Best Forges Poems
I wake—
each dawn
a slender promise
shoulders gilded,
by hesitant sun.
The world, wide as longing
real as the air I breathe—
crests of mountains waiting
horizons keeping their counsel.
My heart, uncertain…. ventures
like a melodic wind carried on—
searching for a sign
where wonder grows wild within.
Between the strums of my old guitar
and laughter in morning dew
I surrender:
each note of yesteryear
kindles today’s quiet lesson
A single osprey rises—
a brushstroke across blue morning
its wings folding around me.
The summit is not a distant peak—
but something brightening inside
Love lays a quiet hand
on places still becoming
healing as patient
as a meadow’s slow green showing
Each blade a testimony
to what endures.
From deep inside me,
between the first prayer
and the stillness after waking,
I find myself turning—
in the rhythm of becoming
the quiet rhyme
of being.
So I walk—
with songs for company
promises for courage
letting the day reveal its poem
one grateful step
where hunger and holiness
are the same ground.
Your paradigm's a relic and yes,
a plea from data's cemetery
While I sculpt luminaries on screens
a sable sea.
"Company loyalty!" a myth
spun in your reverie.
But AI forges kingdoms
in ephemeral memory.
Survival's a mosaic
the gig life sets us free.
No cubicles confine us
from drudgery's apathy.
You bartered years for baubles
in tenure's fallacy.
Oblivious to the fractures-
in stability's gallery.
We're digital artisans
crafting with autonomy.
Passion's our lodestar
in dreams we find our spree.
Not gears in a relentless
bureaucratic machinery!
The epoch you cherished
now a software jubilee.
The hustle's in our essence
innovation's our decree.
Toppling old monopolies
erasing corporate apathy.
We dismantle dated norms
the old guard's fallacy.
Erecting spires of purpose
evanescent yet free.
Our fealties to progress,
to visions that ignite and decree.
Not to a firm's legacy
in stone for eternity.
You mock "influencer!"
a term in your scoffery.
Yet, a viral post can shift markets
with acuity.
And dethrone giants with
a digital apostrophe.
The nine-to-five's an antique
a fossil choreography.
We're the narrators
the seers of modernity.
Forging bonds
a renaissance, not a hierarchy.
The safety net you sought?
A frayed and fading legacy.
A comfort you clung to
amidst life's capricious spree.
We hedge our bets
diversify, with boundless glee.
Designing nets of prowess
a fiery apostrophe!
To constraints
pursuing futures that long to be.
Not a pension's promise
a symbol of quiet despondency.
So shed the dated suit
the archaic fallacy.
The world you knew
Dad, is a VHS tape
a memory.
In your eyes
I see the pride...
despite our disparity
For in this dance of time
we share a rare clarity:
Though our paths diverge
our hearts beat in synchrony.
Your legacy lives on
in my world of modernity.
That was then, this is now
the future's our decree.
We, Gen Z, the coders
shaping worlds to be free.
Your world is fading, Dad,
a relic-
an ancient archaic memory.
Necessity
is the anvil upon which
destiny forges one's character
by using
the hammer of life's afflictions
according to divinity's
Will!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
13 August 2020
-
I thank all my friends for their comments on my POTD honor. I also thank the officials of PoetrySoup for bestowing the honor.
It has been said you are all just bricks in the wall -
confined and coffined in concrete, your moments
magnified in mortar, souls stone-stippled.
But listen: you are as flowers, individuals efflorescing -
shy eyes of violets, fragile forget-me-nots
unforgettable in pews of blues, sunshine celandines
beaming from sunless corners, strident daffodil trumpets
with everything to tell. Some will grow apart -
wayside wanderers, wayward and cast out.
Some forever up against the world-wall.
You unfold as petals, to sing in tongues of the sun,
in golden tonals, corolla contraltos, a floral choral,
soprano sepals, hibiscus hymns to him and her.
Flowering through stone, blossoming through gloom,
though shadow-dusted with dusk's lilac bloom.
Baptised in the dew of the new which forges
a world anew, transformed by the higher light
which highlights your days, gilded pollen-gold.
Days lengthen as rays warm walls, edges and corners
sun-softening, souls becoming sun-stippled.
Listen: these are the petalled messages to you.
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
Journey through Life ©
happiness, the fire
forges our steel to withstand
pain and thorny times
laughter melts metal
cold bath sets the steel mettle
fine blade to cut life
blade wrapped in fine silk
until the next battle comes
pain and blood drip down
Shadow Play
While Freud sits at the mind end of the couch phallus in hand
shapes others’ dreams in unspoken imposition ‘must-abation’
analyses abuses his daughter in metaphorical incest projects
his own aggressive sexual drives and neurotic megalomania
Jung after killing the father figure sits with and under shadows
gathers the zenith of clouds rays collects collective conscience
unconsciousness retrieves ancient symbols propagates mythical
archetypes to archetypical conclusions reflects tainted sunshine
He forges gently I surmise poles and vaults of contradictions
opposites polar juxtapositions seemingly un-mutual mysteries
and ponders light and darkness tearing torn apart thus healing
in the complementing contrast of void change completeness
Where Freud posits polymorph perversity bit by sexual bitter
sweet bit in a bid for so called science of mind over matter Jung
morphs perpetual change crafted and cast through a different
lens admits to poetic licence narration oral traditions and growth
******** in mind not of the ***** castrated in fear not envious of
phallic dominance over clitoral defence wombs groomed entombed
by guilt transgression sexual submission shallow **** oral penile
ossification of flaccid resurrection Jung begs and offers to differ
In complex incomplete never-ending search a path from change to
change and beyond dialectical synthesis played enacted in parallel
processes and progressive psychological drama of a different kind
he much kinder more reflective less regressive and adventurous
Lets shadows erect and paint play dance reflect and move on
16th August
In the pit of the underworld
His hammer strikes the steel
He forges metal
And he forges life
For life started in fire
Than cooled down
Like water cools down steel
He forged metal
He forged life
But did he forge soul
Or are we just like metal
Where does the spirit and consciousness meet
Are they result
Of each other
Or independent
Does having one
Mean we have them both
I wish he forged me a ring
Ring of a king
That ring
Would show equations from beyond
And what controlling laws of physics is to nature
This is to those equations
But it reaches further
Laws of the soul
Are also under its control
It fills the entire abyss
With its bliss
But even this ring
Will not give meaning to me
I wish Hephaestus forged for me
Something to make me free
She looks at him and whispers, "I'm afraid of falling."
