Still Crazy After All These Years...

The Beatles introduced on Ed Sullivan February 9, 1964

We are the 'baby boomers' 
conceived in the 50’s when Elvis was King.

We are God fearing, hell-raising all-American kids, educated in a small town, 
taught to fear Jesus in a small town...

We survived the turbulent 60’s:

We saw the Cold War and the end of Camelot;

watched as Kennedy fended off the Soviets in Cuba,

working to find peaceful solutions abroad

and racial equality at home.

He fought a war on two fronts

                  ….and was gunned down.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of dreams;

of peace and tolerance, a better world for
our children, and our children’s children

                  … and was gunned down.

Bobby, our new hope, our golden boy

                  … he too, was gunned down.

Too young for the marches, the war surrounded us,

brought into our homes each night by the voice of Walter Cronkite

…and like John, Martin and Bobby, we dreamed of peace.

We are the Beatles generation…embraced their music from moment we heard them.

We grew up with Opie and Lassie, Robin Hood and Superman.

No Kindles no tablets; give us a super hero comic book any day.

We watched as Neil Armstrong took “…one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

We listened to Dylan and Fogerty, Crosby, Stills Nash and Young, Jethro Tull

We Bungled in the Jungle and sang songs of protest and antiwar;

“War, huh yeah, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing,’oh hoh, oh…”

We are the teenagers of the ‘70’s...

Hendrix and Zeppelin, Aerosmith and Kansas—
like ‘Dust in the Wind,’ we kept  ‘Dreamin’ On.’ 

We held our collective breath waiting for draft cards to arrive.
   Then, just like that, the war was over.

Our lives moved on, college , work, marriage, children, career…

we were the be-bop babies on a hard day’s night… and we danced

and we listened to the pop rock of the 80’s

that morphed into techno, and rap, a music evolution—

a revolution set in place by those four lads from Liverpool.

We cried over senseless murders of children; our classrooms no longer safe-havens.

We chose sides on gun control; yet all of our hearts mourn the innocents.

Yes, we’ve lived through the good, the bad and the ugly—

                  …and we are still going

Think about it— we’ve been around through JFK, RFK, MLK; Elvis, the Beatles, Dylan; war and peace, another war and so much more. We saw the fall of the Twin Towers, and the fall of the Iron Curtain. We were here for Roe v. Wade and Watergate, Star Trek  and Star Wars,  and the original ‘space race.’ We’ve seen innovations in medicine, and computers that fit in the palm of your hand. We have instant communication with anyone, anywhere in the world. We’ve ushered in the first black president, and may yet see the first female president. We are the computer techs and the mechanics, the greens-keepers and bakers, the poets and the dreamers.  In the almost 6 decades that we’ve been on this earth, we have seen history…lived history…made history…

We are the gray-haired 50-something tattooed rock 'n rollers— 
perhaps a little bit older and a lot less bolder than we used to be

…but hell yeah, we’re still here...
                        Here's to us!

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Who says you can't go back…looking back on the last 4 decades and beyond, on the occasion of my 40th class reunion. For my fellow classmates and my friends from BFUHS class of 1974, and all the other 'boomers who remember...  

Follow the lavender links to the music and the speeches, the real trip down memory lane.

A Writer’s Quandary

The warm June air calls me to play

to take advantage of the sun

so many things that must be done

and it’s too nice to waste the day

The flowering shrubs have passed their prime

and threat of cold is finally gone;

plant the annuals—mow the lawn,

trim back the bushes—now’s the time!

The weathered deck’s in need of stain,

as daylight stretches into eve—

there’s so much more than first perceived;

look forward to a day of rain…

So should you stop to see what’s new

and find my posts are rare at best

it’s because I needed rest

tomorrow there will be more to do.

But don’t give up, for write I will…

when time allows and ink flows free;

the summer’s brief; the winter–still,

and pen will call again to me.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Image by author

Orphaned

Her collection spanned the years:

old photos and cards, well worn

books with dog-eared pages,

an odd assortment of furniture

that no one else wanted.

Perhaps she saw a bit of herself

in each piece rescued—

each looking for love

and a place to call home.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Shared at Magpie Tales #221.  

Image provided by Tess Kincaid: she provides the image, we the story! Come see what others are sharing!

A Writing Process Blog Hop

Many thanks to my dear friend Mary Bach for inviting me to participate in this Blog Hop. Mary and I met through our writing. She became a fast favorite of mine through her charm, her wit, her sense of humor; and our mutual affinity towards nature, seasons, home, family and even a certain Doctor! Interesting, smart and so talented, please follow this link to her Blog Hop to read in her own words what inspires her to write.

Mary Bach

Mary Bach, also known as Other Mary, writes mainly poetry which can be found on her website called Writing in the Bachs.  She lives in the middle of nowhere, more specifically rural western-Wisconsin. She has a love for words that includes not just writing and reading, but quotes, pun and general word-play. She has had poems in several on- and offline publications including The Book Times, Pigeon Bike Poetry, Living with Nature and Beginnings.

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My Writing Process

What am I working on?

