Francie Lynch Poems

The children are grown,
They have their own
Christmas.
It's the natural order
...

The spirit hasn't moved us
Despite we believe,
No one seems to witness
The senseless tongues of fire,
...

Do you hear me today, how do I sound.
Is there softness in my voice,
A calmness to be found.
Did last night's snowfall cover my psalm,
...

Do you hear me today, how do I sound.
Is there softness in my voice,
A calmness to be found.
Did last night's snowfall drown my psalm,
...

Let her go like a red balloon
Released to celebrate;
Follow 'til it dissipates
Into the vacant blue.
...

The Olde English poem,
The "Holy Rood, "
Was mystical and new.
The courtiers liked what they heard,
...

The full moon is always waning,
Giving cold comfort.
Stars twinkle more in black spaces.
The evening dew settles sooner,
...

I first saw John sitting in the third desk of the first row.
I sat in the second, my new jeans cracking,
No curling iron-on patches as of yet.
A pin from my baby blue shirt pricked my neck.
...

An old friend asked if my mother had a brogue.
She was forty when she landed here,
She probably did. She must have.
What does a child hear?
...

I don't like that picture framed,
Looking from my shelf;
You're no longer like that,
No longer you're yourself.
...