Francie Lynch


Francie Lynch Poems

961. Wading In Water 8/16/2017
962. Vestal Virgin Viagra 8/18/2017
963. Resign (8 W And 1 Exclamation) 8/19/2017
964. If They Could Speak 8/23/2017
965. Gps Poetry 8/25/2017
966. Catfish Politicos 8/25/2017
967. A Family Of Colour 8/29/2017
968. Broken 8/29/2017
969. It Ain't Broken 9/1/2017
970. Is Elvis Dead 9/5/2017
971. I Well Know This Day 9/5/2017
972. The Likeness Of Me -new- 9/7/2017
973. Between Seasons -new- 9/12/2017
974. Life Long Friend -new- 9/14/2017
975. My Mother's Brogue -new- 9/14/2017
976. I Don't Like That Picture -new- 9/17/2017
977. Dancing During The Night -new- 9/18/2017
978. Who Reads Poetry Anyway -new- 9/19/2017
979. Warts And All 8/9/2017
980. Geppetto One 3/26/2015
981. Chest Cavity 3/26/2015
982. Can'T We 3/22/2015
983. Chocolate Rabbits 3/16/2015
984. Aging Great 3/16/2015
985. In Whom Do We Trust 3/12/2015
986. Enough Sad Poems 3/11/2015
987. Life After 3/6/2015
988. Imitations Of Spring 3/3/2015
989. Human Waste 3/6/2015
990. Bloody Mary 3/6/2015
991. One Mustn'T Read Poetry 2/19/2015
992. If Your Heart Is Racing 2/16/2015
993. Sleeping Giant 2/11/2015
994. Not Listening 2/11/2015
995. Spirits Are Demons 2/11/2015
996. A Father Is A Tree 2/11/2015
997. Truth Seeps Out 2/6/2015
998. Who Am I 2/6/2015
999. My Cavity 2/6/2015
1000. I Can Fly 2/6/2015
Best Poem of Francie Lynch

A Child Is Born

I don't know destitute.
I could use the bathrooms
In McDonalds,
If I eat there.
I'm no refugee.
Neither are you.
We have computers, not canvas.
I warmed up the coffee today
And the dishwasher needs to go through
For the third time this week.
Homeless: We have them.
Poor: We'll always have them.
Hungry: Look to the soup kitchens.
Sick: The gurneys are lined in the halls.
Death: It's all around, and increasing.
And still, in that tent or Uber taxi
A child is born to change all this.

Read the full of A Child Is Born

Winter Lights

Between autumn's offerings and spring's wings
Our winter lights are everything.
Crisp sky nights string tinsel streams, and
Crystal air heils winter's dreams.

Poplar trees that snowed in summer,
Are treasures held in winter's slumber.
Bare branches reach in silhouette,
For crowning stars where none now sit.

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