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

Another One for the Books...

BOOOM!!! BOOM….BOOM….boom…boom….boom…

Living in a valley between two mountains

sound amplifies a hundredfold…

You hear train whistles wailing down the track

long before you ever see the lead engine.

Thunder echoes on forever. And lightening?

Lightening illuminates the whole valley

silhouetting the mountains on both sides

reflecting on the river that divides the two states.

As a child, living here in this town where

Vermont and New Hampshire are interchangeable

I always thought we have the best of both states.

The Connecticut River divides us, but there are bridges—

two in our town, one a few miles to the south,

another twelve or so miles to the north.

Business is conducted on both sides of the river;

family and friends may reside, or work, on either side.

BOOOM!!! BOOM….BOOM….boom…boom…boom…

The townsfolk on my side, the Vermont side, have made

their exodus down to the riverbank this fine summer's eve.

Chairs line the sidewalks along Rockingham and Atkinson Streets,

the parking lots at IGA and the gas station across the way

are filling up with even more of these ‘children of all ages.’

The parking lot of the Dari-Joy—known to the locals as "Joe's"—

is filled to capacity. The yellow neon lights attract all variety of

moths, mosquitoes and other insects— just part of the atmosphere

on this warm July night. Hard to tell who is in line for ice cream

or just milling about before the show, but one thing for sure,

Joe's is doing one heck of a business tonight!

We take our prospective places along the wooden rail

at the top of the bank, eyes focused on the hill across the river.

We cannot see the school on the upper level across the way,

but as we watch, the first trail of light goes up and bursts into

a waterfall of fire! It lights up the sky, then a quick flash, and—

BOOOM!!! BOOM….BOOM….boom…boom…boom…

…the sound ricochets off the mountains and down the valley.

It is followed by another… and another…

Occasionally a loud whistle replaces the boom 

and lingers—seemingly to infinity. 

Down the way a baby cries. Excited children laugh and cover their ears,

as parents and the older folk comparing this display to those of years gone by.

The sprays of fire reflect upon the water; smoke lays heavy in the air,

smell of sulfur drifts downhill and across the river.

We watch as trails of fire are sent skyward one by one,

“ooohing” and “ahhhing” after each colorful explosion.

Suddenly five trails go up at once, followed by five more,

and five more…the Grand Finale!!

The flashes fill the sky, the sound is deafening!!

Surely they must be hearing this in Springfield and Charlestown

to our north, or in Westminster and Walpole to our south.

Spontaneous cheers, whistles and clapping erupt from the crowds.

Another 4^th of July is on the books, and we declare it the best one ever
                                                                                 …until next year!

      

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Image: Lori Larue 2016. Used with expressed permission

Childhood memories of growing up in a small Vermont village on the Connecticut River….
   The image above is looking downriver (south) from the Vermont side toward the village of Bellows Falls.  The bright lights to the right is the Dari Joy, forever "Joes" to me…and beyond that the gas station, the IGA (no longer, now a different business there) and further down the street, our downtown area. The mountain to the left is Fall Mountain on the N.H. side. Our own hills are behind to the right of us in this photo. 

   When I was a child there was a beautiful Arch Bridge spanning the river. Deemed unsafe, it was replaced with the plain single span seen here. And the second bridge, the Vilas Bridge, that connects from the downtown area to NH, a 635 foot concrete span, was also deemed unsafe. Closed since 2009, while VT and NH go back and forth as to who will put up the monies to repair or replace. 

  People would (and still do) line the river bank to see the fireworks displays. Back then they were shot from behind the school on the hill in North Walpole on the 4th. Now, they are done for Old Home Days on the first Saturday in August, and are much larger, the more vivid 'Gucci' kind, shot closer to the river.

...I still hold on to the memories of wonderful childhood 4th's though!

Many thanks to Lori Larue for allowing me to share this beautiful night image of my "hometown" in Vermont!!

Top Image: http://www.bigfoto.com/themes/fireworks/

Dragonfly

Ever transforming

stronger than you first perceive

I am ‘dragonfly’

* * * *

What is it about the dragonfly

that attracts me…

As a children we were told

they were “darning needles”

would “sew your mouth shut”

…we ran in fear of them.

Yet over time I have come to appreciate

how they morph to “become”

what they are meant to be—

Throughout my life

I have adapted and transformed:

transparent, translucent

I wear my heart on the outside.

I may appear stationary,

but am always moving,

discovering, growing;

like the dragonfly,

becoming who

I am meant

to be.

©  Ginny Brannan 2016

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As a seasonal symbol in Japan, the dragonfly is associated with autumn. More generally, dragonflies are symbols of courage, strength, and happiness, and they often appear in art and literature, especially Haiku. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I like to believe that my “spirit” animal is a dragonfly. I am definitely drawn to these creatures. The dragonfly, with protruding eyes and exoskeleton, is not nearly as pretty as his butterfly cousin, though in their lifetime both metamorphose, adapting, becoming something else.  I’ve learned that even youth, the dragonfly nymph faces adversity, and must learn to swim the currents to survive. Their delicate, translucent wings disguise their real strength. In this stage of my life, more autumn than summer, I too have changed— writing poetry, finding my voice, and in the past year have discovered a courage and inner-strength strength I did not know I possessed…yes, I am drawn to dragonflies…

"Integrating" (The Last Quarter Moon)

 

“By the full moon’s light our desires we know.

