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.



By brian francis

When I woke up this morning
I saw rainclouds on the horizon
A truly dreary dawning
I even tried to close my eyes again

the smell of coffee brewing
Drew me from the bed
I stumbled over the clothes we’d strewn there
And laughed at the curses I’d said

Cause everything’s alright
It’s only storming outside
Is it just the roaring thunder
That makes me tremble inside

Here we have peace and quite
To watch each other’s eyes
To wonder with anticipation
Through all the truths and lies

A foray into memories
All clouded by their distance in time
Perceptions individual as fingerprints
Causing storm clouds to rise

Is everything alright
Is it only storming outside
Is it really the roaring thunder
That’s making me twist up inside

The winds of resentment blew
Carrying your words to my ears
A gust of petty jealousy threw,
to the side, All of my fears

And then as anger raged
I felt passion subside
And all of those crazy desires
Were blown up into the skies

Now everything is alright
The storm has broken
And I can see the light
at the door- one last kiss goodbye

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Robes of Tyranny

By brian francis

With words inspiring beliefs unreal
Tainted considerations presented as fact.
He called them to his side to gather, reel,
And he dressed in the garb of the martyr,
Crying his accusations at the roiling crowd.
Girding them for action he aimed their attentions,
And drew back the bow with a flurry of noble intentions.
He promised that he would be there at their side.

He pleaded their loyalty to this appointed cause,
Colored and christened hiding seditions gleam.
He drew them along releasing the leash,
he turned and went back to his thrown.
He watched as America suffered his grief.
Celebrating the cracking of liberties panes.
Joyous he laughed as America cried.
He’d finally donned the robes of tyranny.

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.

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Indigo Skies

By brian francis

The twilight hour, drawing the night
Dissolving the colors of day
Night flows obscuring the eyes
Daylight yielding, fades away.

Brigades of colors assail the clouds
In waves of deepening hue
The birds set roost among the trees
To sing their soulful tune

As the final reflections of daylight fade
A still quietness settles in
Watched over by the moon and stars
Let the reign of Nyx begin

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

The Bleeding

by brian francis

I sit and dream, and a song is born,
The words cry out for attention.
Of passion’s praise, or loss’s mourn,
Or simply a point of contention.

Compare the eyes to distant light,
movement to grace’s wonder.
whisper the story of a hero’s plight
or the calamity of evil’s plunder.

A voice to echo for a thousand years
it seems is most writer’s goal,
Left unread, of our greatest fears;
These pages of our soul.

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Winter’s Sufferings

By brian francis

A row of pigeons seen through glass
upon a wire of ragged black.
A dreary day of clouds and wind,
of fallen leaves, and reddened cheeks.
Gray skies threaten their stolid mass.
The chill bites deep and seeks a draft.
Wool and wood will fight, protect
Keeping all cozy and warm.
Crystal windows distort the view.
A row of dots, just barely seen,
huddled closer against the wind,
as though, together, they will withstand.
The crack of mesquite within the stove,
the water steeping Earl Grey.
A bit of cream and sugar too,
a day, alone, to wile away.

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Anu Rising

By brian francis 

Throw open the library of Ashurbanipal
The greatest collector of magical tomes
Whose secrets are hidden in the inner coils
Where stories assuage the curious eye
A quaint recipe for ale a putrid brew indeed
The paths are told in songs long forgotten
Sung with a slurring tongue in rounds
The golden child resurrected from the fire
gazes upon a weary world rambunctious
When at the appointed moment carnage rises
He will claim his place high among the clouds
He will rule with an absolute gaze, true seeing
A thousand years to settle promises, debts
When the world will be ground to dust
And the few will run to hide in the wilds
To become again the lost people of the steppes
As they were in the ancient times long past

Copyright © 2020 brian francis 

Lang Syne

By brian francis

The bell has rung for yesterday.
Its time has passed, its sun has set,
memories have begun to fade.
Tomorrow’s promise intrigues
calling us on, to conquer the day,
to feel the sun upon our face,
to remember the here and now,
living with every measure of grace.

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Hail Hyperion’s Son

By brian francis

Morning comes with a glistening beam
Helios peering over darkness’ crest
Color awakens and brightens the eye
Another day has begun

With coffee brewing the senses awake
And the birds take flight from their rest
Nighttime recedes fleeing the hooves
Of Helios and his steeds

Sparrows singing welcome the day
As others join in a chorus of song
Dew dampened grasses, sparkling,
stretch toward the light of his rays

And I, sitting here, in the breaking of day
Embrace the warmth he offers the world
Breathing in that life giving gift
Pleasure giving worship to his might

Copyright ©2020 brian francis


By brian francis

I can tell that they are scheming
Talking on among themselves,
Plotting, planning, preconceiving
they’re all against me once again.
I can see their plans unfolding.
Evil thoughts from their evil minds.
Causing all my worldly problems,
Haunting every darkened corner,
Picking at my peace of mind.

You might call it paranoia,
Laugh and toss my cares aside.
You might think me out of kilter,
Off of balance, out of stride.
But I can tell that they are scheming.
Poison food and straps that bind.
Behind locked doors with little windows,
In the secret rooms of torture’s time.

Copyright ©2020 brian francis