Biography of Francie Lynch
Born a while ago in an area of County Monaghan, Ireland, called Loughegish (Lake of the Learned) . When the flax mill failed my father went to Canada and we emigrated six months later to Sarnia, Ont. I grew up here, worked in Education for my career and am happily retired writing poetry.
- Some Kids' Parents -new-
- The Anatomy Of Loss -new-
- A Freudian Ship -new-
- Lgbtqia -new-
- Mary Jane Died Last Night -new-
- Meditating In A Copse -new-
- Firecracker Day -new-
- Haunted House -new-
- Drop That Stone -new-
- King Of Kings -new-
- Lost Verse (10w) -new-
- Bugger Off (10w) -new-
- The Meaning -new-
- You'Ve Got Eight Seconds -new-
Francie Lynch Poems
Dark at day, Light at night, Chaos mocks us With villainous smiles.
The Lads Are Streaming Porn
The lads Are streaming porn. Don't be too quick To scorn;
The Flight Ahead Of Me
The ravens survey The gated community, Scouring for a meal. They swoop low,
How I Measure Time
The hands have moved. The sun is up and down. Stars shift. Tides advance and recede.
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,
You won't like Your colonoscopy, I know, I've not liked mine.
Active Vs. Passive
When you write Your next verse, The active voice Is a better choice.
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;
Mary Jane Died Last Night -new-
The younger sister Of the second wife Of my dear friend Of forty-five years
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
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