Francesca Johnson

Rookie (I'm a metal tiger - there's your clue / Europe)

Francesca Johnson Poems

41. Ron Of The Cut 10/13/2007
42. Don'T Beef About It... 11/22/2008
43. Cardiff 12/1/2008
44. My Eyes Don'T Like The Sun 1/10/2008
45. Jim Of The Cut 11/12/2007
46. The Sadness Of A Swan 6/11/2009
47. Eating You 6/11/2009
48. That Bench 1/10/2009
49. *anger? 4/27/2009
50. ....Alaties 12/12/2008
51. Drowning 11/23/2008
52. Those Church Bells Of Croydon 12/1/2008
53. **work Till The Grave... 5/8/2009
54. Sad Legs 5/24/2009
55. Crossing A Line 4/27/2009
56. Coalville 12/12/2008
57. *enigma Variation 5/1/2009
58. A Whole Lot Of Holes....(1) 4/11/2009
59. A Pure White Poem And Empty Shops 2/8/2009
60. The Sad Bastards Club 11/4/2007
61. Don'T Ask Me Questions When I'M Breathing In 12/12/2008
62. Don'T Shoot Sean 12/15/2008
63. De-Piping The Hash... 6/11/2009
64. *bread 1/10/2009
65. Dennis, You'Ve Got To Go..... 8/11/2008
66. Diesel And Dust 12/10/2007
67. Dumpling 3/24/2009
68. *naked People 1/10/2009
69. Dollie And Jack Of The Cut 9/29/2007
70. Wonderfully Fat 1/7/2008
71. Barry Of The Cut 9/29/2007
72. A Temporary Man 11/5/2007

Comments about Francesca Johnson

  • Ruby Root (7/13/2006 10:37:00 PM)

    Hi Francesca, I don't think there is one poem I disliked. You are creative, compassionate, and unique writer. I enjoy your poem site. Take care.

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  • Trucker Jeff (7/5/2006 10:58:00 AM)

    All righty then...Franceca, did you step on an egg?

Best Poem of Francesca Johnson

A Temporary Man

A temporary man
be a good distraction
when filled with action
of the physical sort,
a real sporty sport.
Any port in a storm,
so they say.


a permanent man
be a true mate,
her best friend
who's willing to lend
a helping hand
day or night,
do what's right,
hold her tight
and just love her,
and love her,
and love her.........forever.

Read the full of A Temporary Man

Lord Ledgie Of The Cut

Lord Ledgie, paintbrush bristling in his hands
Introduces himself,
“You can call me Ledgie, John or anything you like
but I’m known as Lord Ledgie, ” he says.
Tall and imperial with long flowing locks
And a battered old hat,
Sartorially inelegant but suitably attired
For his stature and eccentricity.
His Peacock lies still, silent, purple and proud

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