Biography of Francie Lynch
Francie Lynch Poems
A Child Is Born
I don't know destitute. I could use the bathrooms In McDonalds, If I eat there.
Mary Jane Died Last Night
The younger sister Of the second wife Of my dear friend Of forty-five years
Dark at day, Light at night, Chaos mocks us With villainous smiles.
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,
Not All Fathers Are Dads
We lived In our Goodwill bathing suits During our arduous summer isolation From school and friends.
Active Vs. Passive
When you write Your next verse, The active voice Is a better choice.
The Flight Ahead Of Me
The ravens survey The gated community, Scouring for a meal. They swoop low,
The Lads Are Streaming Porn
The lads Are streaming porn. Don't be too quick To scorn;
How I Measure Time
The hands have moved. The sun is up and down. Stars shift. Tides advance and recede.
I was a teacher. I loved the job. I didn't need to be intelligent. Many of my students
Elegy For Dead Poets
When poets die, Sad, but true, It matters not What their bodies do,
He tittered and cackled At the refugee plight, Revelled in innocents Running for life.
I chose ice-cream Over yogurt; Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate. Each equally without prejudice
The Dogs' Days Of Winter
Those dog days of summer Near forgotten and gone, Are stored for the winter, Now remembered in song.
From first flesh we walk down widening halls
That lead to lives of wonderous walls.
Our spidered fingers gripped walls of brick,
Cruets, cups and candle sticks.
Incense burned near open graves,
When we two believed we too were saved.
Within Annex walls we learned our phonics,