Slipknot lyrics at
barefoot cotillions
caravans call by
blazing firelight
palms upturned
are seeking solace
for a dollar
for a dime

paraded daughters
bare their breasts
tendrils fall across
their wetted lips
swaying rhythms
luring them in
for a dollar
for a dime

boiling tinctures
over open flame
cure their ills
ease their pains
family secrets
in open air bars
for a dollar
for a dime

metal coin box
with rusted lock
moving by day
as a calling card
muttered curses
casting spells
for a dollar
for a dime

as dusk is cresting
the women preen
barefoot cotillions
in caravan dreams

 ©Brenda-Lee Ranta


Of Minstrels and Sages

Burned by the kiss of sages
are lips that never speak
carried through the ages
are secrets that she keeps

Minstrels gave her pleasure
distraction from her plight
countenance unmeasured
through every tortuous night

Left forgotten and forsaken
feeling naked in their sight
then again, she was mistaken
for one who dared to fight

Through every life it lingered
an ache so deep, so wide
bewildered and beleaguered
by what still lived inside

She knew a hidden meaning
lived somewhere in a dream
the images seemed fleeting
mouth emitting silent screams

Her mind can feel so weary
repeating time and space
it just became so dreary
ancient soul, different face

‘She feels older than
the ground she stands on
Her feet feel the earth
and the earth remembers’

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

By Proxy

Smashed hearts
leave bloody imprints
like the Shroud of Turin
a stain on the fabric
of the soul
a stain on the fabric
of the mind
dripping tears
on temple floors
plaintive wails for mercy
when the sound of
their voices are
heard only to themselves

Where do they go?
These brave, turned dour;
who shall love them?
when they feel tarnished
or broken
when they feel sullied
or ruined
dripping tears
on bathroom floors
silent tears in the darkness
secrets in pillow cases
Smiles lie,
sorrowed unto themselves

Shattered hearts
leave sticky trails
of blood and tears;
that cling to the soles
of the mighty
squashed by the heels
of the oppressor
Mouths taped shut;
tongues cut out
Self-inflicted wounds
by proxy
Wry grins
from gold tooth narcissists

Pockets of bandages
thrown to the crowds
Tyrants seldom like
the sight of blood
on their marble floors
Stem the bleeding and
leave the imprint
on cotton gauze

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



Behold the face

Pensive is the face
of intellectualism
free of the rudimental.
beyond scope
magnification, creationism
spilling outward

Quiet is the voice
of intelligence
it cleaves not the satisfaction
in usurping
coveting all knowledge
for its own sake

Joyful are the eyes
of awareness
patient beyond all trials
that surely pass
all things shall have their
place and time

Peaceful is the mind
of comprehension
beyond all that is temporal
aspiring to truth
for only truth is capable
of surviving eternally

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



soul laceration

Another incarceration
another soul laceration
filled with fury,
rages that mask
their desolation
Deaf ears can’t hear
their alms of
prayed through
closed eyes,
in dingy, dank
prison cells
There they
inhale deeply
the putrid stench
of failure, sour smells
of bodily functions,
while the drone
of pleas for mercy
go unheard amongst
the filing of metal
shanks, the flush of
rusty toilets, pipes
banging and groaning
above their heads;
ghostly choruses of
lost souls floating
among them, heavy
laden with sorrows
They find their joy
in the thick of night,
memories become
reality, eyes squeeze
shut in submission to
laughing faces of family,
lovers and lost friends
Till daybreak they survive;
while movie-like dreams
play over again in tainted
minds and hearts

©Brenda-Lee Ranta


A certain promise
is held
in a new year
on the horizon
never discounting
the lessons learned
amazing experiences
the first times
or the last times
still the promise
holds a certain ‘promise’
that this is the year
this is the one
that you secretly wait for
every year
the game changer


Even though
it may be just as
every other year
thankful for
what it was
and wasn’t
lessons learned
Still, I love
a new year
on the horizon

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



Projection upon her, incongruous
It wasn’t pessimism, it wasn’t illusory
very few comprehend the reality of it
things slipped through fingers
things dropped from lips
smiling faces and long sighs
feelings spoke to her in the night,
wakeful nights, where she cursed words
out loud, to empty ceilings, to empty hearts
nights slipped into mornings
nights dropped from her life
hidden meanings and word play

