sing

it’s not the quality of sound

but the honesty of which we bring

So shout out from the highest rooftops

make your voice heard in that crowd

even if we don’t sing well

we can do our best to sing it “loud.”

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Image from Google Images. Multiple sources listed, unable to pin down to give credit to just one.

 

Self Portrait

 

I tend to self-depreciate 

a lot more than I should.

Growing up the fodder

for other people’s laughter            

you can either self-destruct

or learn that you are no one's punch-line.

I chose the latter.

Behind every wink or smile

sits a childhood memory,

when confidence and self-esteem 

were not my strongest suits.

I still balance on that fine edge

of what others think of me

while knowing then I’m so much more

than what they may perceive...

ever-mindful of my life

  and all I have achieved

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

 

Day 14 Writers.com prompt to write a portrait of one's self.

Unfinished

 

"

I think ageing is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person you always should've been." --David Bowie

 

Forward, ever forward

we wander through time

seconds, minutes, hours,

days. weeks, months, years,

wearing remnants of our past.

There’s no backtracking

and I won’t be pigeon-holed

by those who think they know me.

I know who I am

 and all that you don’t see.

There’s fire in my heart

   passion my soul;

I won’t be diminished.

I’m still a work in progress

—just call me unfinished

 

© Ginny Brannan

Day 7 From Good Universe Niext Door: Write a poem about learning to love yourself. It can be aspirational (what it would be like), or it can capture where you are right now in your self-love journey. 

Image: Head of a Woman; unfinished by Salvador Dali

Half Empty/Half Full

 

On those days when the glass is showing half empty

when all those around you are pulling you down–

and your troubles weigh heavy, you feel yourself sinking

then the current grabs hold and you’re sure you will drown.

So you wave the white flag, but nobody sees it

and you cry out for help but you can’t make a sound,

you’re spinning your wheels without any traction–

you’re treading in place and just can’t get things done.

The harder you’re working, the less you accomplish

and there’s always an order, another demand—

who gets the first dibs when there’s so much to do

whichever you choose is apt to be wrong;

and you’re doing your damndest to try to keep up

as another requestor wants instant response...

On these days when you’re drained and the glass is half empty

try to remember the wolves kept at bay

the demands that you’ve met, and the dragons you slew

that each thing accomplished is one less to do...

take a breath, take a moment, unwind and refuel:

half empty/half full...it’s all in the view.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Letting Go...

 

I know too many strong women

who'd never see it that way;

they sacrifice for others every day

for their jobs, their families, 

but never for themselves.

They would rather die a thousand deaths

than admit that they, too, 

might like looking after.

It’s a hard lesson to learn—

to stop, to step away, to regroup;

to remember that NO is an answer, too.

Our insecurities haunt us…

Yet, it’s only when we give up the idea

 that we can control everything,

 that we can do everything,

 that we finally find peace.

 

We’ve been beating ourselves up for far too long…

         Isn’t it time to just let go?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

In the Rough

 

Would that you knew me

who I actually am, and

not some misguided notion

of who you perceive me to be…

Would that you knew

the inner workings of my mind,

all the cuts and mars that line my soul.

Would you find me intriguing

…or just a fool in kind?

         I’d like to believe the years 

have polished this once rough stone,

smoothed its edges, honed its patina—

I think I’ve come into my own.

We grow from the light that shines upon us

we change to become who we need to be

and what we endure either reforms or break us

we can rise from the depths, or drown in the sea.

The scars that we carry do not define us

our passions, our fury, comes from within;

and each hit we take that is meant to collapse us

invokes reason to stand in defiance again.

 I’ve seen what you’re made of, the darkness you carry

but also the light you have hidden inside

and accept you’ve been places that I haven’t travelled

through the stories you’ve shared or what you’ve implied.

Would that you knew what I carried inside me,

would you pull back in horror from what you had seen?

Or accept who I am— in whole or in pieces—

knowing full well we are more than we seem

or leave without knowing what lies in the shadows

    and nary a clue to what might have been.

© Ginny Brannan 2021

Makin’ Us ‘Feel’

From the bottom of your heart

and the depth of your soul

rose the voice of the goddess—

words that would echo

crossing genres and generations

with tunes that would move us.

