In the Path of the 'Rising Sun'

 

Image: Kevin Dowie 2011

They zeroed in on Eden’s shore

and skirted the periphery

a steady drone at first ignored...

in cloudless skies the war birds soared,

as Sunday wakened, halcyon.

Attacking with impunity

the dragon loose on peaceful quay—

too quickly sleeping fleet destroyed...

with thousands lost in casualties

all-eyes turn toward Rising Sun.

The moments of that fateful day

remain ingrained in history,

as petals drift o’er sunken graves

on oil-slicked sea that still purveys

where countless faced oblivion.

© Ginny Brannan  2015

We remember and honor ALL

those who faced the fire and destruction

on December 7^th, 1941. 

and all servicemen who turned around,

chased the ‘dragon’ down
...and bravely walked into its flames.

Image: Flower petals float amidst the oil sheen and rusting remains of the USS Arizona memorial at Pearl Harbor.

The Words Unspoken…

Words ricochet inside my head

of all the things I should have said:

the “thank-yous” that lie half-composed

caught up inside of life, transposed.

I stare off into space instead

and chase the words inside my head—

What do I say to family,

and strangers who have carried me…

for kindness shared, for love they’ve shown,

reminding I am not alone?

The words remain inside my head—

resisting form, are left unsaid. 

We’ve struggled under life’s demands

 —seems nothing ever goes as planned,

with all the words I might have said

  preserved unspoken in my head.

©  Ginny Brannan 2015

The Shepherd

With humble demeanor and thoughtful repose

he stands, unassuming, amid the great throng.

Foregoing attention, intent on his role,

he ponders each question, words carefully chosen

to impact precisely; to reach and console.

Rarely indeed does a man come along

who inspires to listen, to look in our hearts

when blinded by struggles and losing our faith.

Who’s able to touch the crux of our souls,

reminding us all how our lives interlace.

We try to absorb what his wisdom imparts—

our spirits are moved, inexplicably so.

He lacks any pretense,  and yet tour de force

pries our souls open; we let down our guard…

he sets by example, his words reinforce.

Our paths may not cross in this lifetime of ours

but yet his words echo inside of each still…

to strive to be better, to never lose hope;

when problems consume and our taste for life sours,

and ills take us down and we’re left feeling broken;

        when into the darkest abyss we are thrown

        we’re called to remember: we’re never alone.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Watching the Pope visiting the U.S. last week, was taken by his serene demeanor, the way he would lean in to listen to the ones speaking to him. When he spoke, whether before Congress, or before the masses, his message was one of caring—for the earth, for each other. A gentle reminder for all of us to do better, to be better than who we are.

Exodus

Dropping…   drifting…

  sailing…     lifting…

Seceding from the sleeping limb,

across the roads and pathways skim...

exiled from the copse once dense,

brief refuge found on rusted fence.

Upon the lawn to scourge the rake,

bright colors paint the pond and lake.

Stripped of season’s finery,

stark and barren stands the tree.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

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.

This Möbius Trip

I’ve walked through darkness and the light

forced to steer down unknown paths…           

no map or compass point to guide,

no stars visible at night;           

no angels here to walk beside me.

This life is constantly recast

transposed by circumstance unplanned.

We micro-shift to stay the course,

hope left dangling beyond grasp;

journeying on endless plight…

“You get no more than you can stand,”           

      what fool created such a quote?           

”Make lemonade” “Stiff upper lip”           

We skirt the borders of the damned…

      just struggling to stay afloat.

Now juggling this unsought load

for days on days without relief;

…threatening to take us down

     until we’re ready to implode.

Bent and broken, yet we cling

to one small voice that will not leave:

the one that whispers, “You’ll survive…”

 —that shaft of light upon rise—

praying not to be deceived,

bent and broken by more lies.

Ever-questing for the truth;

some inner strength on which to draw,

a rope to pull us from the depths,

to keep the devil from his due

Reaching for a second wind,

     another sigh…begin again.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Eventide

Image Magpie Tales #281

I recall the balmy summer nights of youth…

how soft gray gossamer mists hugged the meadow

settling on streams and lowland gullies.

We watched the stars appear one-by-one;

the Milky Way melting over the mountaintops

slipping away far past our sightline.

We chased fireflies through open fields

capturing in cupped hands, to release once again.

With child-like exuberance, we shared hopes and dreams

as countless as the luminaries twinkling overhead.

Oh for the simplicity of those long ago moments…

     how brief they were —

          how far we have wandered.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

lampyrus noctulaca from https://mtmuchmore.wordpress.com