Still she smiles back
still she sighs in resignation

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Pieces of Darkness

Darkness gently caressed her once more
Breath on her cheek was soft and steady,
his warm arm rested across her chest
She knew the shape of his long arms;
where wrist bone connected to tendon
Tracing the long lines of his body, their
legs pretzelled together in puzzle pieces

Winter winds blew outside their window
Sounds of the night lulled her to surrender
Shifting onto her side, instinctively moving
with her, tucking his knees into hers, their
bodies formed a question mark on the sheets
Together, they were never a question, the
fabric of their beings fit together perfectly

Breathing in unison
replenishing themselves
for every tomorrow

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Haiku (Kismet)

She abandoned her high heels
swapped them for sneakers
Not cut out for the high life

He abandoned his sneakers
Laced up his Florsheims
Thought image was everything

Breathing in the country air
She smelled of city
Some things she couldn’t wash off

Driving a rented Fiat
In his only suit
Dirt beneath his finger nails

She kept checking for her watch
without knowing why
She had nowhere else to be

He was always day-dreaming
Lost track of the time
Late for his job interview

It was time to find herself
But where would she start
Now that time really stood still

A missed opportunity
Who was he kidding?
Not cut out for the high life

Sitting on the side of the road
Weaving daisy chains
Into her long, braided hair

Felt the tire blow on the car
Pulled over road side
Daisy vision in his eyes

She saw him looking at her
His eyes locked with hers
Last good-bye to the high life

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



A peek at Chapter One 💓

Brenda-Lee Ranta is an author/poet who resides in Timmins, Ontario, Canada. She began writing poetry 52 years ago, a practice she has cherished throughout her life, as a form of journaling, which recorded events throughout her lifetime. She is a mother of three children, two step children and a grandmother. Brenda-Lee shares her artistic journey […]

via Featured Writer: Brenda-Lee Ranta — Creative Talents Unleashed

Her Name

Say her name
as though salient;
throaty, whispered,
like the first time

look longingly
into her eyes
as though bluer,
made to love you

if she is quiet
let her ponder
perhaps it is you
she is imagining

when she speaks
listen carefully
there are secrets
hidden there

when you hold her
feel her heart
beating against you
alive with longing

touch her tenderly
she’s but an egg shell
cracked in places
slivered from the cold

Just say her name
Just say her name
Just say her name


©Brenda-Lee Ranta





daze dayz

In the last
quarter of life
The heart fills
to bursting
with the unsaid,
swallowed things;
to be heard
to forgive
to be forgiven
to understand
to be understood
to acknowledge
to be acknowledged
Made to feel,
by that person
that you are always
enough, when broken,
strong, hopeful,
hopeless, empty
and filled, it is
a painful void
on days when
they close their
mouth, turning
their back to you
leaving the heart
aching and laden

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

No Note

They don’t
leave a note
They just go
Agonized hearts
have no words
Pain consumes
without relief
Tormented hearts
don’t leave a note
Nothing to say
these unloved,
the second choice
unto themselves
Forever  the
the betrayed
Only missed
once they’re gone.

They won’t hurt
they’re gone

©Brenda-Lee Ranta


Our journey… Our story..Our life 💓

Book Review A Soul Passenger: When Love Collides by Brenda-Lee Ranta is a unique love story where readers are introduced to two souls who meet each other just in time and rescue each other from their otherwise hopeless lives. It is a story about survival, self-doubt, and emotional abuse, living through fear, and a […]

via Five Star Readers’ Favorite Review “A Soul Passenger” — Creative Talents Unleashed

Reviewed By: Gisela Dixon Review Rating: 5 Stars

By Gisela Dixon for Readers’ Favorite

A Soul Passenger: When Love Collides by Brenda-Lee Ranta is a story based on Brenda-Lee’s own experiences. A Soul Passenger: When Love Collides starts off with the main character’s struggles with her family and we get a glimpse into her home life as well as her marriage. We also learn about her parenting struggles as she copes with moving on from her marriage. In the midst of all this, she meets Drew and they start communicating. Once they eventually meet in person, sparks fly and there is a strong and instant personal connection. However, it is not all smooth sailing as they deal with ups and downs in their relationship, along with issues around addiction and dysfunctional family dynamics. This is ultimately a story of love and healing.

