Poetry – Page 15 – Wordsmith: At The Forge

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 prophecy

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

Soteriology

By brian francis

Errors made in acts and words
Burden the soul, worry the mind
Efforts suffered in younger days
Often Ill-considered and unkind

Selfishness is that cancer within
Tainting your thoughts with greed
Making your garden once bright
Overgrown with that thorny weed

Late in life those memories persist
when we had the chance to be kind
instead we chose the cardinal path
a moment of joy; torture resigned

Yet imagine a soul so perfectly clean
An indemnifier of all one might do
A virtuous redeemer with Midas’ touch
A creation of mind to cleanse you

Together in Spirit

by brian francis

Time has passed since you’ve gone
Life just isn’t the same.
I sit alone to watch the dawn,
yet, your memories remain.

The path now seems more uphill,
the pace now slowed to a walk.
Your face, your touch I remember still.
Oh, just to hear you talk.

My time has come to walk alone
Yet, your presence I still feel.
In the memories of life we’ve sown
Our love is still so real.

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Makeup

by brian francis

Could it have been
Something I said
Did or didn’t do
That makes your face contort
Or is there
Some other reason
That you are wearing
Anger like a rouge

Is there still a place
Within you
Where I can make you smile
Or has that husk
Fallen away
Shriveled up
Died of neglect
Like a forgotten flower
On a shelf

Is there still a chance
That we can “be”
The dreamers we once were
Or does that parity
No longer parse
In this newly
Painted
Rendition of you

Ebb and Flow

by brian francis

Like a changing tide you come in and out
As you shift the sands of my mind
Leaving patterns in your wake with your
give and take – Every action is by design

I tumble and toss as you move around
I laugh and I cry and I sing

If I try to touch you your direction shifts
As the hermit crab strides the beach

Yet I sit and I wait ’til the tide comes in
And I embrace you when you arrive
Only to watch you go away again
Every action is by design.

Desert Storm

by brian francis

I sat alone in the rain,
lightening, casting strobe like shadows all around.
The clouds, reaching down and touching upon me,
sending joyous shivers across my being.

Worshiping the storm and receiving its blessings;
awed by the beauty, the strength, the wonder.
Swirling clouds, imitating forms in the sky.
Thunderheads, rising to their flat tops,
before falling, violently, back to earth
in the cold burst, of what are monsoon.

These, the storms of desert evenings,
rise in the afternoons, of summer’s days.
Giving life to all of the desert’s children, in turn.

The saguaro stands majestically, poised on eternity.
Its crown of color open,
worn proudly in the silhouette
of lightning’s flash.

God’s Face

by Brian Francis

Life abounds as nature’s gambles find a way
breathing in deep a full embrace with relish
oceans with the flavor of life in solution
wash in waves stirring the margin a beckoning call
forests rife with gifts of love from a caring mother
a table in full regalia in constant harvest
gather it and honor the sacrifice of nature
more a sign of respect than an act of worship
the gifts of the cornucopia of life for us.

Yet all of this is not enough as stars calling
offer a promise of fulfillment yet unattained
As dreams drive us to peer deeper to dream more
to imagine a tomorrow of our own making
A future where we reach out and touch god’s face
in doing so we become aware of the reflection in the mirror
Compassion’s tears wash away the self image created
delusions shatter bearing their many faceted falsehoods
painted upon our souls while dreaming our dreams

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

The Mausoleum

By brian francis

The gravel grinds as you walk the path
following the ankle high picket fencing.
The path delineated clearly – straight.
the grass groomed to perfection,
with little warnings. to stay off.
planted beyond the picket barrier.
Reading the words and remembering
what was said about the other side
Woody said, “it didn’t say nothin’ ”
now that’s the side for you and me.

The building is cold, monolithic, quiet,
like a temple of old it is solid built.
Even soft soles echo walking the isles,
my boots seem to clamor with every step.
But no one complains their sleep is eternal.
Candles burning by a cubby like around a saint
someone’s enduring devotion on display.
I look to see if tears have stained the floor
as I stroll deeper into the temple of loss
finally finding the nook and the panel.

Staring at the name, I blur and place my hand on it.
The cold raised letters burn into my soul,
sorrow fills my being, and I mourn, I cry.
Here in this place for eternity; to wait.
Three generations and yet we mourn
when will the visits end, the nook grow dusty-
the tears stop flowing for a soul so long lost.
The walk away is somehow refreshing
carrying away “life” a gift, all the more precious.
The grass caresses my steps as I leave.

In Opposition

by brian francis

People scream in rage and anger
claiming the right to defend their ways
with hatred as their loudest banter
they march and scream in a craze

Others stand to repel the onslaught
to shine a light on horror’s salute
they rise in waves of fury and conviction
rejecting the message of the jack boot

As words of anger and opposition
scream back and forth across the line
threats of angry violent intentions
swim and dance among the brine

The back and forth increase the tenor
the tempest whirling strains its chain
with violence being the final measure
rage released cries for pain

meted- out with joyous pleasure
Laughing while it does its work
Horror, moves among the people
as Death takes souls with a jerk

Sonoran Monsoon

by brian francis

When rainbows cast across the sky
Like great and colorful, flying buttresses
For the storms of summer’s evenings

When Lightning flashes bold and bright
Alighting clouds and singing nature’s roar
Reaching to the ground; a screaming hiss

When the air you breathe seems alive
With the vitality of heroic clashes
As the clouds swirl and toss above

That is when the desert comes alive
The monsoon calls in ancient song
As life unfolds embracing the storm

The nurturing of the gods gives birth
As flowers reaching grasp at the sun
And all life in the desert lives brightly

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