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

"Testing, Testing...One, Two, Three"

 

Hope lies between the lines

of dreams and of unanswered prayer

as we, mere mortals, search to find

peace from pain we've buried there.

               *  *  *  *  *

Believe in the power if you choose

that parts the seas and turns the tides

Could such entreaty be refused;

a whispered word of urgency

from the place where love resides?

 

When all else fails we’re left to conjure

hope beyond all hope to cure

the ills from which there’s no returning;

I watched you fade into thin air...

you wonder why faith disappears?

 

How many prayers have you seen answered?

How many hearts are left to bear

the pain of loss despite “believing”

that there’s a God that truly cares

while undeserving loved ones leave us

    lost in our unanswered prayer.

                  *  *  *  *  *

“No” has always been the answer,

reprieve short lived; the end’s the same.

We look to pin the fault on someone,

but really there’s no one to blame.

Miracles are not forthcoming

we bear our loss as best we can

our questions gather dust, unanswered

derived from pitting God to man.

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Image: Photographer C. Parant, Appetite for Photos. Used with espressed written permission.

Choices

 

I was raised a good girl, to toe the church’s line

with a God who sat in judgment, who read our hearts and minds;

who sent His son to guide us, to show a better way:

leading by example He held the people sway.

With faith in Him the blind man was healed to see again

the hungry and the thirsty found shelter from their pain.

The only time He angered was at the temple gates

at the merchants and the profiteers with gold upon their plates.

The hypocrites will tell you that they believe in God

while holding up a bible as proof that they weren’t bought.

They’ll tout themselves as Christians, and while they have your ear

they’ll bastardize the scriptures like God has sent them here.

I believe that we are here to help the marginalized

to speak for those who cannot speak, whom others criticize;

to balance words with actions, to temper our replies

ever wary of the wolves who wear a sheep’s disguise.

The scales of power and justice rarely balance out

it’s hard to compromise as the other side refutes,

it’s hard to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes

but if we cannot do this then everyone will lose.

 

You stand upon your pulpit and dictate your beliefs,

while narrowing our choices pretending you’re aggrieved;

You want to keep the destitute underneath your thumb;

and hammer us with hate and lies until we’re feeling numb

eroding all we know as truth somewhere deep inside

leveling our souls to try to make us compromise.

 The woman at the checkout is not some Welfare queen,

the homeless man down on his luck can get back up again.

The elderly, dependant on the benefits they’ve earned,

live in fear of finding out the laws are overturned.

The 10 year old who’s pregnant, a baby still herself,

is left without a choice of where to go for help

And uprooting the immigrants, while thinking you are clever–

only proves how black the hearts intent on this endeavor.

And that is why I penned this poem, to call out and remind

take to the polls November, so much is on the line.

© GB 2022

The news is filled with conflicting information, and he said, she saids. We all make our choices, I hope my own are rooted in science, common sense and decency, though some may dispute that.  I don't care, for they are my choices! I have attached links back to news articles including a local shelter who helps the homeless get back on their feet. There will be much back and forth between politicians who want your vote. Vote your heart, and let your voice be heard!

Fault Lines

 

How do we know that a snake tempted Eve

to partake of the fruit there in Eden?

Where we there in the tree like a fly on the wall?

Could we hear what they said?  Did we see them?

Or is it a story passed down through the ages

placing censure each time it’s repeated?

According to speaker the woman is weaker,

a man would not be so defeated.

So the snake is the fall guy replete with forked tongue,

and the woman at fault for just listening,

and the man claims that he wasn’t near the said “tree,”

oh, and surely we see he’s the ‘victim.’

Yet story asunder, I truly do wonder

if woman fell prey to temptation

from the mouth of a man with the tongue of a snake

slyly convincing that she could partake,

no thought to exactly what was at stake

as he whispered his words of seduction.

