National Path

By brian francis

Our national path can seem always up hill
Brightly we climb our progress a thrill
But then we find on the other side of it all
A much steeper hill and down it we fall
And down in the valleys where shadows play
Licking our wounds, we sit and we stay
Regretting the effort, we’d expended before
We sulk in sorrow, feeling weak and sore

Deception might fool us lies leading us astray
Challenge the union in hopes it might fray
Whispers and secrets and deceptions and lies
We question our progress, tear at our ties
When we are inspired by our just looking back
Seeing the progress, we have made in our track
And remembering what has bound us ‘til now
The Declaration, Constitution, our societal vow

We await the sound the siren cry of our cause
Excited we rally together without pause
The giant gets restless in its slumbering rest
As the nation is challenged put to the test
Liberty cries loud that great banshee scream
As again together we climb and we dream
The banner waves high its light shining bright
The bald eagles fly talons ready to fight


Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Observations on a (m)useless day

by Brian Francis

The cardinals sing and bathe below
The window to my little studio
Where dreams are chased
And sometimes caught
To the tune of natures bards

Romping and playing in the street nearby
The echoes, screams and cries of fun
Careen through the window
And into my mind
Instantly clearing my thoughts

Dinner is cooking and the bread is made
And the cats and the dog are asleep
And the gentle chirping
In the nest outside
Speaks of comfort and warmth


Copyright ©2020 brian francis

 

 

Thunder Mountain

by brian francis

They gathered around the mountain;
the skies, roiling, stirred by the gods.
Cold the wind descended and blew,
the medicine teachers studied the skies.
Drums chanted their rhythmic beat.
Cries from dancers embracing the might,
called out to the skies to reach down
to touch with the hand of god light;
To bless them in their seasons to come.
Darkness fell upon the valley with rumbles.

Unabated, the call to the gods continued.
Glowing reflections dancing in the storm,
drops came in waves riding the winds,
touching upon those gathered in worship.

The light broke through the clouds streaking –
fingers reaching out, the power rising, sizzling.
The storm gathered its muster and roared.
Wind, racing, leaned into the crowds – blustering.
The drums held their rhythm, each beat sharp
as the dancers stuttered their steps and leaps.
Their souls revealed in the trance of their eyes.
Flashes strobe the night, stopping all motion.
It came in a sizzling crash onto the mountain’s dome.
Light, blindingly bright, lit the valley like day.

Everything changed in that moment, cheers rose
unheard beneath the clamor of the strike.
The blessing granted the celebration a success.
The season will be bright, with harvest and hunt.

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Author’s Note: This was inspired by a Photo by, Stacey Le Clair. https://fineartamerica.com/featured/the-strike-on-thunder-mountain-stacy-leclair.html

But Upon Deep Dark Hues Alight

by Brian Francis

The ocean waves are tossing the foam down on the beach,
as they have for eons and yet to come.
The clouds are held suspended across a gilded sky,
a copper haze blossoms from the sun.
Shadows, growing longer, drawing in the night,
darkness flows as daylight ebbs away.
Nighttime comes upon me and darkness swallows all,
colors fade from pastels to shades of gray.

Deep in meditation to bless all sentient beings
a light burns bright alone, in nothingness.
Enlightened, seeking solace in the true reality,
like a spark, realize the truth and disappear.
An ocean of yet becoming, almost but not quite,
ebb and flow within, and all around.
Blessings ever flapping or spinning round and round
cast out upon the whole of that what is.
In circles without beginning lives repeat the course-
in ignorance and forever they will spin.

The ocean waves are tossing the foam down on the beach,
as they have for eons and yet to come.
The clouds are held suspended across a gilded sky,
a copper haze blossoms from the sun….

 

Author’s Note: Also called – Buddha

Copyright © 2020 Brian Francis