Article Information

Robin Gallaher Branch1

1Department of Bible and Theology, Victory University, Memphis, United States of America

Postal address:
255 North Highland, Memphis, TN 38111, United States of America

How to cite this article:
Branch, R.G., 2013, ‘Poetic Vignettes about Life’, Literator 34(2), Art. #1041, 1 page.

Copyright Notice:
© 2013. The Authors. Licensee: AOSIS OpenJournals.

This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited.
Poetic Vignettes about Life
In This Litera...
Open Access
I. ‘Strong, strong winds over Nijmegen, Netherlands: Reflections on Palm Sunday morning, 2013’

Trains in the treetops,
You titans of roar
Tearing the skyway
And trenching earth’s floor

You trains without tracks
Your courses unknown
Fast charging, pell-mell
Powerful, alone

Cacophany trains
Tromboning your power
Rage loudly at night
And cymbal the hours

You trains pummel blows
Place thundering kicks
Besiege big buildings
With merciless hits

You trains in the treetops
So fierce in your pride
Yet suddenly cowed
By a rosy sun’s rise

* * *

II. ‘The Last Word’

While my fussy boss enjoys a pontificating tirade,
I smile in silence thinking,
‘Wait till I get out my pen!’


When my husband talks ugly to me,
His faults get analyzed on paper.


Enter Power Poet!
That’s who I am!

  Trumpet fanfare!

My milquetoast, obedient self
Blossoms bigger than bold, brighter than gold
When facing a blank page.

  Drum roll!

Quietly confident, the real me commands center stage–
I, a poet with backbone!


My lampooning pen bleeds blue,
Laughing away those insults with caricatures
And the sting of wounding words with pithy puns.


The morning’s headline declares my triumph:
‘Power Poet pulverizes opponents!’


At least in my imagination,
Power Poet wins the last word.


* * *

III. ‘A Friend’s (New) Life’

‘My ex is dead,’ she said, she said.
‘My ex is dead,’ she said.

Collapsing, shocked, she went to bed
When learning he was dead.

Yet dreadful images returned–
Lost years dissolved in tears.
Memory banks dredged up again
So many, many fears

Of wounding words and drunkenness
Of violence and sloth.
The warp and woof of hopes and dreams
Ended in brokenness.

He wielded power in abuse:
Gray smoke blown toward her face.
Such disrespect! It wore her down.
She feared he meant his shouts.

‘He’s really gone,’ she tossed, she turned.
‘I’m free to live,’ she sighed.
‘For even he cannot come back
To taunt and terrify.’

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