A Soul Passenger: When Love Collides by Brenda-Lee Ranta is an interesting read. Although it is a work of fiction, as per Brenda herself, it draws from her own personal experiences and the story is based loosely around her own life. I liked that this is not simply a story of two people meeting or even a love story, but goes deeper than that by delving into the main character’s background and her previous relationship as well as family issues. This makes the book more real and relatable. There are also references to alternative healing methods explored in the book, which may be of interest to a reader. Overall, the flowing and casual writing style, along with the real issues like addiction that the story highlights, makes this a worthwhile read.






















My Shores

Arms beckon you to my shore
Come and rest in the cool water
Lay your head upon my bosom;
give comfort to your weary mind
sooth your brow with tender kiss
enfold your body in my wings

I have soared above the shallows
felt the wind of autumns call
braved the cold of my transgression
still I fly above it all
I have braved the plight of hunger
atrophied and starved of soul
felt the pain in your confessions
breaking free of all control

Rest within forgotten slumber
Nestle here against my heart
I be the chalice to your thirst;
bathing in your supplications
rest in the solace of my love
veracious in my faith of you

I have soared above the shallows
felt the wind of autumns call
braved the cold of my transgression
still I fly above it all
I have braved the plight of hunger
atrophied and starved of soul
felt the pain in your confessions
breaking free of all control

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



How to detach from outcome

The human experience
captive to a body that
fights to deny its divinity,
sparring with ourselves;
mired in heavy gravity

while ego screams
you will get hurt
you can’t win
you are not enough
you are too old
people are liars
don’t trust anyone
they will carve you up
like a turkey on a platter
don’t laugh too loud
don’t walk too heavy
who listens to you?
everyone is dispensable
people say things to placate

The human sits quietly
releases the past
doesn’t fret the future
listens to a voice
in the frozen silence

while spirit whispers
you are worthy of love
you can do anything
you are infinite potential
you are beautiful
you can trust
no one can hurt you
when your home isn’t here
you have a perfect soul
you are loving
you are completely safe
this is an illusion
You are intelligent
you are a soul first
©Brenda-Lee Ranta


A Soul Passenger – Prologue

Opening excerpt from my novel.. 💓

Creative Talents Unleashed

A Soul PassengerPrologue …

As the snow recedes,

the Ides of March reveal

that which was buried far beneath ~

impregnated life awaiting new birth in spring

Against all better judgement, she agreed to meet him at the park. Tiny mounds of dirty snow were barely visible on that damp, grey March day.

She had agreed she would be there on her lunch hour; finally putting a face to his words. They had met on-line through a mutual friend, never imagining herself actually agreeing to rendezvous with a total stranger. It was the antithesis of everything she was, however she was driving there.

His first words to her in an in-boxed message had been, “you have secrets.” She was shocked at his impetuous opening statement to her, however it was true. She had many secrets. She was experienced at hiding her sad, sordid life, wearing a façade of being capable, strong. They…

View original post 491 more words

New Release “A Soul Passenger” by Brenda-Lee Ranta

My story…

Creative Talents Unleashed

A Soul PassengerBook Description: Every man and woman longs to find a love that is unconditional. This book is the autobiographical account of a woman and a man, who against all odds, found each other; resuming something mystical that existed long before the annals of earthly time and space.

This is the actual account of two people who came into what is known as “The Sacred Union or Twin Soul Reunion.” Nothing on earth prepares two people for this encounter, but once they find each other, there is a magnetic energy pulling at them, stronger than any other human encounter they have experienced. This book speaks of personal struggles, horrific fears, running stages and the final acquiescence to what has been preordained; lest they never sleep another peaceful night.

This is not a union made of fluff or fairy tales.  Rather, it is the awakening of two sleeping

beings, who truly awoke…

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Meet Author Brenda-Lee Ranta

I am honored to share this journey with you in my first novel 💓

Creative Talents Unleashed


Brenda-Lee Ranta composed her first poem at the age of seven.  Throughout her life, she used prose as a means of logging her experiences in a life which has been under ‘constant construction.’

