Biography of Francie Lynch
Francie Lynch Poems
A Revolution's Coming
There's a Revolution coming, The boots are on the streets; It's calling from the graves, We're stirring from our sleep.
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,
Were There Five?
There were four high pines, straight, that branched out over the hedge with holes.
Not All Fathers Are Dads
We lived In our Goodwill bathing suits During our arduous summer isolation From school and friends.
The Flight Ahead Of Me
The ravens survey The gated community, Scouring for a meal. They swoop low,
Birthed by altruism or selfishness, Motivated by personal gain Or the forfeiting of a nation; It's the betrayal of friends,
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.
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