At What Price?

 

Can you feel the thunder

as it echoes through the valley?

Did you see the sky flash

from the latest storm?

Can you sense the danger

sneaking up beside you?

Just another shooter 

bent on doing harm.

 

Did you feel the shudder

from the latest volley?

Did you hear the screams,

see how the children ran?

Did the guards rush on in,

did they dare to face the bullets,

to stand between the unarmed

and the angry gunman?

 

Once more we hear the thunder

as it echoes through the valley

we watch another shooter

cut short a dozen lives–

See how the owners lobby

for their right to carry...

How many of our children

will have to pay the price?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Vultures

 

To be scrutinized for what we say

—was what was said what we intended?

And was it really conscious choice,

or just something you invented?

It’s strange, those ready to believe

the worst in one who gives their best.

Perhaps this life is just a test.

And if a test, I doubt we’ll pass.

When our judgment comes at last 

and we sit before the throne

will we be judged by who we are

and all the good that we intoned?

Or by misspoken word or line

that followed us through space and time

as vultures that we’ve never met

sit inside their cozy homes

and through their window screens attempt

to cast their multitude of stones

and shatter lives they’ve never known.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Good Trouble

 

 

Is it the songs of the ancients, the words of the prophets

the echoes of angels that sound in our heads?

Or perhaps it’s a whisper, the tone of our own voice

the cry of our own thoughts that we hear instead.

Yet where does it rise from, this new intonation

as we meditate on just how far we’ve come:

the escape from repression, affirmation of valor

a reclamation of spirit; what we’ve overcome.

Unless you’ve known pain, then peace has no meaning.

Without all the trials, there’s no victory.

We open this page to newfound validation;

and thus reaffirming, we’ll write history.

 

A song or a whisper, change begins slowly,

we are the builders, we carry the stones.

We rise from the ashes, creating new bridges:

with faith and forbearance, unrattled persistence,

and righteous resistance, we’re never alone.

  

© Ginny Brannan 2021

Who Watches the Watchers

Who watches the watchers who watch from afar?

Who polices the ones who are near?

Who upholds the law while the lawmakers sleep?

Who’s guarding the door that’s ajar?

How can a president dictate the rules

to favor just folks like himself–

ignoring the congress, while senate bows down

and taking the country for fools?

We sit and observe trying to follow what’s right

but the playbook is torn and redacted,

Tell me are we to wait while the circus debates,

while democracy falls in our sight?

Could be that this plan was in place all along

to take down our walls from within;

to weaken our ties with false alibis

while denying there’s anything wrong.

The eunuchs in senate are silent at best

and at worse they are part of his scheming

to break down the law, to flail us till raw,

right now this is more than a test.

We need to address this before it’s too late

not wait as more laws are unwritten,

call a lie for a lie, stop the denial

stop debating as he spews his hatred.

Who watches the watchers who watch from within

aren’t there laws put in place for this reason?

Let’s call out the liar, just stop the denial...

The infraction?  Why, that would be ‘treason.’

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Before the Fall...

I remember the warmth of an April morn…

the songbirds singing before the dawn,

the mourning dove with her call forlorn;

the gathering clouds before the storm.

I still feel the sway of a summer breeze…

the breath of God blowing through the trees;

the sound of His whisper inside the leaves

and come the evening, a cool reprieve.

Can still smell the scent of an autumn day

the dry fallen leaves turning to decay

with deep earthen smells of soil and clay

and nature’s full pallet on display.

Last to arrive came the ice and snow,

the garden, now frozen, down below

wood smoke arising from fire’s glow

the world spread before us in white tableau.

I still remember all of these things:

how far we’d come before the fall,

so little of that time remains…

 We never really had a plan.

Now dust storms howl over barren plains

while all things precious turn to rust—

so too, this world returns to dust…

 thus dies the golden age of man.

© 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

Testament

Why should we believe her?

We never met her, we don’t know her

but somewhere in our lives we knew someone—

a friend, a classmate, a cousin

who experienced something:

rape, molestation, abuse—

at the hands of someone they knew

  or perhaps just met;

Someone they trusted,

or didn’t know well enough yet to trust.

A classmate, a friend, a familiar adult—

someone who took “no” as “yes”

took advantage of the situation

of their youth, their naïveté,

the fact that they were alone

   if only for a moment.

Perhaps they were drinking … perhaps not.

Whatever happened, whenever it happened

does not diminish the fact that it did happen;

   that it wasn’t asked for,

   that it wasn’t wanted.

Boys will be boys? 

How many men do you know

who would force a woman against their will?

Would you? Seriously, would you??

I believe her.

I have no doubt she remembers

          ...because I do
             I remember. 

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Legacy

What was it that you did that caused

so many to be so angry…

was it the color of your skin,

or that you were educated, well spoken

rose to a position that they couldn’t fathom

because they were so color-blind?

With an impeccable record, devotion to wife and family,

class, faith, dedication, selfless love of country

you were everything they were not.

They hated that you were unimpeachable.

They thwarted you at every turn,

resorting to epithets and insults.

Maybe it was your easy manner, your ready smile,

your rapport with others

your unwavering sincerity,

and the ability to see through lies,

identifying those who’d try

to pass something by you.