Amazing to her, is that at the age of 58, CTU Publishing Group published her first book, “Myriad of Perceptions,” to be followed by “Allegories – a thirst for connection.”  It was for her, a life changing experience, taking her from journal writing to giving her words a life beyond herself.  Her two books also were awarded five-star reviews from Readers Favorites.

Since 2016, she has been a contributor to many Anthologies published by CTU Publishing.  In the summer of 2017, she was honored to be the Creative Director for the Anthology, “I Have a Name,” which is a compilation of poetry submissions from poets around the world, on the silent…

View original post 716 more words

Bank step door men

Ambivalence drove them out
but they always came back
to the first kiss under a streetlight
spinning tires on a gravel roads
transistor radio on beach blankets

Everyone knew their business
nothing sacred in the small town
they recognized your lazy gait
from a mile down the road
love and secrets in back seats

Boredom drives them out
bank step door men in denim
cream soda and cigarettes
stale jokes, repeated stories
laughing like it’s the first time

Stench of yesterday’s draft
pool cue chalk between fingers
cigarette butts in wet ashtrays
band plays “Born to be Wild”
ladies in waiting lick shiny lips

Ambivalence drove them out
but they always come back
to the place where the ghosts
of their youth still live; to the
only place still called home.


©Brenda-Lee Ranta

the other shoe

She spent a life protecting herself
always fearful of the other shoe


hooves galloping through her mind
the grim reaper riding bareback
as though he was always expected
as though she was unworthy
of anything but discourse or pain
swaddling herself in protection
looking through mirrored eyes
shifting eyes, left, then right
heart beats so loud they pulse
in her ears, impossible to ignore
these beats of fear, galloping


walking quietly, meeting glances
smiling face with shredded heart
never let them see you sweat
head down, draw no attention
an ounce of prevention, no cure
there are pounds, never a cure
were they sincere, words she hears
mind chattering like squirrels
in her head, constantly chatter
greatest show on earth, juggler,
watch her keep the balls in the air


for all the time she protected herself
she couldn’t protect her from herself

©Brenda-Lee Ranta






Life was a prologue
of vicarious pleasures
Imagination wreaked havoc
causing her breath to shutter
and take up the ballet again
measuring her bites in hours
counting steps, inhalations

Did they visualize her
behind smoked glass
hiding within cloistered walls
typing her words in the dark
reveling the intangible within
craving, anticipating, deflating
counting steps, inhalations

Twirling hair in fingers
dreaming in twilight
living in a filtered daylight
pasting her face for the world
steeling herself with false bravado
hesitation, trepidation, resignation

Counting steps, inhalations
Sometimes pausing
considering the epilogue
that inevitably will come
Counting steps, inhalations


bricks-2569238_1280©Brenda-Lee Ranta






‘Women, have long been prisoners to male projection.   We have been placed in roles as subservient, our equalled intelligence, our value – understated, our capabilities overlooked.

Women are the givers of life, creationists, critical thinkers, nurturers with an innate empathy.   We cannot be diminished by outmoded ideologies.  No more bound from our true essence, as though we are meaningless.’

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Infamous depravity. (lyrics)

Be maniacal man or just simply insane
his lusty screams all sound the same
His words are tangled, his syntax gone
yet girls would swoon to his bullshit songs
his faded jeans, with knees worn through
from praying at the altars of every taboo

Tithes his money for ‘Our Lady of Scorn’
lights candles as alms, while viewing their porn
breached his own rules, becoming obsessed
writes songs as homage to those he undressed
still the girls will swoon to his bullshit songs
when the drinks are free and the nights are long

Picks his guitar, like a street side busker
he is shady and greasy, just a sleazy hustler
when the lights grow dim and he ends the show
spends his cash on the only things that he knows
His life is a stage, a well-played masquerade
when alone in the dark, he is simply depraved

A maniacal man or just simply insane
his lusty screams all sound the same
His words are tangled, his syntax gone
yet girls would swoon to his bullshit songs
his faded jeans, with knees worn through
from praying at the altars of every taboo

His life is a stage, a well-played masquerade
when alone in the dark, he is simply depraved

His life is a stage, a well-played masquerade
when alone in the dark, he is simply depraved

