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

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 © 2021 brian francis

Happy Birthday

**With tomorrow being my birthday I give you:
by brian francis


Youth has passed
its burden gone;
the climb to age
is over.
What once was endless
now moves on,
the feeling left
is somber.
The lessons of
those long passed years
stole the innocence
of youth;
and left me here
so austere
watching shadows lengthen.
My time has come
to saunter down
the hill I sought
to conquer;
and to look with fear
upon the year,
I’ll walk this land
no longer.


Copyright © 2021  brian francis

The Veteran

by brian francis

You’ve shown a nation just how to stand tall
In wearing the uniform, in hearing the call
You’ve shouldered the burden standing the line
Setting aside, the plans for life, of your design

We the people, as a nation, are grateful for you
In the way, you represent us, the things that you do
We know that you hold us deep in your heart
As you struggle there for us while doing your part

The scars that you bear in your body mind and soul
As you act on our behalf in obtaining our goal
The tears that you cry remembering what was done
That feeling alone, sudden attacks at the sound of a gun

The burdens you carry those that flash into the mind
Or just that sinking feeling that is there all the time
The terror that haunts you even after coming home
The feeling here among us of your still being alone

That suffering that endures for you deep, deep inside
Should be more our burden and so much more your pride
Discounts will be offered, and of course; an annual parade
In remembrance and in honor of the sacrifice you’ve made


Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Stumbling Through


by brian francis

Seeking out the source of inspiration
I found myself in a deep dry well.
Nothing there could offer stimulation.
So alone I built myself a living hell.

Hidden in dusty volumes: past consideration.
Doodles lining margins, once passing time.
Scanning ancient notes with contemplation
Finding only aggregate no thoughts to bind.

In frustration I lashed out against creation
Yet again my drunken muse does not respond.
So alone I sit in my silent meditation,
Imagining the banks of Walden Pond.

Then gently, without notice, sleep overtakes me.
The day then fades away and soon is gone.
Dreams, torment, and chase; will not let me be.
A restless soul who fights to carry on.

When morning comes and wakes my sleeping sorrow
Another day to seek and find that, what I need.
A turn of phrase or a thought which I might borrow.
Anything that will help me germinate the seed.


Copyright © 2021  brian francis

Blossoms

by brian francis

Bluebirds singing songs of love
Dance upon the windowsill

Flowers bloom in ordered rows
While sunshine falls to color them

Days stretch out their limber limbs
Embracing more hours than before

Darkness shrinks losing hold
Springtime’s touch has come again

And summer calls her rally cry
To gather strength for wilting work

As all of nature’s enduring might
Rises to the challenge of life


Copyright © 2021 brian francis

Arbiter of Dreams

by  brian francis

When shadows reach and gather strength
And Nyx rises to claim her right to rule
Even Zeus concedes in all his might;
yielding

Only Selene dares to rise against –
revealing
Her gaze in shades of blue cast from above
Moderating that absolute power of gloom
Bathing the world, washing away the darkness
During sleeps restless battles in the night

Copyright © 2021 brian francis

Seasons Turn

By brian francis

When winter lays her bounty white
Across the grassy knolls and meadows
Frosty winds blowing a shivering gale
Drift the shallows and fences high
Its harrowing voice a banshee wail

Spring breathes a warming breath
Stirs the sleeping potential hidden
To rise up to stand and budding bloom
To tempt the bees to visit caressing
From flower to flower bride to groom

In summer the nests sing and chirp
The flowers disappearing lost to fruit
Weighing the limbs to sag from drupe
The cornucopia of nature’s stunning gifts
Constant in nature a recurring loop

The harvest, fall’s generous gathering
The reward of the farmer’s long days
lowering of the sun from high in the sky
Cold winds start to blow a whispering wail
A prelude to winter’s harrowing cry


Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Judgment call

By brian francis

I hear you passing judgment
as you look at me and turn away
My cover seems to offend you
my pages, imagined, dull and gray

I know there are soft places where
rest and comfort can be found
my search reveals a barren place
my soul’s tortured ground

So come, share in my pain
walk a mile with me
Struggle with me through the rain
seeking out my destiny

Morsels found tossed aside
as I stumble through it all
caught in some kind of riptide
opposing forces cause my fall

Heartache caused by shadow friends
there when times are bright
always seem to disappear
when darkness kills the light

Troubles seem to inundate me
like a sudden torrential flood
sleepless nights and restless days
causing cuts and scrapes and blood

So come share in my pain
walk a mile with me
Struggle now in this rain
while we seek my destiny

And that is just the first few steps
to be taken while in my shoes
Bruises fade to a yellow green
a colorful testament to life’s abuse

Wounds can heal with gentle care
But scars shine, translucent white,
at least those scars that can be seen
the soul does not reveal its plight

So come share in my pain
walk a mile with me
Struggle on through the rain
help me find my destiny


Copyright ©2021 brian francis

The Tobacco Barn

by brian francis

The farm lane was tall with weeds.
the tracks for tires, worn ruts,
parted by the tall grass, dancing
on the breezes of remembrance.
The barn was shedding its skin of paint,
flake by flake, curling away.
The boards still clung to the frame;
though the doors hung precariously,
leaning away from their hinges–
Pulling at the walls with all of their strength.
Barn owls and swallows claimed the rafters
screaming and bounding from beam to beam.
Dust swirled, and drifted in the shafts of light
shining through exposed ribs in the roof.
Where the slates had released their hold
taking to the skies in the storms of summer,
to shatter on the ground, becoming only stones.
A tree rising from the center of a broken floor
reaching for the sky with all of its will.
Protected from the harshness of the world outside,
it still, yet, tried to break free of its prison.
Mulberries stain the floor beneath it.

07/29/2003

Posted on 07/29/2003
Copyright ©2021  brian francis

Hollywood Blvd Blues

By  brian francis

Troubles are coming
As money runs low
Nobody seems to care
There are no jobs
out there at all
the beggar’s hand is everywhere

There are union men
Their signs held high
Standin’ by every store
Children are hungry
Tears in their eyes
They don’t want to play no more

Out on the street
A few kids stand
hitchin’ for a ride
they’re goin’ downhill
it’s a bloody disgrace
they only know how to lie

Little runaway girls
Their skirts so tight
Standin’ on the street
A john drives up
She smiles at him
He taps on the other seat

Three times her age
Yet she gets in
He looses up his tie
As he reaches across
You can see in her face
That maybe she would rather die

Her boyfriend down
on the other street
hangin’ ’round the park
catches a whistle
from and old, lonely man
As he sells some weed to a narc

They make enough
To pay the rent
At forty bucks a night
They drink or get high
Nothing’ better to do
They have no goals in sight


Copyright © 2021 brian francis