Your one fault: your faith in humanity;

your belief that even those who disagreed 

would finally see, would come around

to recognize the end results, 

this legacy that you would leave…

but they couldn’t get over the anger they felt

or the color, the color, the color of your skin;

discrimination by any other name is still the same.                  

The ugly green-eyed monster embarks on his campaign

using fear and ignorance to build up his own gain.

his constant rants become a chant, the anger his achievement

at every turn he’d watch you burn while citing disagreement.

Yet history will long denote the ones who gave their best

who knew the laurels of the past are not a place to rest;

the ones who shored democracy; unselfishly they stood,

the ones who had integrity, who worked for greater good…

no matter who comes after, their legacy remains

known not just for who they were, but the leader they became.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image credit: Stencil by Stencilstarter JB at DeviantArt

Stirring the Pot...

It’s not about disrespect

the ‘one-knee’ genuflect

that drives the politicians insane.

It’s not about the veterans

who’ve fought in any war

or those who haven't

  —for that matter.

It’s not about the flag

or what it stands for:

in case you’ve forgotten

it stands for all of us—

we are all created "equal,"

and have “certain inalienable rights”

nowhere does it specify these 'colors'

   belong to only the ‘white.’

Stereotypes abound, they’ve been around

for decades. Gang culture permeates society

insults our integrity, so when a celebrity

takes a knee he is being too “gangsta.”

They’ll tell you it’s about race, that

  “He’s dissing the flag…

   he’s dissing the country…

   he’s dissing the veterans…

   Let’s put him in his place.”

   It don’t matter the reason

   because him and his kind

   deserve to be punished;

   we’ll spread the word

   to endorse “open season”

Why can’t they just see this is where it began

‘See no evil,  hear no evil…

  don’t want to know.”

And if we don’t listen

and we turn a blind eye

we’re basically saying we “don’t give a damn”

—condoning the violence no matter the man.

This blindness is spreading

it turns to disease; 

fueling deeper myopic tendencies.

It waits in the wings

like some kind of vulture

to pick the raw scabs

of our struggling culture.

No, it’s not about the flag, nor the vets nor the wars

nor the country we live in and love to the core

it’s about equal treatment under the law

and freedom to express one’s dissatisfaction

when our leaders are guilty of not taking action

for this huge demographic they choose to ignore.

The media blows this thing out of the water

the president perpetuates to sow more discord

No, it’s not about the flag or being unpatriotic

this constant barrage from this would-be warlord;

it is about trolling and controlling the masses

and stirring the derision as it fits his accord

distracting from the bigotry, the social injustice

the prejudice and animus that’s being ignored.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

I grew up in small town VT in the '60's where we watched the race riots on TV. It wasn't until I was 10 or 12 and visiting my cousin in the bigger city, that I personally saw the ignorance and animus that some felt toward others because of skin color or cultural differences. You'd think by now, 50 years later, we'd have grown past such blatant bigotry, but this "take a knee" movement has revealed what apparently has been lying just below the surface all along. I may never understand what it is like to be profiled and discriminated against because of the color of my skin, but I believe that we all deserve "equal treatment under the law,' and that our leaders should be focusing more on understanding the reasons behind the movement rather than stirring the pot with their selective ignorance, personal opinion, and inflammatory commentary.

Shoring Up Liberty

Havoc reeks against these shores—

so many want to tear us down,

to break our spirit, see us drown.

But freedom screams within our hearts,

her spark still burns deep in our soul

to lift us up and make us whole..

© Ginny Brannan 2018

MLK's Legacy

Intent to make change
you took your dream to the streets
fighting hate with love

We still remember
a man of infinite hope,
whose legacy lives on

© Ginny Brannan 2018

In honor of the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King's death.

Safe Haven

Times were so much simpler then

the world so big and far away,

future bright and full of promise—

had our family, had our friends

no worries to get in the way.

But as we grew, our differences

rose more pronounced with each new day,

yet our core values still remained

beneath it all, the emphasis:

no matter what, we’d be okay.

Perhaps it is naïveté

to think that things could stay the same…

nestled safe in our cocoons

where outside world was kept at bay,

and innocents were not consumed.

But life, we learned, is not a game—

the moral values we once claimed

no longer deemed necessity;

coping skills, so long ingrained,

now lost inside complacency.

The darkness spreads now unconstrained,

our safety net has long been torn.

We can’t go back to where we were

but can’t continue in this vein

where daily shootings are the norm.

As NRA renews platform;

quotes amendments, seals their base,

how do we protect our children?

No safe haven from this maelstrom

so those “paid off” will not lose face.

Comes a time to stop discussing

before another school’s laid waste

words are nothing without change

until then there is no trusting.

Don’t forget now, we are watching

when vote comes you’ll be replaced.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Another day, another school shooting. Thoughts and prayers, or voices and change. You decide. 

My love goes out to all the mothers, fathers, families and friends in Parkland who have had their hearts ripped out in this horrible massacre.

Carrying the Torch

We are the tired, the poor

at one time elevated

now we’re denigrated;

we watch the “disillusionist”

slam our front door.

