Ad Infinitum

The sum of the whole is less than all of its parts­–

it fades more with each passing hour, no rhyme

or reason. Maybe it’s the month, or the day, 

or just the way that time likes to slip away. 

No rest for the weary, nothing finds realization

as time folds in on us; completion calculated

by those whose expectations exceed our abilities.

Reality and insanity occupy the same timeline:

when it comes down to it, it’s all about time.

Time is not our friend. Only so many minutes in the day,

it’s always running away when there’s so much to do.

Everyone rushing to finish their tasks, no wonder

the days disappear, and nothing good lasts.

Another day, another dollar...more likely fifty cents,

after the taxes and bills are digested...

If this life is a test will we pass or fail?

I sit obsessing on the day that’s ahead

second-guessing the challenges yet to come

anticipating it to be the same as yesterday,

locked inside this loop of endless tedium.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023 

Pathways and Passages

Ten thousand memories in my head

upon this path that intertwines;

our early days a movie reel

of small town streets we left behind,

the neighborhood where we once played

—slip past slowly till they fade.

Others come into our lives

enhancing who we’re meant to be:

the oxygen that feeds our souls

and forms into the air we breath.

I know the earth from which you come

the warmth that nourishes your soul

how together you have grown

how the other makes you whole

So every story has its seed

and every tale must have a start

you are the sapling, he your sun

inside your journey of the heart.

By those we love, our lives defined,

    upon this path that intertwines.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

So many memories! Ever blessed by forever friends.
With love on your 42^nd Anniversary!

Tick–Tock

 Time isn’t fluid…

   it stops and starts—

   at once speeding up

   running rampant off its track;

   then slowing to a crawl…

   as the seconds tick by 

   with no negligible change.

Clocks are only part of the equation

   as we wait to see what comes next.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

No Further Than My Own Backyard

Image by author

The manger on the mantle—

our family history time-lined

by the collected ornaments

gracing the Christmas tree;

greens and berries…

crafts from long ago

making their annual trip

up the stairs to shine for the holidays—

the warmth of grown children in the house,

the sound of my husband turning

the pages of his book;
his occasional sigh.

All of these things remind me

of how precious and fragile life is,

how very fleeting time can be—

I pause to absorb this moment,

to take a mental snapshot; a reminder

that the most important things

are right here, right now

…family, friends, all I hold dear,

    knowing I am loved.

 My heart is full

    and I am content.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

In the famed words of Dorothy Gale from somewhere in Kansas...

“If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

Taken to Task

I wallow in this mindless space

with no time left to call my own;

no time to spare, no time to waste.

I wallow in this mindless space

all work, no play…while I bemoan

the day expires without a trace.

I wallow in this mindless space

with no time left to call my own.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

This Little Light of Mine

Image by author

Being on time is not my forte

no land speed records

will ever be attained by,

nor would you set your watch to me.

But life is not a race—

we, each of us, must set our own pace.

If you choose to leave me in the dust,

      So be it!

I will stand up, dust myself off

and set my compass

back to my own true north.

Time is not important

only the journey is…

and our own light shines so much

brighter when we aren’t trying

to hold the candle up to anyone else’s.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

Keeping the Monster at Bay

Slowly it seems inside each passing day

with barely a nod as we function and breath,

comes a new symptom that’s barely perceived

as the outer shell ages and starts to betray.

First to be noticed: the silver and gray

scattered amidst the red, brown or black;

blondes, a bit lighter, may fend this attack

yet with nary a blink, we survey.

Then subtle “crows feet,” or smile lines they say,

appear ‘round the eyes nose and mouth

and all that was once trim and perky goes south

as bowing to time, they obey.

Shortly thereafter pain starts to convey

the bones turning brittle and thin,

then brown spots appear on pale parchment skin

as the mind starts to wander and stray

Exacting his toll is this Reaper’s forte

and we are but pawns in his game

Will you slip blindly or fight to remain,

invoking your right to belay

while keeping the monster at bay.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Second Star to the Right, and Straight on till Morning....

