Francie Lynch


Francie Lynch Poems

201. Post Traumatic Stress 1/18/2015
202. The Store Mannequin 1/18/2015
203. Vis A Vis: The Tender Terror 1/18/2015
204. False Hope 1/20/2015
205. Circular Paths 1/20/2015
206. Teacher 1/20/2015
207. At The End Of Day 1/20/2015
208. The Voice 1/20/2015
209. The Camera 1/20/2015
210. Two Houses 1/20/2015
211. Still Here 1/20/2015
212. Home Movies 1/20/2015
213. The Immigrant 1/21/2015
214. Now Mammy 1/21/2015
215. Venus Trap 1/21/2015
216. I'M A Molten Mess 1/22/2015
217. Til We Hear The Final Crack 1/23/2015
218. Keep The Alien In The Sky 1/23/2015
219. A Singular Leaf 2/3/2015
220. Down, But Never Out 2/3/2015
221. The Names We Carry 2/3/2015
222. Damn It All 2/3/2015
223. Adrift With Lighthouse Eyes 2/3/2015
224. Snowflakes 2/6/2015
225. Life Recipe 2/6/2015
226. Paradoxes 1/18/2015
227. No Hurry To Worry 1/19/2015
228. Winter School Days 1/19/2015
229. Leaf Counting 2/6/2015
230. Wordsworth's Grasmere 2/6/2015
231. Age Like Sleep 2/6/2015
232. Have Tea With Me 2/6/2015
233. In It Now 2/6/2015
234. Cow Patties 2/6/2015
235. I Hate Love 2/6/2015
236. When You Said Good-Bye 2/6/2015
237. Ecce Puella Et Ecce Mulier 2/7/2015
238. Between Brain And Skull 2/6/2015
239. Be A Friend 2/9/2015
240. A Poem Is A Piece Of Wood 2/10/2015
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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