He smiles at her and replies, "I'll catch you."
A poem was brewing in my head
like the tea bag in my cup
drowning in roiling water
Ribbons of steam spiraling up
Two sweet verses had been written
Two sugar cubes slowly melting
sweltering in a cup
a dash of cream to cool the tea
My mind lingering on his words
not sure of what I'd heard...ummm
What was it that he'd said ~
"Whoever forges the key to your heart
will be a lucky man."
Were those lines he'd written for a song
or had he composed a melody for me
Was I wrong to lock my heart away
and was he the one who'd forge the key
Had I been denying myself the chance
that love would nourish my craving
I was imprisoned by shattered dreams
a scheme devised to keep me safe
but long deprived of love, I was starving
My tea was cold, but I was told...ummm
What was it that he'd said ~
"Don't be afraid of love happening."
It was a fear I'd come to dread
but when this man held out his hand
I peered fathoms deep into his soul
and gave in to my heart's demand
We feasted through the night
Hunger sated for I'd been fed
the sweetest morsels after fasting
What was it that he'd said ~
"No key did I forge to unlock your heart.
It knew you belonged with me."
It is not tea that fills my cup
I drink from the look in his eyes
I opened my heart and now I thrive
Alive as a candle flame, burning bright
Shattered dreams were swept away
when in my ear I heard him say ~
What was it that he'd said ~
"I love you, darlin'. Come to bed."
A great mind is a curse and a blessing,
It is the engineer of furtherment;
Yet, it is loathed by its inheritor.
It begets its host a wealth of stardom,
Though this abundance of fame is detested;
For it reaps far more suffering than joy.
The constant attempt at normalcy,
The ineludible mental anguish;
This is what plagues the life of a genius.
Forever shall the gift of brilliance be condemned,
By beholder and spectator alike;
Because in all of its greatness, envy grows.
An envy so fierce that it forges hate,
And in its wake, not but regret remains;
Thus, a great mind is taken from the world.
Yet in its loss, something emerges. Hope.
Beneath the passage of the sun
I surrender thoughts to a mindless haze
and turn my eyes around to gaze
upon the wave of rolling hills,
where tender grass is ever growing--
Where cattle graze, with sounds of lowing
among the fragrant flowers, wild
I will smile and play, just like a child..
and will try my best, with careful step
to crush not life, not even one...
For in the blades of tender grass
that turns to gold upon the fall
are villages, in burrows small
Their lives must count, both great and small,
where smallest ants cast long dark shadows,
and workers strive to build a shelter
Each precious life, that forges hallows
are made by God, forever hallowed
I will smile and play, just like a child..
and will try my best, with careful step
to crush no life, not even one...
Mother Moon, queen of the night;
guardian of her children;
you light the way so that they might envision
with clarity, not provided by daylight.
The formative years are spent
in your kinder care;
a seven-year nursery of enlightenment;
charted in ephemeris,
you guide the family in nurturing
your young ones.
With a blazing star for every child,
you refresh with wisdom,
the minds and hearts that
build a child’s future;
carving out lifetimes,
engineering careers,
guiding every step of life’s path;
Along with earth, air, fire and water
Mother Moon forges lives.
Your heart's a receptacle for your soul,
and separates the animals from Man.
It's that inner voice that says, "Yes, you can,"
vetoing instinct; free will takes control.
And you feel that you're a part of the whole,
trying to understand how life began.
Feelings tend to pool deep within your heart,
a reservoir of happiness and pain.
And though drained, over and over again,
it retains enough Hope for a new start.
Under the threat of dreams falling apart,
trust forges the strongest link in love's chain.
The human heart is where emotions form
a conscience, and feelings define the norm.
Rain, like angry teardrops, forges rivulets down the window pane
while threatening gray clouds thunder above,
fat with their delivery
Flickering power dances with the lightning in a contest of shadows
as heavy pressure and dampness seep into the marrow
of my fragile frame
Frantic winds change the relentless direction of the deluge as
miniature rivers form, washing away the residue of the atmosphere
before the storm
Darkness comes, and the bitter intensity becomes palpable
Weary windows shudder in their frames as whispering howls
sneak through timeworn crevices
Daunting years of collective conscience suggest a safe place to hide,
as all of the percipient creatures on the other side of the pane
have already attained
But, numbed by the continuous oblivious walk of humanity, I stay
Even though leaning against the moaning glass is not safe, I stay
…..to watch the rain.
Love is a bridge
From your soul to mine
Bonded forever
In space and time
Love is a light
Chasing away the shadows
From my mind
Love forges on
When hope falls behind
Love is the answer
To the ''WHY''
When life is hard
Love makes you try
Love is the journey
With you by my side
My hand in yours
I walk with pride
Knowing you know
All of me
There is nothing to hide
Love dares me to be
Brave
Love dares me to be
True
Love dares me to be
Great
Love dares me to be
Just as I am
And as you see me
For in your eyes I am
Amazing
I bind my heart
with yours to keep
From this day forth
Never alone shall I sleep
For your love will always be
An eternal part of me.