Hook, Line and Sinker

You’ve swallowed the bait and surrendered your pride

caught in the netting of copious lies,

entangled in alternate facts you’ve been reading

so numb to the truth and the anger you're breeding.

 

What happens when ideals are thrown to the side,

when you swallow the bait and surrender your pride–

fueling intolerance, such deep-seated hatred

with morally bankrupt beliefs you’ve inflated?

 

You flounder to swim with the sharks in the school,

Yes, it’s said ‘even God attends children and fools’

while you swallow the bait and surrender your pride

for an alternate world where deception resides.

 

Comes now a time I would never conceive

as I witness the bias of what you believe,

and how in your heart now such darkness presides

since you swallowed the bait and surrendered your pride.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Written in the rhyme scheme of a Quatern, but not a true Quatern as that would be 8-syllables per line only.

Requiem for an Apple Tree

 

The lawn is littered with inedible fruit

dropped from a tree too tired to bear.

Insects wreak havoc on worn, cankered bark

the wasps feed on discards, taking their share.

Once magnificent, she bore a full yield

bushels upon bushels, apportioned to all…

I still can recall the sweet smell of perfume–

of pastel pink blossoms, blooming in spring,

and the tiny wrens nesting in the house on her branches

with their resonant melody… how they did sing!

 

Next year we know she will have to come down

we will mourn the loss of this kindly old friend

who provided such succor for many a year

seems all living things truly come to an end.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Image by author from 2014

 

I Wouldn't Trade a N.Y. Minute

 

While some might say that they’d “go back”

to where they might begin again,

 that would surely not be me­

 — I wouldn’t trade a moment spent.

When decades pass you realize

 it’s not about what’s gained or gone,

but who you're with that matters most

upon this road we’re travelling on.

When I look into your eyes,

I see the man who lives inside

No matter what the odds have thrown

together we have faced them down,

we know exactly where we’ve been

 and how together we have grown.

 

We can’t foresee what lies ahead

nor cannot linger on what’s passed…

no longer hampered by our youth,

our promise takes on different truth.

And I’m reminded once again

  —amid October’s rusts and golds,

of that day once, long ago,

and as our story still unfolds

I still can say with certainty

  that you and I were meant to be.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2020

For Ray on our anniversary 10/3/2020

No Apologies

Family, friends, acquaintances
we give away shards of who we are

pieces of the whole. 

You left a hole, an empty space 

—something I can’t quite put a finger on.

   We never hung out

      never met in person.

But I know you had depth. Layers.

That like so many of us you’d been broken.

That because of that brokenness 

you loved and lived with passion.

You never minced words.

You had an appreciation for the “real”

       in all of us.

 

So glad our paths crossed

and, no matter how briefly,

  that I called you friend.

 

© G.Brannan 2020

"...he gave what he had...a premature epitaph

not recorded in granite, or soil
but in the hands of a stranger
that needed a hug

aren't we all strangers"

-- Rob Dyer

https://eyeonlifemagazine.com/poetry-unlocked/strangers

Excerpt from "Strangers." R.I..P. Rob

Division Lines

There will come a time when my patience

will be tried enough; when I will no longer abide 

the thoughts that you share…right now, I still care.

Each word you dispense reveals something new

where lies shift the truth that you choose to believe.

We still can’t conceive when you turned so outspoken;

and your “like-minded folks,” now a minimal few,

while your friends beg the question “What happened to you?”

Who knew such discourse ran through your veins?

How deep-set the anger and the disdain.

How closed is the mind that is blind to the hatred

deluding yourself in your world, antiquated.

That you share what you do, just another sad token

and a testament to just how badly we’re broken.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Up-rising

I haven’t written much of late

as I wait for the weather to change

and this heatwave to break.

The sweltering days have sapped my strength

and taken my words.

I haven’t written much of late

the weeks stretch long, 

the time I have is not my own–

as all is cancelled or postponed.

But if you’ve wondered where I am,

I’m here, putting out my all:
  I am my mother, grace under fire,

  I am my father, hard-worker, provider—

  I am the wall between storm and the sun
  the shield, the front line; I am the one.

  When this moment threatens to steal my soul

  to suck me dry from deep within,

  I plant myself firm ‘tween the rocks and the wind

  as the rebel inside of me rises again.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

The River of Denial

They called it a win 

when the plague slowed 

and fatalities dropped.

And though there was no cure,

they said we’ll “reopen.”

Now they say it is unlikely

we can beat this back.

How can we, when everything

is an affront to our “personal freedom”

and not even those in charge

can pull it together to set an example?

Yes, we’re Number One again…

—Number One in one-day total increase

—Number One in the overall cases 

—Number One in total mortality

another proud moment in American history.

Safety takes a backseat, and we learn

what we’ve known all along:
 American lives are expendable. 
Keep denyin’ y’all…

keep blaming those Chinese.

It may have started there,

but it’s dug in and hunkered down here,

and it ain't over till it’s over.

There’s enough “blame” to go around...

The president golfs.

Americans die.

Just another day in the U.S.A.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

Based on observations and comments read. Ultimately we are responsible for ourselves. Stay safe out there!