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asked me who will be afraid of our ghosts

ghosts of humans
when we are gone
 Aug 2022
Healer
The tragic irony is that my ocean of world feels like a drop,
and
a drop from the world drags me under the current.
 Aug 2022
Megan H
You are etched on my bones
Ingrained in my soul
Locked in my mind
Still residing in my heart-
I cannot wash you
From my skin.

When will I be free of you?
Do I want to be?
 Apr 2022
Ayesha
I don’t, don't speak human
when blue comes down to talk
in the clogged old crannies of the night
woman
with ornate skin
moves her arm
her wrist, her fingers
quick like the clicking of a tongue
quick glitter, gentle then gentler
and rippling, a water eye in blue

over hills and over muddles
see the crow fly

when time comes fluttering back to us
tell me again of the war
when mingles the sword with
flowering heart and the reeds
speak up, their
thin throats filled
with lore, and lure the scattered world here
here here
          here

tell me

tell me, on and on the
tingling of mud as it is
lifted, lifted, to man, to callous,
like sun-forged flesh and force,
to his child, and the parting
of two lips
parting! the lifting, the toiling of tendon in the
riot of soul

over the woods! over mountains
see the crow fly, feel her shadow
when throe laughs, tickles the muscle
and even past wakes up
and even the gaunt clutched spine
of a thin sallow voice
perks up keening

hear hear hear

the beating of the feat
the beating of the nerve
when chant them men, and sole
and leather, with rumble
the rumble of war
when slides sly down the sweat and dust
and galleries light up
with walls full of human
and museums cradle little stones
little bones and calls
tell me
tell me tell me
even a crow can sing sing
sing one awake
perhaps a bit too crowded this one
I like some bits still

12/04/2022
 Mar 2022
Francie Lynch
I didn't do anything controversial today
Other than hear the news.
I must be an aberration; in the minority.
I didn't shoot my mouth off;
I didn't shoot anyone,
Or invade my neighbour's space.
If I did, I'd be the news.
All I did was write an inconsequential poem
With a pen moving across straight blue lines.
I'll bet Chris Wallace won't read it on the news.
 Jan 2022
Francie Lynch
I heard a nasty rumor about Robbie dying.
But that's not quite true;
At least not until he doesn't meet up with you.

I didn't see him daily, so, for me, he really hasn't.
Not quite yet.
We had lunch just the other day:
"We'll be teeing up in April," he smiled.
Smiled. He's so good at that.
Robbie might be dead then,
But not today. Not for me.

But that's not what they'll say
When he doesn't show.
Then I'll know.
And I already feel the hurt.
RIP Robert "Robbie" Moore: 1954-2022
Ten thousand deaths for ten thousand friends.
 Nov 2021
Francie Lynch
I forgot the present.
I went back,
And watched a flower open yesterday.
Imagination turned real.
There was banter and banging;
Strumming and keying.
I witnessed a chick, hatching,
Breaking through.
After the picking and pecking,
Their scratching and scolding,
I paused in need of help:
Get Out.
No one is that good
.
Watched *Get Back* and swooned over the band. No one person was ever The Beatles. They were a unity. Never to be seen again. So glad they gave us such timeless music.
 Nov 2021
Third Eye Candy
Drinking my whiskey teeth in the spiral of an unknown maw
Jumbled in my cups, where the thorns parade on ice
And gallons of faraway evaporate like an up close Eden…
My lungs full of aire and radioactive lovesongs
bejewelled in twilight… sink into me like a long groan
of quiet… choking on a scream that paintbrush cannot fathom
nor my prayers recite.
The volume of my sphere, squaring off with my span of years.
Folding space into impractical toys; my rivets, clenched in redwood
And forgotten things, purged by sleepless Time
On a pyre of inflammable
Pitards.
 Oct 2021
Francie Lynch
You could change the world.
You should.
Repeat this inauspicious comment to someone;
Age isn't part of the equation.
Even the youth may listen, may remember,
I should change the world.
You did. Some place, at a time unknown.
It's not so obvious as the Butterfly Effect;
Appearing subtly, less noticeable than
Pedaling into a velvet N-E Huron breeze
A walker feels on her wet lips
During a burnt Autumn stroll.
I changed,
And rocked the world
Of  my loved ones.
 Sep 2021
Francie Lynch
How will we progress today?

Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?

Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?

Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?

Will we defy with a righteous tone,
Or leave, tails tucked, like a dog with his bone?

Will we gauge goods for our Vegan menu,
Or show distentions as millions do?

Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose pickings from picked-over trash?

Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend visitations in a MADD rage?

Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching a sandless hourglass?

Did we place our script with the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across to Jordan's fair shore?

Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off bar stools?

Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?

Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station gives you right?

Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?

Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,

Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds;
Few are born with silver spoons.
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing street flight,
That can't come too soon.
 Jul 2021
Francie Lynch
I have today grown old.
I was never told,
Make every day count.
I counted days,
Missed some years,
My advice may fall on deaf ears
To those who know how to live their lives.
Everyday. Everyway.
It's not easy.
I recognize the mantle
On my children's faces;
See them counting milestones,
Running theirs through the paces.
How do I tell them
Count every day,
and not count every day;
But make every day count
?
.
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