Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 10
Francie Lynch
I was never born to be great;
I never believed it was my fate.
Not like the Beatles,
Who wrote the songs
That live with us all life long.
I wasn't here to invent
A vaccine to prevent laments,
Or destroy dementia,
Or unveil the answer
That cancels cancer.
I'm not up on investments
That provide the cash to crash hunger,
Or house the homeless and usurp anger.
No I'm not a man of wonder.
Yet, if you ask someone who knows me,
A child of mine, for one,
They'll correct my every regret,
And might say I was all these.
Children and grandkids think we adults have all the answers and all the power. We don't, but we must be mindful of their perspectives.
 May 10
Francie Lynch
Brigid was born on a flax mill farm,
Near the Cavan border, in Monaghan,
At Lough Egish on the Carrick Road,
The last child of the Sheridans.
The sluice runs still near the water wheel,
With thistles thriving on rusted steel.
What's known of Nellie's early years?
Da died before she knew grieving tears,
But her eyes will burn in later years.
She's eleven posing with her class,
This photo shows an Irish lass.
Her visage blurred,
Her eyes look distant,
Yet recognizable
In an instant.
She attended school for six short years,
The three R's, some Irish,
With a Doctorate in tears.
Her Mammy grew ill,
She lost a leg,
And bit by bit,
By age sixteen,
Nellie buried her first dead.
Too young to be alone,
Sisters and brother had left the home.
The cloistered convent took her in,
She taught urchins and orphans
About God, Grace and sin.
(There were no vows for Nellie then.)
At nineteen she met a Creamery man,
Jim Lynch of the Cavan clan;
He delivered dairy from his lorry,
Married Nellie
To relieve their worry.
War flared up, and men were few,
A Coventry move would surely do.
(and thistles bloomed as they grew.)
Nellie soon was Michael's Mammy,
Then Maura, Sheila and Kevin were carried.
When war floundered to its end,
They shipped back to Monaghan,
To work the flax mill again.
The thistles and weeds
That surrounded the mill,
Were scythed and scattered
By Daddy's zeal.
He built himself a generator.
And powered the lights and the wheel.
Sean was born,
Gerald soon followed;
Then Michael died.
A nine year old,
His Father's angel.
(Is this what turns
A father strange?)
Francie arrived,
Then Eucheria,
But ten months later
Bold death took her.
Grief knows no family borders
For brothers and sisters, sons or daughters.
We left for Canada.
Mammy brought six kids along,
Leaving her dead behind,
Buried with Ireland in familiar songs.
Daddy waited for our family,
Six months before Mammy got free
From death's inhumanity.
Her tears and griefs weren't yet over,
She birthed another son and daughter;
But Jimmy and Marlene left us too.
Death is sure,
Death is cruel.
Grandchildren came for Little Granny,
Brigid, Nellie, her names are many.
She lived this life eduring pain
That mothers bear,
Mothers sustain.
And yet, in times of personal strain,
I may invoke her one true name:
                            "Mammy."
Happy Mother's Day
Mammy: An Irish mother.
 May 10
Mohd Arshad
War

     Gives
Nothing


But

Takes everything
 Apr 10
RedMushrooms
They come in many
Shapes and sizes
Some are white
Some are pink
Some are brown
and others are purple
Some you can't see
Some are thick
Some are thin
They might even hurt
One thing that they
All have in common is
that they all have a story.
Whether it's from
Climbing a tree
or from crashing a car
maybe it wasn't an accident.
Thought no matter what
Every
Single
Scar
Is beautiful
No matter what you say
or other people say.
They are as beautiful
As the sunset
over the ocean.
 Apr 3
Francie Lynch
I am older now,
And we've been together
For decades now,
So I don't pretend
To remember
Our first kiss, now.
Anyhow,
It's sensations are still with me.
That kiss was a sentence.
Anywho, or, Anywhom,
What's more important,
Is...
I don't foresee
Our last
Anytime soon.
 Mar 8
Mohd Arshad
Woman
          Is a sharp sword
                      but
in a scabbord
Witnesses of all time.
On holy grounds they are.
Many people laid to rest everywhere over millions of years.
Living further in green suits,
majestic and tall.
In all shapes and forms.
People come and go.
Look at them standing now.

Forest full of green
Our ancestors watching.
Giving us oxygen to breathe.
Handle it with care.


Shell✨🐚
Realize the worth of nature. We are part of it.
Destroy it and we destroy ourselves.
We built
a tower
with hands
that did not know
how to touch.

It rose,
stone by stone.
Each word, a brick.
Each silence,
the mortar.
Promises—
vanishing into air.

We stood
at the bottom,
blaming the height
for our aches—
but the tower
was never
what broke us.
 Feb 6
Niloo
"The sky is vibrant as ever; the thunderclouds aren't visible anymore.
The uncertainty, the acceptance—
I stand still under this vibrant and lively sky, letting my gaze wander around.
I have been here before, I have seen it before.
I have been soaked by the rain and tamed by the wind.
The profound beauty of it all has left me in awe."
Next page