Wow. I wish I had a more profound answer for this! It seems the ultimate goal of being a writer is to have collection of poems or a story somewhere in the process of being published—to always have something in the works to share, promote or brag about on social media sites. And rightfully so, for in the poems that I’ve submitted for printing, I’ve learned that there is definitely more work that goes into ‘publishing’ than meets the eye! With that being said, I am pleased to announce that one of my pieces will soon be published in “Journey of the Heart: An Anthology of Women’s Spiritual Poetry,” a new book that is due for release this summer.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I would say not as good as some, perhaps a bit better than others. I’ve been writing for just over 4 years now. In that time, I’ve gotten a sense of my own voice, but am not nearly confident enough to call myself  'poet' yet. I think that is a title earned through recognition and respect of one’s peers.  And there are so many others whose writing absolutely blows me away! I think most of what I write about has probably been said before—actually I’m sure of it. What makes it different is my own unique perspective.  We may travel parallel paths with others, sometimes it seems the same road, but what we see and how we view it—what it means to us—comes from a deeper place inside. I try to write from that place; not how others see and understand it—but what it means to me alone. But then, isn’t that what all writers do?

Why do I write what I do?

Why do crickets chirp? I started writing as a catharsis: a need to express anger and disappointment; to pull myself out of a dark hole after losing a job of many years that I truly loved doing. Putting my thoughts, my feelings, down on paper helped me to find myself again. And I continue to write because I’ve always enjoyed being creative; and channeling this creativity into words, into poetry, helps me to feed this addiction. Sometimes I write from image or word prompts, if only because they challenge me to keep writing. Yet even my own life experiences offer quite a deep well to draw from.  And then there are those moments when I am so moved and inspired by something that I can’t write fast enough. The words are there, the universe aligns, and I’ll finish in one shot and think, “Did this just come from me?” My recent 'Five a.m. on an April Morning' was one of those pieces. It’s in these rare “aha” moments when I think I am most worthy to stand among my writing peers.

How does my writing process work?

Hmmmm…process? I don’t really have a formula. Either the words are there, tumbling to get out, or they’re not! Most of my writing stems from what I am feeling at the moment—perhaps a memory bubbling up from the past, my emotions at the time, or from being touched by something or someone during my daily routine. Often I find myself composing something on the half hour drive between home and work. The words will start to toss about in my head…sometimes they may fall together in some sort of rhyme or format on their own…and sometimes its just a line or two that keep echoing, repeating, crying out to be more. It’s really difficult to predict at any given time what may move or inspire me. And I truly envy those lucky writers who are able to spend time and focus on their writing each and every day. It’s not always easy for me to eke out time to write, between working full time and taking care of home and family, without feeling guilty over letting something else go. I live for those quiet moments alone when I can get lost in the words!

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I'm honored to pass this torch along to these two lovely and extremely talented poets, writers and friends who will posting their Blog Hop and sharing their answers to these questions next week, on or about Monday, May 26, 2014. Please visit their blogs, and read, like and follow if you are not already doing so!

Victoria C. Slotto, Author

Victoria spent many years working as an RN in the fields of death and dying. In retirement she’s chosen to pursue the creative life as a novelist and poet. Her first novel, Winter is Past, was published by Lucky Bat Books in 2011. A second novel will be forthcoming in the near future. She is happy to pen poetry and articles for dVerse Poetry, Into the Bardo, and her own blog that deal with the art and craft of poetry and fiction writing, as well as spirituality. Victoria derives inspiration from her life experience working with persons at the end-of-life, from nature, spirituality, from poetry prompts and whatever else pops into her awareness. She enjoys life with her photographer husband and two dogs in Reno, Nevada and Palm Desert, California.

You may find Victoria’s blog at: Victoria C. Slotto, Author
  and her website here at: Victoria C. Slotto, Author Fiction, Poetry and Essays

Margaret Schaff Bednar: Poet, Photographer

Margaret Bednar was born and raised in Northern Illinois.  She remembers being a bit of a tomboy growing up—living on a small farm with horses, goats, chickens, dogs, cats, and being outside all summer!  Married now for 24 years and a mother with six children of her own, she currently lives in the southeast (United States) and loves it.  She started composing her poetry a few years back – which most often reflects upon her two passions above - the out-of-doors and her family.  

A regular contributor to G-Man’s Flash 55 and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, you can find Margaret’s wonderful words and amazing photography at: 
Art Happens 365 — MyPoetic Journey

Spatter

He holds everything over her head

controls with word or phrase—

  and her light disappears

     bit

         by

             bit.

She no longer thinks,

no longer cares; only aware

of the sadness, the loss

     the ultimate cost

…and it always comes down

     to the cost… in the end.

Doesn’t it?

Why fight for control?

Why struggle till nothing is left

  but impressions and cast-off

   of who she might have been?

Ginny Brannan 2014

Not the usual but where the pen went today. 

Spring Clean-Up

There’s something about the feel

of damp earth between my fingers—

the smell of newly turned soil,

rich… dark…awaiting first touch.

There’s joy in that first sighting

of  earthworms—exposed…scrambling...

anxiously returning to their hiding places—

that speaks to the continuity of life

after the long and barren winter.

There’s an escape that calls on the wind

blowing on this overcast day

perfumed with the promise of rain.

I continue my annual ritual—

raking…weeding…mulching…

finding peace in the solitude;

contentment in the silence—

lost inside season’s change.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

A Sonnet in 'C' Minor

How deep the well that holds our futures past,

its formidable lining cast in stone—

posessing seeds of memories unsown;

and consummated love that wouldn’t last.

There's only few who’ve seen our souls unmasked,

before the vines of life were overgrown;

and more unique when one still stands alone,

despite how often roles have been recast.

Yet in this spinning Möbius of time,

reflections in the broken shards of youth

will often circle back to certain truth

well hidden in the caches of our prime…

The time now ripe for these words I could never say:

“The rightness eclipsed each mistake made along the way.” 

© Ginny Brannan 2014