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



Floating in time
seeing myself down there
performing, rote, task oriented
so far removed from the me up here
unplugged from this day, as meaningless
where people bump each other in the night
while others simply flap their wings in fright
it is lonely up here, merely floating in time
seeing everyone jumping through hoops
monkeys bang their cymbals in time
toy soldiers beat invisible drums
I see myself snapping my gum
filling files, emptying cups
Floating in time


©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Flit and Fury

In the blush of youth, I was the gentle breeze blowing in the willows,
I was agile, readily adaptable, young and idealistic, flitting through time,
lighting softly and gracefully, sure the tides would carry me onward

Gone, the innocence of youth, today I am a gale blowing through the oaks,
time is elusive, so is ambiguity, therefore I am purposeful, knowing that
I must stand firm in my desires, never relinquishing my dreams for today

I am the gale
I do not whisper
blowing fiercely
with passion

©Brenda-lee Ranta


I love the feel of his hand in mine
Long fingers, artists hands made for
drumming, his wrists loose, his hands
sure, rhythm running the length of
his arms, seeping out of each digit

His hands stroke my head, touch my
face, my hair, my skin; holding our
grandchildren with such tenderness
and care; they are balms of love when
I’m lonely or squeezes of affirmation

His hands write his beautiful words,
flowing from his mind into his finger-
tips, typing his mystical thoughts as
though magic lives on their very tips;
his hands are miracles of creationism

I love his strong hands
they are hands of a man
with the fingers of a poet

©Brenda-Lee Ranta




(Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette, Auguste Renoir)

Her clarity was haphazard brush strokes
of an Auguste Renoir canvas, painted in earthy,
vivid colors, seldom delicate, complexly
executed, revealing her depths of emotion

From a distance, she was seen in totality,
but to peer into her face was to see her very
undefined, rapid strokes bleeding into the
next, clarity becomes the genius of the artist

She preferred to never reveal her ambiguity,
so she allowed the world to view her from
a distance, the illusion of completeness; in
truth, wide brush strokes were camouflage

How she loved Renoir
he captured her spirit succinctly

©Brenda-Lee Ranta


closet doors

there are memories lingering
in open closet doors
summonsing the past
to confront the future

whispers from photographs
frozen gazes of hope
drifting up to heaven
closet doors left gaping

begging to be filled again
with gossamer wings
replacing garments in
arrays of celestial light

his skeletons are free
flying upwards

© Brenda-Lee Ranta

An excerpt from Chapter One 💓

Brenda-Lee Ranta resides in Timmins, Ontario, Canada. She shares her journey with her life partner who is a drummer, lyricist and emerging poet. She is the mother of three children, two step-children and three grand-children. Employed with her local police service, she spends her personal time writing songs with her partner, singing, reading, doing yoga, […]

via Featured Writer: Brenda-Lee Ranta — Creative Talents Unleashed

Poignant Anthology

Originally posted on Creative Talents Unleashed: ? I am staggering Below, the broad strides of giants All chemically safe and sound ? I am finally staggering for euphoria’s reach In a swell of despair That coats me in rot ? A shudder from within Sends the cold ground hurtling Nearer and nearer As the cries…

via Baby Steps ~ William Wright, Jr. — loftydreams101’s

An excerpt from a unique poet…

Music, on a wave of echoes Every ripple, traces of faces, frozen in three quarter time Deliver me on a backbeat, to the heartbeat of a memory Carried on echoes Dusty days from the past smoky voices with vices, tripping in three quarter time Echoes reach out, touching, someone, anyone, everyone Little […]

via Carried on Echoes – Author Hugh Dysart — Creative Talents Unleashed

An excerpt from my book, Allegories.

No mother should bury their child. awake one morning, trapped in a living nightmare; her daughter had passed in her sleep, leaving her broken and soul shocked, forever anchored to despair she cocooned herself, fervently living for her daughter’s children, in honour to her, in reverence for her, through every year, loving […]

via Mothers of Angels – Author Brenda-Lee Ranta — Creative Talents Unleashed

Another great poet

The elderly couple from China Collects your cans as you snore Veggie gardens grow in front yards of California homes Roosters crow in backyards of un-fostered farms My Hispanic neighbor has a driveway full with new cars Under his canopy he tunes what’s broke Old clothes sell like new Shopping malls […]

via Under Your Nails – Author Demitri Tyler — Creative Talents Unleashed