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

Curried Contrivance

By brian francis

I have never been a poet who can scream their poetic words
from a stage. I am the poet who sits alone in a darkened room
mulling over ideas like a cow chewing its cud. Only to spew
them upon a page and massage them into a preferred arrangement.
Stream of thought, what the hell does that mean;
if it isn’t, stream of thought, how does it form.
Ahh, form, form is no matter, constraints released still sing a sorrowful song

But then again

If rules contrive to blind and bind
construction and structure contain
Meter dictates the measure of time
And sings of itself in its fullest refrain

To step without stumble this prance
To worry the mind, each step a dance
The feet and the steps show the way
words simply carry the message we say

birds whisper to me and threaten my flesh
if I don’t pet and praise them, I’m living in fear
they make me attend them – expect me to jump
they whisper their threats their mouth on my ear

The dogs all are cowards just lying about
The birds have them scared hiding their tails
I delayed my attention just a moment or so
Now blood dripping splatters and trails

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Death Came Visiting

By brian francis

It was so easy to watch them smile
while watching them growing up
Discovering life, making their way
Becoming what they will be
Making us laugh with glee and joy
their treasures they gathered just so
memories of days when they smiled
meanings lost behind unspoken words

It seemed so normal like any other day
A pat on the head a kiss on the cheek
who can remember the words we said
parting our ways and living our lives
the busyness of business filling the hours
Just humming along passing so fast
While they were hiding and cowering
in the clenches of fear and pure terror

Death came visiting the halls and danced
amid pleas for mercy and forgiveness
but death knows nothing but the harvest.
walking with purpose he chooses his prize
nothing can be done but to mourn and cry
to remember the smiles and the good times
living with regret and sorrow, embracing pain
counting the tears that never stop falling

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Nocturnes

by brian francis

When the stars advance to take the sky
Pushing mightily, the sun into the ground.
Shadows come alive and rise in the night
To haunt those weary in body and mind,
To challenge the sanity of thoughtfulness;
Realized between the sounds and illusions
Of perception’s innuendo implied.

The blaze of clouds fall into the purple hues
Shimmering reflections, frights awakening –
Whispering into thoughts; unrealized they worry,
Like shadows unseen in the darkness.
Dancing joyfully, worshiping Nyx or Apep
Shrouding the world in their embrace.
Of darkness hiding; the shadow opposing light.


Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Lessons in Form

By brian francis

The forms we use to cast our thoughts
from the page to our reader’s mind
Can often be both learned and taught
if only, we just take our time

Assembling all the words just right
tweaking just how they are combined
A form can be both strict and tight
if only, we just take our time

Meter is the tool of measure
deciding how the poem is lined
rhyme can be a poet’s pleasure
if only, we just take our time

Soon the task will be completed
the poem will be clearly defined
With every line fairly treated
if only, we just take our time

Author’s Note: Form- Kyrielle (axaZ, bxbZ, cxcZ, dxdZ)

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Snatched In The Night

By brian francis

There is a mountain so high
Just outside of town
So high that the top
has never been found

In the clouds in the sky
The summit is hidden
Monsters and dragons live there
In a land called Forbidden

But sometimes it is said
That late in the night
They visit below
But they stay out of sight

They sniff and they stalk
And they prowl in that hour
They hunt for a morsel
Or two to devour

Their favorite snacks
That they love most of all
Are children who are sour
Who cry and who bawl

They don’t seem to like
the sweet little ones
The very good daughters
And very good sons

But when they can find
A mean little child
Who hates and who argues
The kind they call wild

They sneak into bedrooms
And snatch them it’s said
covers won’t protect them
even pulled over the head

And lights won’t stop monsters
Like some people think
Closed eyes cannot see them
So it’s best not to blink

The best way to keep
From becoming their stew
Is to be good and be loving
To be honest and true

And to never go to bed
Without making things right
Unless you are willing
to be snatched in the night

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Masih ad-Dajjal

by brian francis

Looking at the TV screen at the local Donuts shop
an old man said pointing at the picture of Donald Trump
He has come, soon the battle will begin.
I sat looking down engaged in my donut and coffee
but still I listened as he mumbled about the prophesy

He is the one destined for destruction
he who opposes and exalts himself
he takes the highest seat
and they cry out his name
the deceiver comes from his place
in the towers high above the great city

He will remove the laws, becoming the lawless one
joining league with the orders of darkness
he will oppress the voices of reason and truth
usurping the good with deception, perversion
Yes he has come and dark days will soon follow

12/19/2016
Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Thunder’s Roar

by Brian Francis

Somewhere in the distance
I can hear the thunder roar
Rain drops pitter-patter
At the door
Somehow all the storm clouds
Rise and then they fall
Bringing cool refreshment
Nature’s call

And while laying here
Feeling your warm touch
Shivers of excitement
Seem too much
The gentle supple friction
Of our love’s embrace
The rhythm intertwining
Face to face

Passion’s magic moments
That yearning from within
Rapture in that instant
Does begin
Somewhere deep inside me
I can hear the thunder roar
Touching lips to lips
Wanting more


Copyright © 2020 Brian Francis

Deep in the Mountain

By brian francis

The cold and the dark refuse the flicker
Of gems who lie so deep in the ground
bones lay scattered among the trophy
the lost, the magic reach out to be found

With less of a slide and more of a slither,
Of silver and gold, the dreams the drive
The piles discovered beneath the great mountain
In heaps and mounds the treasure resides

A whiff of sulfur drifts in the darkness
A glow almost seen through the cover of gold
Rumbles subsonic reach in and touch you
stories of dragons not believed when told

The burden too much to carry escaping
Dribbles and drops dancing away
Better to flee and lose all the bounty
But greed alas has a loathsome way

The bones will be scattered among the piles
As Draco reclines and cleans off the flesh
Casting them about for the next warning
And settling again to gather his rest

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Lost

by brian francis

When the world through a haze of pain is seen
And one’s heart drags slow and long
When images thought to always be true
Through the haze are revealed to be false
The ripping away of the comforts of life
Those promises revered by the soul
An emptiness pervades and engulfs all belief
You can never again be complete or content
consumed by the fire of betrayals and lies
Faith floats away as the smoke and is gone


Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Conestoga Memories

by brian francis

Muddy watered river flows,
gently drifting its winding path.
Farms and orchards dip in their toes,
bounded by a margin of grass.

To cast my line into its depths,
watch the ripples grow in size.
Water bugs racing to and fro,
speckled sun – a water color sky.

No need for fish to break the spell
just draw it in and cast again.
Breathe in deep that fresh green smell,
a quiver, a strike; the long pole bends

The battle is on – though fierce it’s brief,
a run a pull and reel it on in.
Released back into the river – set free;
prepare the hook, cast it again.

Corn fields shimmer with a gentle breeze
birds sing songs as old as the wind,
the lane nearby long and straight.
Just draw it in and cast again.

When waking from this long suffered dream.
being the old man that I never foresaw,
I am grateful for those days in the sun
where as a child I grew both strong and tall.


Copyright © 2020 brian francis