It's Not The Rain, But The Rainbow...

Image: J. Hesch  Used with Permission

Another rainy day dawns,

the gray clouds heavy laden on the horizon,

they blend with the mountains:

heaven and earth indistinguishable;

our spirits are weighted down

soggy as the leaves on the apple tree,

muddied as the splash-back

on the newly planted flowers.

Once, we shrugged these days off

as we waited the sun to come,

as we surely knew it would.

The darker days seem longer now,

as I scour the sky, searching for that thin spot

where the sunbeams hide,

waiting for the final break

that lifts the clouds to dissipate.

I scan the heavens for the sign—

that rainbow—the ‘promise’

that brighter days are coming,

that there will be a reprieve…

if I can just muster the patience, 

the fortitude to hang on

and, channeling the child I was so long ago,

look beyond the clouds and believe.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

In a Heartbeat...

Ba bump ba bump ba bump ba bump…

my heart races at eighty-five beats per minute;

faster as I push myself to finish what I’m doing

so I can move on to something else.

I set the bar high, my own expectations higher—

the fear of restructure, replacement remains

a ghostly shadow hiding in a corner of my mind;

for I know all too well that I am dispensable,

that it’s never about the work, but the bottom line.

I‘ve wondered, how does one pace oneself?

Is there even such a thing?

Acutely aware that at this age, this stage

life should be about slowing down,

enjoying each moment…

unsure if this is wearing me down

or keeping my mind alert; keeping me young.

I am reminded on a daily basis

of how life can change in a heartbeat;.

So, like the ‘Little Engine That Could’

  I keep chugging away while I still can

...ba bump ba bump ba bump ba bump ba bump.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

A Feast for the Eyes

Image: G. Brannan

A soft rain falls upon the garden

coaxing life from winter’s sleep.

The birds return, reverse migration

in their song lies winter’s pardon;

as season shares an invitation

that we, in turn, attempt to reap.

Lilac, dogwood, rhododendron—

the apple blossoms drift like snow…

they share again their ageless story,

as in succession, so they grow.

The Spring explodes in all her glory

and we embrace her bright tableaux.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Just Three Simple Words

How sweet the innocence that’s found

in children and the elderly;

the joy unbounded they exude

with love both simple and profound

that for the rest of us, eludes.

The young with their straightforwardness—

a child giggles, happily

untainted by the world beyond

with no reserve or attitude

their love shared, unabashedly

both color-blind and rainbow-hued.

In turn, receiver then responds

in kind, to share this special gift

that’s given, unsolicited;

and so we’re captured in this bond

that we embrace with gratitude.

The elderly live time reversed—

they’re locked inside their solitude

so often jaded and despondent.

Yet laughter often lifts this curse:

we watch their spark return once more

to leave us humbled and subdued.

I heard your words, my heart expands

within this bond that we have shared,

this momentary interlude

between two friends of circumstance.

Within a world of happenstance,

so often words get misconstrued

or took for granted once they’re said.

Without reward or recompense

they’re left ignored as they accrue.

And what is learned through this review?

    —We must embrace each "I love you."

© Ginny Brannan 2017

One for the Writers

It starts with a thought, a word, an idea

scratched upon the page…

pulled from the pit, the well, the abyss, the cache

within my head—

prompted by image, an event, an emotion

from something felt or read.

Layer upon layer we build the tale

into something we can share

Then post the words, forevermore—

that all might find them there.

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

Here’s to the ones who feel compelled

to express what’s in their souls;

whose compulsion borders on obsession,

whose writing makes them whole.

You compose the notes to a symphony

and we, the eager reader, hear the song.

We are swept away by your music,
and in the words find common bond.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

The Road Taken

Image by author.

Sometimes we choose the road we will take,

planning our journey, mapping the route,

choosing the highways and byways

often with a specific destination in mind.

But even the best-laid plans may run amok.

Often the road diverges; we are faced with

potholes and pit falls, unplanned detours

past torn up pavement and unforeseen construction.

We still hope to arrive at our destination

yet knowing it will be much later than we had hoped.

Sometimes we are even forced

onto a whole different pathway,

and must regroup to outline

and plan a new course.

No matter…for it was never the destination

nor the route we chose at all…

Rather it is the folks that join us

for some or all of our journey;

whose pathways parallel our own—

who offer us camaraderie and friendship;

we find comfort in their companionship,

in knowing we do not face our journey alone.

…and for me, that has made all the difference.

© Ginny Brannan 2017

Day 29 NaPoWriMo  (optional) prompt. Take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem.

If you hadn’t guessed, my word is  “road.” Apologies to Frost, my favorite poet, for plagiarizing some of his words and switching this up from “The Road Not Taken.”

Illumination

Curiosity, the spark that sets us apart

       on our quest for knowledge... 

Common sense is learned in degrees

starting at the knees of our elders.

In their words and stories, we learn about ourselves,

When we finally learn to read, we travel—

floating on a raft down the Mississippi;

chasing an elusive white whale on an endless sea;

joining a group of unlikely companions

on a quest for something ‘larger’ than ourselves.

The world expands, becoming greater than we ever imagined.

The more we absorb, the hungrier we become;

history teaches us, but it’s the stuff outside of the margins

        that holds the real story...

Who wrote this? What guided his thoughts as he lay

in the trenches of the French Revolution

the Civil War, World War I?

So we follow these word paths, penned from the souls

of a thousand, nay, a thousand times ten thousand.

We hold their stories and garner their memories

adhering them to our own.  We are with them

as they climb the path to Mt. Doom,

slip down the rabbit hole,

feel the pendulum brush their skin,

and click their shoes to go home again;

never wanting to leave this secret garden,

this Neverland of dreams and imagination.

Through the words we learn to sort fact from fiction,

weigh guilt from innocence, solve crimes;

discover ordinary heroes rising against extraordinary villains.

Words hold the power to change the world:

willfull ignorance and lies cannot hold up against

those who have learned to recognize truth

The early scribes and monks of old had a daunting task:

they laboured for hours on vellum pages with ink and quill,

 no computers then, nor ballpoint pen...

the process ever slow and tedious.

Is it any wonder when their pens would wander?

That even early on, if given a choice,
they would surrender to their inner voice

        setting free their imagination

to provide not just a story, but illumination.

© Ginny Brannan 2014

Illumination has several definitions, two of which pertain to this:
1) Spiritual or intellectual enlightenment
2) Painting or drawing included in a book, i.e.:medieval manuscripts

For NaPoWriMo #24: using the marginal drawings and artwork known as "illumination" as inspiration.

Yes, even humor could be found in medieval manuscripts!