Where are the promises

that called to our elders

who risked life and limb

to come to this shore?

Who raised up their families

despite any hardship,

now find they are ‘pink-slipped’

and welcome no more.

We need to get back to the basics once promised

we need to return to the truth at our core

where hard work’s rewarded

where cheating is thwarted

where bullshit and liars are shunned and ignored

She stands in the harbor, where some call her ‘Lady’

yet others are known to have called her a “whore”

this symbol of “Liberty“ who welcomes the masses,

this emblem of all who have come here before.

Hold high your lamp, oh, Symbol of Freedom!

Call out the losers, and those who’d abhor…

Remind them our strength is not just in numbers

but in our allegiance for all we stand for!

Remind us stand tall, and help the afflicted

ravaged by hunger, by thirst, or by war.

Help us remember that we are their beacons;

and that trust only comes when you build a rapport.

Just like all families, sometimes we bicker,

yet when push comes to shove we are hard to ignore;

for we’re so much better when we stand together

diverse but united, our country endures.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Our "Thanksgiving" Family

We come together each November—and occasionally between— a group of transplants who have found themselves away from the families and places we were raised who have landed together in this small New England town. Some of us have known each other for decades, others not so long. Some have children close in age that go to school together, others are extended family. We are bound by similar values, work ethics, our love of family, and the friendship that we share.

We are college professors, career military, civil servants, healthcare workers, moms, dads, grandparents, children, grandchildren, and friends. We have come from places near and far: from Texas and Oklahoma, New York, and Vermont, a U.S. territory, and a country to our south.  We have crossed state lines, borders, and oceans to arrive here. We are an eclectic mix—Polish and Italian, Irish, Scots, and Scandinavian, Mexican and Puerto Rican, whose families settled here in this country for reasons as diverse as we are—to escape fascism and oppression, to educate and further themselves, to integrate and become a part of this great melting pot called the United Sates; where dreams are possible, differences welcomed, hard work rewarded, and there is freedom to grow and become whomever one believes they can be.

We all bring something different to the table, both literally: turkey with all the fixings, pernil, yellow rice and beans, tamales, Jamoncillo de Leche, pumpkin and apple pies and other deserts; and idealistically with different viewpoints and traditions. The diversity of our backgrounds may have shaped us, but it is our commonalities that bind us; and our mutual respect, fondness and love for each other that makes us family.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Para

La familia de Madera

La familia Pérez

La familia Natella
The Muse Family

Y todos los de mi familia el Día de Acción de Gracias

Con cariño y agradecimiento

(Think about it: we are all from "someplace else," we are all 'immigrants.' Even the indigenous people, the “Native Americans,” crossed by a land bridge that existed between Siberia and Alaska long before the first Europeans “discovered” this country.)

Where Have All the 'White Hats" Gone?

What happened to all the heroes of old?

The ones that wore white hats ‘n rode

straight into the fray. Strong and bold,

they walked with swagger, spoke their mind,

lived life with conviction. You would find

they didn’t spew words for the sake of spewin’

nor pump themselves up to be more than they were.

They knew right from wrong; quiet and strong…yet

when push came to shove, they would stand and defend

the helpless, defenseless; both stranger and friend.

Where have all the ‘white hats’ gone?

At the end of the day the world has turned gray.

We’ve misplaced ability to ride tall it seems,

caught in a darkness that destroys all our dreams.

As once true grit spins its downward spiral

we curry resolve for our own survival.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

L'Objet d'Heart

Art:Keith Haring/Photographer Unknown

To judge or be judged?

it’s not important whom we love,

just that we love

© Ginny Brannan 2013

Written for Magpie Tales #232, image provided by Tess Kincaid. 

Come read what others are writing!

The Peacemakers

A child in the ‘sixties

the Civil Rights movement,

the March on Birmingham

were but excerpts on the evening news…

things I didn’t really understand.

Now that I’m older, I’ve come to learn

of the peacemakers,

the innovators of change—

Martin Luther King,

Rosa Parks,

and eight thousand miles and half a world away—

Nelson Mandela.

They called on us to rise 

above learned hate and discrimination.

We are better people because of them.

May we never forget…

© Ginny Brannan 2013
**Image: Google Images, Mandela quotes.

How Much More?

The devil danced in broad daylight

as angels bore the innocents--

for only Satan could take glee

in such a senseless tragedy.

The wailing echoes through the night,

yet there will be no recompense;

no words that stave collective pain

nor set the broken right again.

Borne in our hearts, the sound, the sight

of these unspeakable events:

a gaping hole that can’t be filled.,

an aching heart that won’t be stilled.

For “Right to Bear” now see the cost--

how many babies must be lost?

© Ginny Brannan December 2012

Just a note: I have many responsible hunters and sportsmen among  my family and friends. I respect them and do not condemn gun ownership in general. However, in my personal opinion, I feel there is a need to limit automatic weaponry. These weapons were made for hunting people. Our forefathers did not foresee these weapons when they wrote the laws. I've heard the arguments, both pro and con. Yet when events like this happen, and become more commonplace as time goes on, something needs to change.

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night Week #75