By the waning quarter we ebb and flow…”

— Unknown

The moon, our ever-constant companion, mysterious light in the darkness… goddess, night traveler, ruler of oceans— all civilizations from ancient to modern have been captivated by you, follow you, revel in your story. Cerridwen, Luna, Artemis, Selene, known by these and so many other names. Even our Native Americans had titles for the you— Wolf Moon, Snow Moon, Corn Moon, Hunter’s Moon—as you cycle through the heavens ruling the months and seasons. We gaze at you from afar, shadow you, observing your transformation as you recede past full and transition into final quarter. Though you are slowly waning, your light still shines brighter than all of the other lights in the night sky. And as you transform, so your dominance on nature evolves with you. Even the mighty oceans and seas bend to your influence: the tides slipping now to Neap phase— a time of balance, a time of least difference between high and low water. Is it any wonder that we humans—who are composed of 77% water—may be governed by your changes also; that your lunar body may indeed play a critical role in the tides of our consciousness as well?

We sense your changes deep in our souls. This is a time of releasing, a time of forgiveness, a time of cleaning up; of putting everything back into place and letting go of the emotional intensity of previous weeks.  During this disseminating phase the time arrives for us to reap the rewards of a job well done with celebration and accolade. As writers, we intuitively sense these cosmic changes deep within our being.  We reflect on them and are drawn to share them in our words—perhaps in the sharing to better understand the shifts and rifts, the effects of these changes inside us;  or perhaps to allow us to open our hearts and minds, discovering the pathways of our own release.  I know the allure, the call of your waning moon, have felt your invitation to release the pain of the past through words that rise from deep within me. And I have found myself adrift, caught in your Neap phase: a limbo with no “high” no “low,” lost somewhere between the ebb and flow.  

Oh pale-faced Huntress of Souls, we feel your command, convergence, confluence— with all of our being. You shine on the pathways our consciousness, and in your waning light we come to understand that all things have a season, and that all that fades will again be reborn.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Written as Chapter 7 Intro for:  Poetry as a Spiritual Practice: Illuminating the Awakened Woman

*********************************

"The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It's always

 there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and 

dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day i

t's a different version of itself: sometimes weak and wan, 

sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands 

what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Created by 

imperfections."

                                                                  Tahereh Mafi

Poetry as a Spiritual Practice…New Book Release!

On this 2016 Summer Solstice Full moon, comes a collection of personal essays, poems and meditations as we undertake to illuminate the powerful role poetry plays in unleashing our spirits ...

Using the waxing and waning of the moon's phases to illustrate the ebb and flow of our own voices, we share the depth of our calling and explore the mystical experience of birthing a poem and the spiritual bonding of our sisterhood ~

Available here at Amazon

* * *

All proceeds from the sale of these books will go to "Write Girl," a mentoring program that encourages girls to explore and develop their creative talents, both written and oral.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

I'm honored and excited to share my writing in this beautiful book:
Intro to Chapter 7—Last Quarter Moon, 

and to have four poems chosen for inclusion:

Possessed

The Writer

Tale Spinner

The Undertaking

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Published by Golden Dragonfly Press
Available through Amazon beginning Monday, June 20th!

Synchronicity

Image by John Burk. Used with Permission

I look to the west as setting sun crests

on the Holyoke range, their time worn brow

casting deep shadows upon the Quinetucket,

their doppelgängers mirrored in the still water.

Past these hills lie the Berkshires

and a bit further, the mighty Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk

meanders past Albany while the thick-grown

woodlands of the Adirondacks and Catskills

turn somber in the fading light.

There is magic in these hills;

if you listen carefully you can 

hear the voices of the ancients

murmuring through the trees.

I know you hear them too,

when the wind whistles just so

and the river sings her song.

We really aren’t so different, you and I…

inspired in accordance

by our ever-changing views—

I burn my words in black on white,

then somewhere in the waning light

I'll pass my torch to you.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

I wish to extend my sincerest thanks to photographer John Burk for permitting me to use one of his amazing photos. The image above is called "Connecticut River Oxbow Sunset & Mt. Tom." It captures the essence and beauty of the Connecticut River as I have often seen it. You may find more of his lovely work at http://johnburk.zenfolio.com

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*Quinetucket: Reference to the Connecticut River. Per Wikipedia the word Connecticut is a French corruption of the Mohegan word Quinetucket, which means "beside the long, tidal river."  The word "Connecticut" came into existence during the early 1600's, describing the river, which was also called simply "The Great River.

**Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk (Hudson River) per Wikipedia: The Hudson was known as Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk (River that flows two ways) by the Mohican tribe who formerly inhabited both banks of the lower portion of the river.

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…