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 Sep 2023
Francie Lynch
Easily done
If you’re a draught horse,
Or ******* pulling a cart,
Or pointing a gun,
Or under a yoke.

I’m fine staying here;
I’m not moving on.
I don't want to.
Such advice as, You need to move on,
Sounds cheap, pithy and unaware.

What do we know about moving on?
Or moving up, or out, or in.
It’s decisive and aggressive.
It’s a judgment call.
It’s supposed to be good.
A learning experience.
For whom?

This is what I don’t need.
I have enough friends.
I've met with enough romances.
I won't move on.

Move on.... Indeed.
 Aug 2023
Francie Lynch
We’ll age like a well-worn porch
In a thunder storm;
Telling tales, sipping drinks,
Beneath a canopy of stars-
In a house that we call home.

Our basement’s stoked with love,
That melts away the cold;
The rafters hang with laughter,
To warm us when we’re old.

Our shelves are stocked
With hugs and kisses;
And jars of smiles and hopes;
The food of family ties,
That nourish hearts and souls.
 Aug 2023
Francie Lynch
There strolls another father,
Scrolling while his daughter
Rides her stroller as they stroll.
He really oughtn't scroll,
She's awake as they stroll;
It's a stroller, not a scroller.

The purpose of a stroll,
Is to walk and talk the prattle,
The speach that infants rattle
While strolling in their stroller.

Sing to your child,
Stroll all the while,
Hum or whistle,
Mumble……..Grumble;
But don't silently scroll on,
While strolling with the stroller.

Recall childhood rhymes, if you can,
Say the ABCs or count to ten;
Talk of little piggies and brazen toads,
Meaningful memories,
And yellow brick roads.

Enjoy your strolling.


Enjoy your scrolling.
It's true. They walk by my place.
 Jul 2023
Francie Lynch
Now
If the past is only an idea,
And the future does not exist;
Then we have the present,
Though immearsureable,
It's what we have,
And it travels faster
Than the speed of light.
Grab it.
Now.
 Jul 2023
Francie Lynch
In my youth,
My sleek clean youth,
I was taught to pray.
Learn the right way,
Said men of the cloth,
And women of the rag-tag convent.
In rows, on knees, in suplication,
We prayed for days off Purgatory,
Babies, lost in Limbo;
Pray for starving
Blacks in Africa,
or
In Peru.

I prayed for you.

Beside my bed,
In my head,
For the Living,
For the Dead.
I prayed.
He delayed.
I prayed longer
For thirst and hunger.
I prayed harder,
Got no farther.
I saw little change.
Perhaps got worse,
Despite my prayers,
Or a longing curse.
                       Amen.
 Jul 2023
Francie Lynch
Three small words,
That we hear,
Make or break
So many fears.
Now let's read
These short phrases,
To realize how
They change us.

How are you?
I feel fine.
Where are you?
You look Divine.

I see you.
You're very welcome.
I miss you.
What a surprise!
I need you,
Open your eyes.

Believe in yourself.
Nobody is perfect.
Count your blessings.
Speak the truth.

Seize the Day.
Go for it.
I'll be there,
Working on it.

Be the exception,
Never give up
Against all odds,
I'll respect that.

Dreams come true.
Learn from mistakes.
Aspire to inspire
For heaven's sake.

Please forgive me.
Let it go.
Let's be friends,
I trust you.

I love you.
Come to bed.

Three small words
Mean so much;
Mouths and hands
Reach and touch.
 Jul 2023
Francie Lynch
One hundred years ago
My Mammy was just three,
The exact same age as me,
When she sailed us across the sea,
All those years ago.

Just lately,  just now,
I said Mammy's Mammy's name out loud.
What was that, I asked.
For sure her name's not been said
For many, many years.
Margaret Duffy
A dog barked.
So I said my mother's:
Mammy
A breeze furled the window sheers.

The dog continued to yelp,
So I said her other names louder:
Brigid...........Nellie

I will keep the wind inside me,
And allow the dogs their day;
Your names will still be called upon,
In stress or tranquility.
The Irish have called their mother "Mammy" since forever.
 Jun 2023
Francie Lynch
.
                                smoke
                         ­            of
                                 puff
                                   a
                                like
                      diss­ipates
                                  it
                     ­           until
                               up
                                and
                          ­   up
                                and
                          ­         up
                              and
                           up
                    going
                swirls
             ­       decreasing
                          ever
                ­                in  
                                gyrates
    ­                         and
                        spirals
                    time
   pre-determined
our
 May 2023
Francie Lynch
Where do society's extremists abide?
Rallies and Racists go side by side.
BBQs offer up well-done bigots;
On Jordan's lap dance the zealots.
Dogmatists rant in wild front rows,
True believers don't put on such shows?
Sexists cower in coastal Compounds,
Sects marry often in Salt Lake towns.
Troglodytes tan beneath southern suns.
Sepratists hold their final stand
On this side of The Rio Grande;
Fanatics occupy far Left and Right,
Partisans Op Eds are meant to enlight.
Mysoginists grab till they have blisters,
Huns and louts date brothers and sisters.
Philistines take our private spaces,
And whistle-blowers can't show their faces.

Of all the ists I know and abhor,
The musicist is a bigoted boor;
A connoisseur I abjure,
Who chooses tunes he insists
Are superior than my interests,
And disses tunes I like best.

So now I'll lay my needle down,
I've turned the table that goes round,
And plead musicists won't hesitate
To enjoy the tunes... don't discriminate.
I needed to get this on paper. I have a friend who is a musicist. He drides Motown, blues, jazz, classical, country, hip hop, rap... you name it. All he listens to is folk and classic rock.
 May 2023
Francie Lynch
Beulah gave out
Blossoms this spring
As big as sunflower heads.
They entwined the branches
Like the ribbon enclosing an expectant shower gift.
It's fragrance was the extract
Of an unbottled aroma
That is the Magnolia tree.
I rooted her in the yard
Four years ago.
She is iridescent for a brief time
Past mid Spring.
She has many Springs to go
Above the green growth below;
Many seasons beneth
The blue Summer skies above;
During the Autums ahead,
When I am dead,
And colder than Winter snows
Below her;
She will be there.
Rooted with care.
 Apr 2023
Francie Lynch
What we are aiming for
Is a good ways off; in the clouds;
Someplace yonder in the boonies;
Beyond our reach, or, in the middle of nowhere.

It is a pipe dream we’re lighting,
So remote we don’t see the smoke.

Our goals are far-flung;
Like another world’s offerings,
Where the deep blue skies are unattainable.

We are reaching for the higher fruit,
For a single bed in the Ivory Tower.

Visionaries are blinded beyond the pale;
Beyond the bounds, a good ways off;
Instead of grasping for the unearthly, the Utopian,
We must look next door;
Not at the moon or Mars or some galaxy
A million miles away,
To find what’s in our reach,
And grab it.
 Mar 2023
Francie Lynch
I believe in her.
Not in supplication or prayer,
But because she cares
About every countless hair,
Every fallen sparrow
And unopened flower.
I believe
In her power,
Her daily miracles.
She cries wet tears,
Her heart beats blood,
Her hands open and close
Around **** or rose.
She's no ****** deity;
She's not ascended beyond reach.
Not an image of pity,
Craddling a bruised and ****** body
(Though she would).
She is flesh and thought.
I believe
Because she is.
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