There wasn’t an artist

that wasn’t inspired

because you made us “feel.”

A warrior who kept the faith

not just another link in the chain—

you taught us to demand r.e.s.p.e.c.t.
always; whenever, wherever it was due.

You, yes YOU, you made us “feel”

your words, your voice, your soul;

you blew away the mold

your music made us whole.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Honoring Aretha whose music spanned my generation
bringing rhythm and soul to our lives.

Inspired by and paraphrased from her words and music:
R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Natural Woman

I Knew You Were Waiting for Me

Chain of Fools

A Matter of Trust…

Children should be seen and not heard.

Trust those who love you.

Age = knowledge and experience.

Always respect your elders.

          

                * * * * * * * * * *

So many lessons in our youth

are learned and re-learned early on

the main one is “You’re just a child,

who speaks in stories and half-truths

no time to listen, move along…”

           

            But there are evils that are wrong

            a side that others may not see;

            when shared aloud, they won’t believe

            cannot handle,  won’t respond…

            until you think you’ve misconstrued.

While lost in youthful fantasy

a grandpa breaks a sacred bond:

to fondle adolescent girls

who happen to be family—

easy prey; then he absconds…

            And they are left to carry on

            in silence carrying the shame,

            not understanding what he did

            nor quite the way they should respond

            —they shelve away and then move on.

Senility might be blame

at  ninety did you even know?

While decades pass and they retain

the scars you left so long ago,

mistrust of loved ones still ingrained.

     I always thought that I’d outgrow

     the guilt I carry deep inside.

     No, you were not a paragon

     and over time I’ve come come to know

     through all the years that you’ve been gone

     how thoughts of you bring mixed reviews

     ….yet you and I still knew the truth…

   

 ©Ginny Brannan 2016

Written in first person, inspired by a story I recently read, and another story heard long ago.

Some things are never forgotten…

Demons and Angels

Image: Angels Grunge Artwork, Alex Cherry

It’s funny how that early pain

still trickles down through all the years,

to seep into those shadowed spaces.

Who knew how much there still remained

to bleed the heart, invade the soul.

Its funny how the hurt adheres

even if one never mentions

the wounds concealed in hidden places.

It’s hard to talk about past fears

with those who’ll never understand.

In you, there was no condescension.

You listened, bowed, as though in prayer--

then stood and wrapped me in your wings;

(it must have been some odd reflection,

for one can’t see what isn’t there).

We shelve our anger and despair;

raise fast the shields, choose to ignore;

never opting to confide

neglecting life in disrepair

till someone cracks those firm defenses.

Through you, my spirit was restored

the scarring finally reconciled;

my soul redeemed in graced reward.

© Ginny Brannan 2013

*For my co-worker and colleague:

I’d watched the devil from the outside,

you’d faced your demons from the inside;

two different sides of alcoholism.

We are survivors.

This one is a little more personal than most. Our pasts need not define us, and yet they are still a part of us. This is inspired from a lunchtime conversation shared with a coworker, a kindred spirit, sharing stories not often shared. 

Out of the Shell

Image: Egg Island by Djajakarta

floating aimlessly…

a life of non-existence

in an empty shell

hull begins to crack

self-esteem eclipses pain

I emerge, unscathed

finding strength anew

I shed the broken pieces

to learn who I am

© Ginny Brannan April 2012

Written for The Mag #112--they provide the image, we provide the story!
and sharing at 
d'Verse Poets Open Link Night #39  4/10/12

Beautifully Odd/Oddly Beautiful

“She’s rather odd," is what they say,

she’s not the same as you or me;

it seems her thoughts she can’t convey.

"She’s rather odd," is what they say;

with tiny mice she likes to play.

What do those lovely blue eyes see?

"She’s rather odd," is what they say;

she’s not the same as you or me…

©  Ginny Brannan July 2011

Photo: photographer Rosie Hardy

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Form for All~Triolet 3/9/12. 

Choices

Delicate or strong

lovely, ugly...each must choose,

which will we become?

© Copyright Ginny Brannan May 2011

Dragonfly Photo courtesy of Charlie Parant: 

http://appetiteforphotos.blogspot.com/

Used with express written permission 
Shared One Stop Poetry One Shot Wednesday Week #48 5/31/2011