A woman is made from the rib of a man

compassionate, nurturing, loving and kind

equal in all ways except save in one:

when push comes to shove, then the woman is done–

indicted as guilty before she’d begun

…and so, in a garden, the first man had won,

                            * * * * *

Passed down through the ages, a story conceived:

that a woman, a temptress, cannot be believed;

evermore faulted with stained reputation

to bear blame as the one who gave in to temptation.

© Ginny Brannan 2022

 

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

In Search of The Garden

I admire you your faith…

when all falls to hell around you,

you smile and you pray

as if all will go away.

I once believed, as you do,

that our petitions are heard

that all good comes to those who believe.

But if that is true, then why do the faithful suffer

with pain more than they can bear

while their prayers remain unanswered?

 They say ‘silence’ is an answer, too

Is this a fact, a convenient reply, or a lie of omission?

We whisper our pleas, broker our deals

and when they fail, we blame ourselves

   because God tests the unfaithful.

 Perhaps we just don’t trust enough

  —our failure ever since the Garden.

I have struggled with these questions all my life,

 the answer still remains elusive.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

…and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.

    —Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

Sunday in the Valley

There are answers that require a leap of faith

guidelines of behavior about what we shouldn’t do,

but what of the answers that stare us in the face:

the resounding beauty of a landscape

that begs defiance despite the biblical timeline of this Earth?

This planet has brought forth life for eons

before man and our limited scope and understanding.

Science explains the evolution of the tangible:

how mountains grow and shrink again, how plates shift

and continents came to be, the ebb and flow of the tides,

how the light in the night sky is sent from stars

that existed hundreds of thousands of years ago.

It tells us that the world was not created in a day,

nor week, nor month nor decade, nor century.

Science explains in detail how the tiniest of “seeds”

can grow into a flower, a tree, or even a person in a sense,

or how a caterpillar can disappear into a cocoon

and reemerge as a butterfly.

But it cannot explain the complexity of emotions

felt when seeing our newborn child for the first time,

or when watching the unwavering determination

of someone defying the odds to reach beyond  their own endurance 

to heal, to achieve, to learn, to become more than they are.

Nor can it explain the tear that escapes 

when we see a something for which there are no words—

not because we don’t understand its existence,

but because it reminds us of our own insignificance

in the light of such grandeur.

If science explains tangibles then perhaps faith explains the intangibles,

perhaps miracles and science are not exclusive to one another,

perhaps both exist for a reason, and that is to explain the reason of our existence

      …and for me, that is enough.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

Image: Monument Valley, Colorado

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 More Than You Can Handle....

Don’t pander me with platitudes to try and ease this pain

nor pass along your empty incantations…

there’s nothing in the words that heal, and nothing to be gained:

when spoken rote, they won’t invoke your pathway to salvation.

I understand you’re just concerned and trying to express it,

but words alone ring empty in the hollows of this soul.

Sharing thoughts and prayers for things that could not be prevented;

sometimes there's just nothing that will make a person whole.

How many hurts does it take until we fall immune—

to numb this pain inside us that we carry on our own?

Is it on this rock-strewn path through which our souls are hewned,

inside such heinous places that we’re meant to tread alone?

I’m grateful for the ones who hear my pain without remark,

who listen without trying to think ahead to what they’ll say—

who, for a moment carry all the weight that’s on this heart,

knowing there are many things that words will not allay

When in the sea of empathy I feel that I might drown

I search to find the quietude, to find the strength I need.

It’s in the love I feel when all the walls come tumbling down

from those who understand and know that listening’s the key.

When life overwhelms, becoming more than I can bear,
don’t send to me your platitudes just let me know you’re there.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Image from Google Images: Masseu Learns to Sketch

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.”

Illumination

Curiosity, the spark that sets us apart

       on our quest for knowledge... 

Common sense is learned in degrees

starting at the knees of our elders.

In their words and stories, we learn about ourselves,

When we finally learn to read, we travel—

floating on a raft down the Mississippi;

chasing an elusive white whale on an endless sea;

joining a group of unlikely companions

on a quest for something ‘larger’ than ourselves.

The world expands, becoming greater than we ever imagined.

