Things That Go Bump in the Night

 

Soft footsteps echo through the empty hall

to startle me awake from dreamless sleep

as ghostly shadows dance along the wall

 

Ever cautiously so I don’t fall,

across the barren oaken floor do I creep

toward the sound of footsteps in the hall

 

Over gabled roof a Screech owl calls

before escaping into woodlands deep

while limb-like shadows creep along the wall

 

By the bedroom door I pause, then stall­–

the aging floor condemns with a loud 'creak'

to warn approaching footsteps in the hall

 

I wonder if I have the wherewithal

to crack the door a bit and take a peak,

while shadows hold their council on the wall

 

I think back under covers I shall crawl

inside my blanket shroud I’ll burrow deep;

hidden from the footsteps in the hall

and those shadows, ever watchful, on the wall.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Between Hostility and Humanity

 

I see their images shared

the sweet little blonde girl taken from family,

the little boy in a Spiderman costume

no family left to mourn him

  no one left to call Kaddish.

    no one to sit Shiva.

Some are collateral damage

others taken with intent

meant to inflict maximum damage;

scorched earth policies in a land

already burned by desert sun 

and too many years of conflict.

There is no place safe from those

intent on doing such harm; no words 

to quell the loathing and madness

that births such heinous acts: 

militant groups filled with rancor and vitriol

defined by being selectively blind 

to the pain and the suffering they leave behind.

Hate begets hate in this land

of an ‘eye for an eye’ reputation, of

biblical vengeance and ramifications,

where double-edged swords

cut to the bone and no one

is safe, no one is left unscathed.

Too many years of resentment have honed

this building enmity, and frayed the fabric of the land.

And we, we talk the talk of civilized nations

while bearing our own conflicted emotions

wondering where we are on this scale between

hostility and humanity, probably closer than 
we realize to the ones we deem "savages."

And we pray, in our ‘holier than thou” way, 

that we never grow numb, that we never succumb

to the baser extremes of raping women

or murdering innocents in the streets.

So look upon these obscene attacks

with eyes wide open, with your heart still intact,

and remember that there, but for the grace of God 

(or whoever you believe in and pray to) 

goes each and every one of us.

© Ginny Brannan 2023

       

My heart aches for the children of Israel, the innocents wounded, taken, killed in the attack perpetrated by the group known as Hamas. I see posts every day shared by a dear friend here in the U.S., and my heart breaks for her loss of family and friends. Hate groups that exact revenge on innocents do so to inflict their terror and scare others into submission. It is neither acceptable nor condonable, and all of good heart must condemn such actions or we are no better than they.

For AZ and those lost that she carries in her heart.

 

It Probably Wouldn't Work Anyways

 

The seed of a thought has planted itself

in a niche somewhere deep in my brain

it whispers of some kind of normalcy

and murmurs of new possibilities

the idea of which both frightens me,

and lifts from the pain that remains.

Still, I question of the practicality 

of pondering such triviality.

it probably wouldn’t work anyways

and inside of this current reality

any hope that I hold feels in vain.

Yet the idea persists, won’t cease or desist,

it even appears in my dreams–

it’s hard to ignore as it plays tug o’ war

insists on existing despite my resisting

rattling me to my core.

It’s not like we don’t have rapport,

yet this doesn’t adhere to the norm...

it takes on theme that isn’t mainstream;

but at this stage, must we conform?

And it might cause a few heads to turn–

I weigh that, while trying to make sense.

It waffles between established routine

taking us both to a different extreme

both exciting and pretty intense.

Have I ever mentioned that I over-think things

no matter how large or how small?

I hash and rehash them and sometimes I save them

take out, think about, and sometimes replace them

while weighing the risks and pitfalls.

And I’ve thought all this out, six ways to Sunday

and won't argue for or against...

so if it gets awkward, well what can I say?

If one of us chooses to just walk away?

 At least we both came to the dance.

© GB 2023

"No Soup for You"

 

It was just a little thing,

the way you read my mind–

probably coincidence

or planetary confluence

no reason or no rhyme.

It was just a little thing

how the words took their own meaning

as if you sensed my deepest thoughts

and knew what I was feeling.

It was just a little thing

no truth or consequences

but for a moment it felt real

some universal prescience

and I, the pawn who stumble on

searching for some relevance

holding the last bastion

just to find indifference

provision without sustenance

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

*Title credit to the TV series "Seinfeld," a quote from the episode called "The Soup Nazi" who demands a strict regimen to order his famous soups. "No soup for you" the retort given if you do not follow his rules.

The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants...

 

Where do your dreams go when they wander free?

Do they settle on one time or place,

or stumble the path of unfamiliarity

where past and present coexist, 

but future is a point far in the distance?

And I wonder when you dream, if you see a face?

Is it someone from long, long ago?

Or someone you might like to know?

Most paths we choose don’t follow set rules

no straight lines to get there from here

filled with twists, turns and bends, forks and dead ends

so we test out the waters, dipping our toes, 

deciding if we should dive in.

Sometimes I dream of someone I’ve known

but often I don’t dream at all,

searching for clarity inside of disparity

it’s no wonder we pause or forestall—

so I’ll ask, noncommittally, without any bias:

    Where do your fantasies fall?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

When I Was Loved

 

When I was loved I never had any fear

strength and security surrounded me

gray days seemed brighter, this heart lighter

with the knowledge that I was not alone

 

Time gives, but then it takes away

all the things we thought would last,

slowly swallowing the past

and we adapt as best we can...

as we wait in the wings for the last curtain call

and that starless night that consumes us all

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

For Me, Alone

There is a song that I can hear

the words have faded, not as clear

as in my youth, yet there’s a truth,

    and I am listening.

 

I remember when we called it ours

our stories written in each line

as I awaken with the dawn

they disappear, until they're gone

 

An empty heart looks for release

inside the memories it cleaves

as it searches for reprive,  

without goodbye, without reply

 

A writer cannot write a song

nor can they fill an empty page

unless they’ve walked the broken path 

where nothing’s left, and nothing lasts

 

I float inside this empty space

in no specific time or place

and I'm still searching for the song

the tune that's meant for me, alone

     and I am listening

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023