Between the darkness and the dawn

between the morning and the night

between the moment I was born

until there’s no more will to fight

between my youth and middle age

— or just a little past that stage—

amid the chaos and the calm

I reflect who I’ve become.

Amid life’s trials and its struggles

any pain of yesterday

all the joy and the smiles

and the many roles I’ve played,

I know each road that I have journeyed

every hill and every turn,

all the detours that I’ve followed,

each new pathway that's been learned;

all the potholes and the pitfalls

yeah, there’s surely been a few—

but any road that I have travelled

would be poorer without you.

©Ginny Brannan 2017

Day 15, the halfway point... suggestion: to write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something. The poem could be about being on a journey and stopping for a break, or the gap between something half-done and all-done. Let your mind wander into the middle distance, betwixt the beginning of things and the end. 

The View Over Morning Coffee

I’ve yet to tire of the view

refined by changes over time

the tiny shafts of morning light

brighten landscape till it shines.

And on the grass the morning dew

reflects like diamonds on each blade

dampness slow to dissipate

it lingers under oaken shade

The shadows shift, the seasons pass

a single constant still remains:

I see the young man I once knew

despite the years, he hasn‘t changed.

How do you know if love will last,

as decades pass will it remain?

If face that greets you in the morn

in ages hence will still sustain?

I’ve yet to tire of your face

familiar as my mirrored own…

your smile lines, your silver threads;

our stories etched on skin and bone.

As morning breaks we pour a cup

and through the steam we greet the day,

again I’m taken with the view:

your smile takes my breath away.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

For Chris and Rick, may the years be kind to you.

And for my Ray, whose smile still takes my breath away.

Time’s measured in a thin line on a cat’s back...

‘From the moment we are born we begin to die…’

 I no longer wonder what these words mean.

Aging is subtle and barely perceptible at first—

the skin etches one molecule at a time
& the cracks in our mask move with us
keeping illusions complete.

and time stretches seemingly forever before us—
    “Carpe Diem—seize the day.”

The days turn into years, the first gray hair appears
and the smile lines etch ever deeper,
    (not wrinkles, not I)
and I wonder “Where did time go?”

Yet

  I need no reminder


  the cost
no reminder how fleeting life is.

So, like the cat stretched & purring beside me
I immerse in the moment
For much too soon…
 … tick //TocK//tick
&time stands still

© Ginny Brannan 2015 (with Brian Miller & Claudia Schoenfeld

Written for D'Verse: Pick a Line

Sorry Claudia & Brian, you both had such great lines I couldn't choose, so I used two from each. (Lines borrowed in italics, Brian/light gray, Claudia title and lavender) Having just passed another mile-marker on this road of life, and still being in that melancholy mood of contemplation that follows this event, this was not difficult to write. Thanks for the inspiration!

Ticking Clock

Image: crilleb50

Tempus edax rerum: time, devourer of all things...

Life’s irony is that it’s gone too fast,

we enter each into this world alone --

wish we could find a way to make it last.

Begun at birth, our days on earth are cast

and paths that lie ahead are yet unknown;

life’s irony is that it’s gone too fast.

For friends and lovers dear that we’ve amassed,

each individual a stepping-stone;

wish we could find a way to make it last.

A single chance, to never be recast --

mistakes are made, and sins we can’t atone.

Life’s irony is that it’s gone too fast.

Reflecting on the memories now passed,

unspoken words, and seeds we’ve left unsown;

wish we could find a way to make it last.

Yet in the end, we all will be out-cast,

as each of us return to dust and bone.

Life’s irony is that it’s gone to fast . . .

wish we could find a way to make it last.

© Copyright Ginny Brannan July 2011
*With heartfelt thanks to my friends at FEPC for their invaluable advice & support.
**Shared at D'Verse Poet's Pub Open Link Night #3, 8/02/11   

Sharing at The Mag #186, image from Tess Kincaid. She provides the image, we the story! Written a couple of years ago, but it is a personal favorite and seemed perfect for the image prompt this week. Hope you don't mind my sharing it again here.