Indomitable

There’s a spirit I know

like a butterfly, she soars

with hidden strength behind her words

and beauty deep inside her core.

And none may doubt that she has fought

for everyone that she adores,

turning darkness into light

to find her pathway through life’s storms.

There’s a poet that I know

she’s walked through fire to reap her gains;

despite the hardships she‘s faced down

the passion in her heart remains

There’s a woman that I know
on parallel paths, we seek reprieve,

bleeding words upon the page

in endless quest to be set free.

© GB 2/24/2020

With all due admiration and respect to my poet friend and birthday doppelgänger.

Restored

There hardly seems a time that I recall

when we weren’t pulled in opposite directions,

some days I feel I’m up against a wall

no longer now your object of affection.

But then I see your eyes and feel your touch

your sweet, soft words are tempered with inflection:

you see me for the person that I am

we needn’t mask ourselves in self-pretention.

And when there’s little else I can endure,

when I’ve lost belief in my convictions
it’s by your faith in me I am restored

and through your love am cured of my afflictions.

With you here by my side I am complete–

 enfolded in your arms, I cede defeat.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

For my friend, Yvonne, who challenges a poem with three words included: wall, touch, restore.

Image Credit: Buzz16

With a Flick of the Wrist

With an outstretched hand we can show who we are:

friend or foe, weak or strong, cruel or kind.

With nerves of steel and will unbending

we can stand our beliefs,

and share the subtle reminder

that we will not be silent.

So go ahead, take your best shot!

We will not bend or fold to your will;

we are more resilient than you know.

We are Legion, in numbers you cannot fathom.

Lash out with your bitter words

as you try to subdue the masses.

We don’t need to shout to be heard;

with a flick of the wrist your words are undone,

and try as you might, she's already won.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Elfchens

What is an Elfchen, you ask? Elfchen is the German word for eleven. An Elfchen poem is a poem consisting of eleven words over 5 lines... one word on the first line, two words on the second line, three words on the third line, four words on the fourth line, and one final word on the fifth line. It reminds me a bit of the Cinquan, which does similar but with syllables (2,4,6,8,2) rather than words. 

Here's my takes on the format:

Sacrificed

Hung

on cross:

crucified, nailed, suspended

for all to see—

Savior

Sharing Secrets

Hear

the rustle?

The wind whispers

telling all her secrets…

Listen

Charmed

Liquid

she moves,

yellow eyes beguile;

stealth, agile, cunning, crafty

cat

February Morning

Sunlight

deceivingly bright

through barren branches;

no warmth in her

smile.

Practice Makes Perfect...

Another

poetry run…

trial and error,

still seeking the perfect

Elfchen

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

My dear Irish friend and sister-in-writing, Yvonne Brewer put a challenge up on her page to try a new form of poetry I had not heard of. Loving both 'form poetry' and the challenge of learning something new, I could not resist giving it a go!

All of Our Faces

The faces we show to those whom we know

are seen in the light of familiar...

clashes, it seems, are rare and extreme

we would not recuse, nor need an excuse

to share who we are and all of our views.

And yet there are those who may disagree

their thoughts are opposed to our own,

for not all we say is one’s cup of tea

and it’s hard to appease when they only see

  an excuse to decry and bemoan.

We are who we are, naysayers be damned

there are much bigger fish to be fried;

and those who don’t like it can just take a hike

for life is too short to be picked on or slammed

or ceding to snide reprimands.

The people who know us know who we are

they’ve walked on the same path we follow

they know what we’ve done, what we’ve overcome

accept us in spite of, or maybe because of,

   all of our sides, not just one.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Same Story, Different Day

It’s really alarming the news is disarming

the words keep encroaching each day,

we walk a fine line as we search for the lining

to hold the naysayers at bay.

And I will admit that it’s hard to get through it,

reveal how we feel like we’re drowning;

we try to survive as we search for the light

with the negatives so overwhelming.

The constant barrage while no one’s in charge,

each quip a new skip on the record…

told nothing to fear, while the other side’s cheering

the frustration we feel is collective.

These daily attacks, while we can’t change the facts

what we can change is our gut reaction,

yet even to breathe while feeling aggrieved

is hard with such noise and distraction.

Yes, our world is insane, but we must remain

steadfast in commitment to truth.

Would we be sated if we took the bait

and gave in to the lies and the ruse?

So let me remind that history’s unkind­

recording each smile, each gloat;

each angry rant, each sycophant,

and each time some lawyer invoked.

And as we await while both sides debate

with words well-dispensed to provoke,

and though all seems dour, we still have the power

to change where we are by our vote.

So take a deep breath, hold onto the truth

hold onto what’s right and what’s decent;

and call out the lies, the baseless denials

lest we ever become too complacent,

while we bide to decide his replacement.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Our Heart's Desire

What happened to those days of yore

shopping in the village stores

midnight mass with church bells chiming

then off to bed, our folks reminding

“Say your prayers, sleep tight.

  Santa comes tonight!!”

It doesn’t seem so long ago

through children’s eyes, we watched the glow

of festive trees with colored lights

and candles burning in the night.

And filled with bright anticipation,

we couldn’t wait for school vacation!

Decembers were all cold and white

and yet, our whole world seemed right

            …in those Christmas days of long ago

Many years have passed since then

and so little from the past remains;

the trials of life have changed our views

such anger in the evening news.

As each one bears a certain weight

and loss, the illness culminate,

  we get caught up in the pain

    seems so little left to gain

            …what happened to the joy of long ago?

Ahead our future lies uncertain

it hides behind an opaque curtain—

and it's us who must decide

if we should stay, or run and hide…

Oh! That we might feel the wonder

find the Peace, and shun the thunder

and that we might stake our claim

for the love that still remains…

 Perhaps then we might find the door

   that leads back to those days of yore            

   to  capture joy and to light our way 

                                         once more.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

The title comes from Dorothy Gale, who said  "...If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard." We can't change the world, but we can change how we view the world, we have that power inside of us. May you feel the light and know the wonder of Christmas.

Photo Credit to: BalancingHome.com