The more we absorb, the hungrier we become;

history teaches us, but it’s the stuff outside of the margins

        that holds the real story...

Who wrote this? What guided his thoughts as he lay

in the trenches of the French Revolution

the Civil War, World War I?

So we follow these word paths, penned from the souls

of a thousand, nay, a thousand times ten thousand.

We hold their stories and garner their memories

adhering them to our own.  We are with them

as they climb the path to Mt. Doom,

slip down the rabbit hole,

feel the pendulum brush their skin,

and click their shoes to go home again;

never wanting to leave this secret garden,

this Neverland of dreams and imagination.

Through the words we learn to sort fact from fiction,

weigh guilt from innocence, solve crimes;

discover ordinary heroes rising against extraordinary villains.

Words hold the power to change the world:

willfull ignorance and lies cannot hold up against

those who have learned to recognize truth

The early scribes and monks of old had a daunting task:

they laboured for hours on vellum pages with ink and quill,

 no computers then, nor ballpoint pen...

the process ever slow and tedious.

Is it any wonder when their pens would wander?

That even early on, if given a choice,
they would surrender to their inner voice

        setting free their imagination

to provide not just a story, but illumination.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Illumination has several definitions, two of which pertain to this:
1) Spiritual or intellectual enlightenment
2) Painting or drawing included in a book, i.e.:medieval manuscripts

For NaPoWriMo #24: using the marginal drawings and artwork known as "illumination" as inspiration.

Yes, even humor could be found in medieval manuscripts!

Revelations

Image: G.Brannan

Do you count your years in minutes passed,

each moment lived a memory refined—

a never-ending loop of lows and highs?

The passages of time wash with the tides

and in the passing hangs each soul, defined.

It’s really not a case of win or loose

the lessons learned, the wounds that leave us scarred;

but there’s a price to everything we choose…

there is no cheating boatman once we cross,

just foreboding in not knowing what we’ll find.

So we linger in each blissful moment seized

find comfort in the warmth of those we love,

while warding off the hurts that would consume:

—injustices oppression, fallacies—

transgressions that could taint to make us blind.

Awaiting intercession from Divine,

we come to find the truth within our hearts:

all loves and friendships forged, or lost in kind

endure like glowing embers in our mind—

to light our journey on this path unmarked

…yet blind and voiceless, do our gods concede;

           their explanations lost on winter breeze.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

The Shepherd

With humble demeanor and thoughtful repose

he stands, unassuming, amid the great throng.

Foregoing attention, intent on his role,

he ponders each question, words carefully chosen

to impact precisely; to reach and console.

Rarely indeed does a man come along

who inspires to listen, to look in our hearts

when blinded by struggles and losing our faith.

Who’s able to touch the crux of our souls,

reminding us all how our lives interlace.

We try to absorb what his wisdom imparts—

our spirits are moved, inexplicably so.

He lacks any pretense,  and yet tour de force

pries our souls open; we let down our guard…

he sets by example, his words reinforce.

Our paths may not cross in this lifetime of ours

but yet his words echo inside of each still…

to strive to be better, to never lose hope;

when problems consume and our taste for life sours,

and ills take us down and we’re left feeling broken;

        when into the darkest abyss we are thrown

        we’re called to remember: we’re never alone.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Watching the Pope visiting the U.S. last week, was taken by his serene demeanor, the way he would lean in to listen to the ones speaking to him. When he spoke, whether before Congress, or before the masses, his message was one of caring—for the earth, for each other. A gentle reminder for all of us to do better, to be better than who we are.

Salvation

Salvation whispers subtly…

an answer to the prayers denied,

lessening the pain inside.

Virtue through complacency…

a chance for you to start again;

twisting word to fit your truth,

impeaching others for their sin.

Once carefree but now obsessed;

narrow-minded on your quest.

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

Excerpt of Michelangelo's 'The Creation of Adam'

Is salvation found in perpetual repentance, or in forgiveness—

primarily forgiving one's self in the quest for inner-peace…