Biography of Francie Lynch
Francie Lynch Poems
The Lads Are Streaming Porn
The lads Are streaming porn. Don't be too quick To scorn;
I chose ice-cream Over yogurt; Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate. Each equally without prejudice
My Poem Is My True Selfie
My poem is my true selfie, An X-ray of the inner me, A snap-shot of reality, A close-up of what's really me,
Active Vs. Passive
When you write Your next verse, The active voice Is a better choice.
Dark at day, Light at night, Chaos mocks us With villainous smiles.
The Dogs' Days Of Winter
Those dog days of summer Near forgotten and gone, Are stored for the winter, Now remembered in song.
The Leprechaun's Ball
On the Emeral Isle when the brier's green, Occur strange sights seldom seen. There's golden rainbows and small clay pipes, And wee folk dancing every night.
I Have To Pee
In fathoms Between my flannel sheets, There's no better place To sleep;
The cock on the steeple Proclaimed and denied to four corners, and Looked down and twisted. Old men in green suits with crow's eyes and
Godzilla And Ufo's
Damn. I ran over a toad On the way home, In front of the courthouse.
You won't like Your colonoscopy, I know, I've not liked mine.
Where Sympathies Lie
We believe female circumcision Is barbaric, But boys should look like their Dads, It's traditional, like swinging a dead cat
No Muses Need Apply
No muses need apply. There are no vacancies. The muse pool is brimming With metaphors:
Sliding Into Home
From here they filled the sidewalk,
Three abreast, heading east towards the corner
With their balls and sticks.
The flankers often turned their heads centre.
They'd return with
Bravado and shirts around their waists.
The stories I would hear, or read.
I recall Charlie beyond the rail and altar