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 Mar 22
Third Eye Candy
i had words with a silent thing.
i won the argument, needless to say.
but fewer trumpets were in my bag of air
too asleep to be awake
with the things of you
strewn about the palace
of my misery

I suppose a jewel is vacant
spoiled by the sun and no longer a friend.
the way the things of you
pinch the law of my skin
like a twist in a maze of love
grumpy with northern lights
percolating forever
because love

. .
 Mar 17
Francie Lynch
I'm disappearing.
Bit by tiny bit.
I'm becoming a mosaic
Of technological parts.
I'm not bionic,
I've a real heart;
But aids help me hear;
Implants help me chew;
Stainless steel lets me kneel,
I wear specs to see you.

Nothing man-made can last;
Not like mountains and forests
That don't need my resources.
You may say these things aren't living, as such...
But you'd be wrong.
You may argue I am not living as such...
You'd be wrong again.
I need batteries and oil,
Scripts or x-rays to prove it,
But the proof is there.
I'm shedding skin, losing hair,
Have diminished hearing and sight;
My legs are sore and tired and my back...
Oh my back...
Yes, I am disappearing
And will be remembered for a generation;
As my grandfather was with me.
When my brain disappears,
So will he.
 Dec 2023
Francie Lynch
I want to write a Christmas poem,
But the muse ain't in the mood;
I look outside, it seems like Spring.
I really think I'm *******.

There's not a flake of snow out there,
The sun shines in the blue;
I believe the squirrels are copulating.
I really think I'm *******.

Our geese stayed North again this year,
Our fauna's still in view;
It's hard to spot the cardinals;
I really think I'm *******.

There's lights strung round houses,
With inflatables on the lawns;
They're out of place,
Look crude and rude;
I really think I'm *******.

I'm not hearing silver bells
From sleighs running over snow;
It's a wonder we call this winter,
In Ontariario.

But... the tree is up,
The gifts well-wrapped
With Love and Best Wishes too;
So, in lieu of surely being *******,
This verse will have to do.
 Nov 2023
Francie Lynch
I've been exposed.
Many have witnessed me,
And more have noticed it.
The ones I taught to use a spoon,
Tie a lace, ride a bike,
Arise from a fall.
Those whom I've instructed
On when to listen,
When to question.
They've acquiesed to the knowledge.

The colleagues I once cornered with
In serious situations;
When our decisions effected others' paths;
Those who recognized my signature.
They've acquiesed to the knowledge.

I meet less often with friends.
I ask for less favours, and return fewer.
I don't stand holding meaningful conversations,
Sipping strong drinks.
I wear a cap indoors sometimes  (I once condemned this).
But, here you have it.
They've acquiesed.

I'm on my own now,
Hoping my memories are real and are mine,
And my ideas are new and genuine
(I change my mind a lot).
I seldom check the weather;
I've cancelled my cable (and this is a milestone).

I've enroled in a new world order.
Ask anyone you can find around here.
I no longer run the world.
Our words were short as time is but a moment ever fleeting upon this plain of existence.

My memories of you are as cloudy as a puddle's gray sky's reflection of something I rather forget.

But my friend you once told me.

"Our disease does not hide, we simply choose to ignore it until it's far too late."

I didn't want to face the solution, as I spoke to you beyond ****** up.
Lost in a storm of ego and ignorance that I could control a ******* tornado by pretending I was ultimately in control.

"You know you can always call me John, just make sure it's when you are ready to admit it's beyond your control."

My old friend said to me and as I said my goodbyes I played it off.
Mocking his spiel and doing what I do best.

Play the role others believe to be the fractured individual that is someone over time I truly do not understand myself.

I could always called you and like anyone not wanting to face the cancer that is their truth I never did.

And on the day an old friend told me of your passing I was numb fighting withdrawals, my heart pounding like a wounded animal yearning for escape.

I thought of you, a man who had battled a stroke, cancer and the same addiction as I.

It was never that I didn't call because I did not respect you.

It is the exact opposite my friend.
I admired you as many will speak of your words.
But as we are eternally brothers of the page.

It is the compassion you showed me as a friend knowing me no more than a stranger from a website.

You eternally are that bear, as that animal often stands alone in its strength and understanding.

That pillar has been removed only from sight never from heart or the dungeons of a darkened soul such as mine.

Rest well my friend.

Sincerely from the pains of my eternal regrets.
In memory of a great friend.
I do not explain art, I merely create it.
 Sep 2022
Third Eye Candy
after 2 AM the tinnitus of a withering day has abated.
the shrill un-boundaries of our servitude
collapse into auguries seeping
from a perforated moon
like white honey.
all it’s thought
a dot on a creature
made of holes.
stumbling home from a mansion
to a flat.

in a yellow car.
 Sep 2022
Third Eye Candy
With aphids and cherubs barking up the wrong tree
A November with rain on its mind
clicks a heel in the underbrush, where all things creep
in the ether floss of our lost tendrils of Time
emergent in luminous twine
every stitch, a rivet in a concrete swamp.
tethering a plight.


Christmas lights lockjaw hamlets with crepe frost
glistening earthbound color wheels in the jagged blanket
of a crisp 3 AM. a covert Decembering as such a night
is want to do.

then the gray weeps
as window panes
tell you
 Sep 2022
Third Eye Candy
some fool on a hill, tripping over jupiter spoons
scooping a notion from a wishing well.. foggy and hermit
with a small eye and big dreams drumming on a skintight cloud
klip-sprung from a soft enamel, floating in an iron lung
with too many stars to choose from.

and less than that.
 Sep 2022
Third Eye Candy
with the battle joined and my intimacy jaded and clack froth
i merge my pavilions with my valleys, gliding on a ragged stallion
with a wreath in it’s withers… a’gallop in the arbitrary dawn
of my hellscape. relentless as Hope.

like juniper and venison, we intertwine in the hillocks of our faraway eyes
like two marbles adjusting to the stride of an elephant
hoisting the world into all charm and calamity
without a care in the World

On Its Back.
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