The Forge

Writing whether poetry or prose whatever comes pouring out, is my passion. Here are but a few of my scribbles and scratches. Speak up, if you see something good or bad in it.  Peace all

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BIO: Born and raised in the idyllic wonder of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania where time seems to have stalled in the eighteen hundreds. Corn and tobacco fields, meadows for grazing. All the necessities for a wild and roving childhood.

Tucson is where I found my home. Where the desert lays swelteringly low, and mountain islands rise from the heat and swelter to offer an oasis of cooling escape. Still I am surrounded by animals. Parrots and dogs and a rescued wild pigeon who is absolutely devoted to me. My better half of 36 plus years is the best thing to happen to me. Love is a great source of creative energy and my well runs deep.

I hope you can find something you can appreciate here in my garden.

–bf

Revisionism

by brian francis

Where once he was a hero
a man above all men
They made a great bronze statue
meant to raise and honor him
a horseman and his waving hat
stood there rearing for all time
reminding us how fate can rule
our lives when honor binds

The dirt that he defended
held his roots deep and firm
the southern threat has ended
and now correctness flows in tide
now those cherished memories
of his response to honor’s call
seem lost to those protesting
as they watch the statue fall

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

The World Tree

By brian francis

Hung as a sacrifice the wood held him tightly
His suffering accepted by his own word
spear pierced, his side, it flowed like a river
His life bleeding down into the well of Urd

Denied even water no hand could assist him
suffering alone he stared down into the well
as he sung to the runes tempting their visit
for nine days he suffered his own living hell

nine nights he stared; they deemed him worthy
revealing the magic of all the nine worlds
released he fell downward knowledge his power
raising him up the Valkyries wings unfurled

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Author’s Note: been asked what the hell i’m writing about. so here it is– The norse god Odin sacrificed himself on the “world Tree” which grows out of the “well of Urd” his sacrifice was made to himself and it’s purpose was to learn the truths of the runes. In the end his actions where enough for him to learn the secrets of the runes thereby gaining the powers of magic over creation. did not mention in the poem that Odin at another time plucked his own eye out to gain wisdom.

Queen of Heaven

By brian francis

Asherah, long has your name been bound
Josiah’s rage defiled you, hid you in the dust
Unknown yet still they pray to you for gifts
Your name still hidden your power yet given

Asherah, Mother of all things seen from the heavens
Blesser of woman and the fertile seasons of love
Wife of devotion and protection of Him who is
Mother of creation’s toil, witness to the light

Asherah, Lady of the seas to some, also lost
Progenitor of all that is and too of all that isn’t
Drawn from the memories of stone we find you
On shards your name rings among the highest

Asherah, we when in passions embrace worship you
And strive to be worthy of your gifts for life
Asherah, I call out your name to witness your beauty
To one day hold your gift and honoring you raise it up


Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Mother


By brian francis


From that first second, when you held me in your arms
when you looked at me and, smiling, loved so completely;
I have known that you were there for me in every way.

When I first slipped away and wandered – I was seeking you.
And, when fear then gripped me, in tortures lonely moments;
your sudden embrace relieved me and allowed me peace.

I have looked to you for guidance and safekeeping.
I have looked to you in happiness and in weeping.

And when the wounds of a hearty childhood left me bleeding,
with tears streaming down from reddened cheeks and eyes,
I sought the cure to all life’s ailing; always within your arms.

When defeat rocked me and sundered my strength and will.
In loneliness I called, silently, your name – and remembered.
Even then a warmth and loving peace engulfed my soul.

I have looked to you for guidance and safekeeping.
I have looked to you in happiness and in weeping.

And when joy has visited upon me and basking in its light,
I have sought you – only – to share in all of my dreams.
And for all of life I love and praise you, Mother.

I have held you in my arms and known true love.
I have sought you in my pain and found relief.
And I’ve shared with you in pride, life’s successes.

I have looked to you for guidance and safekeeping.
I have looked to you in happiness and in weeping.

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

The Monkey’s Ride

by brian francis

Reflections in the mirror of life,
flashbacks to a sordid past.
The emotional gambit, pity’s plight,
the stuff from which reality is cast.
A life of “candy” young free times,
Black Tar clouds, and Mexican Mud.
Bogging the mind and destroying within.
Whether white as snow or resin black –
The face of death dark and grim.

Turning away and finding oneself,
A horror, a ghost, just barely alive.
Realizing the truth and fighting to win,
Wading through the terror and lies.
Winning the fight, without self-esteem;
Struggling back from deaths near grip.
Leaving it all and everyone behind
And starting from scratch –
No needles – No sin.

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Misanthrope

By brian francis

Devious eyes
watch every turn.
smoldering hate
effuses from within.
A smile conceals
the bastardly conceit
that drives
desires of domination.
Seductions face
is comely and coy
beckoning and stroking
the most basic of needs.
Self-image the weakness,
exploited with ease.
A smile — the door swings open.


Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Off Key

by brian francis

When I listen to the voices of those people speaking loud
I hear their take on hatred and I cringe
I understand the logic of a people being proud
Yet in lifting one you need not push another to the ground
that is how they see the world with their own particular tint
shame is lost to those who can see only themselves

While with lies we might be governed by an orange idiot
Embracing so much of what as a nation we despise
Like him being an apologist for the Nazis and the KKK
He expects that we will grin and accept all of his lies
An ignorant elitist who thinks we are here for his benefit
Offering potatoes while he hides the steaks away

A narcissistic psychopath sits in the highest chair
While the world looks on and tries to bide its time
To see if the experiment can survive through all of this
As the banner has endured through battle’s rage
the shine, tarnished by broken words and recklessness
if you listen you can almost hear the glory fade


Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Tapestry

by brian francis

Though the cloth is worn and faded
And the seams are stretched and torn
While the colors are less than they once were
There are no stains in this old piece of cloth

After years of work and squander
Mucking around in the refuse of life
Through a gift of spirit and wonder
Washed clean in the grace of His light

His heart is the way of salvation
Through love is the promise redeemed
Still torment beguiles with temptation
For acceptance is just but the seed

And this cloth is but a canvas
Whereon the masterpiece of life is beheld
And the stroke of the brush is creation
And the image is that of the self

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

A Few Men Faithful

By brian francis

When honor rallies those few who hear her call
Blood burning hot beneath the cause
When the tempest rises in the hearts of men
And righteousness becomes a cry

Clenched fists and determination echo remembrance
Of when others rose to challenge
When other causes drove the fray
When other fires burned

When honor rallies those few who hear her call
To gather around them the followers
To urge and raise the tempest within their souls
And to guide them in their stroke

Like waves crashing against the stone and rock
Only the smooth rubble of other days
Reveals the slow defeat of all that was
The wearing away bit by bit of all that is

When honor rallies those few who hear her call
Those few men faithful are born of need
Hearing the call – a distant refrain
Passing on the winds of change


Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Ritual


by brian francis

Runes and rhymes and fire’s smoke
sands drawn out, a careful rite
enticing ancient powers to come
Magic cast on the darkest night

circles chant and wander around
words as old as the sound of birds
they cast almost a warbling sound
round upon round of ancient words

Flames of blue and red and white
dance in the eyes a billowing flash
An energy builds with the final rite
Falling silent prostrate on the ground

Copyright © 2020 brian francis