If William were alive today,
He'd  be dead at 27.

Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll  discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too.

We all know them by name.

You don't mention whom you met,
How you ripped your small black dress.
You don't share intimate stories;
What caused a smile,
What stokes your worries.
Arms dangle by your side,
You can't slip your hand in mine,
Hold me with your eyes,
Lay your head on my bed
With your good-night sigh.
We don't get our get-aways
As we did in by-gone days;
You left your keys to house and car,
Saying you would travel far;
So you hitched your hidden dreams
To a rising star,
Left my world, but not my life,
Polished your new cultured pearls.
Husbands now call you wives;
But you'll always be
My three wee girls.

Time keeps on ticking into the future.

When yer high on a streak
And no doubt its a freak
Aint nothin can beat yah
Not luck bad ner good
Dont doubt its a bet
A streakers regret
Tho yah aint beaten yet
The times surely set
Not by fate or yer odds
Ner the whim of the gods
But by an incredible drive
To keep going
Then die.

Just ended a 30 game streak in Crib. Play my buddy, and my two daughters. Play each of them separately. Andrea stopped me at 31. However, I still have by bud at 15, and my other daughter at 11. I suppose I lost a third of a streak. :0

We should get married,
Shouldn't we?
Is that a nod,
Do you agree?
Should we expect
Two to three?
Will this car be enough,
Should we plunge
For a bigger house
To store our unused stuff?
Can we make the payments,
Will I be promoted,
Or will I loose my job?
Parent/Teacher Night's tonight,
I'm late for the rehearsal,
I've got to go coach little league,
After Health 'n Safety Training.

Am I homophobic?
Am I alcoholic?

Did I see gray about my temples,
Crow's feet around my eyes?
Am I gaining extra weight,
My waist is twice my height.
I have lumps and grunts
I didn't have before,
I hear thumping in the night,
Did I lock the doors?
And this is just our personal life,
The world outside is crumbling:
Brexit, Walls, pipeline horrors,
The Amazon Rain Forests.
Acid Rain, O-Zone, Isis
(And throw in North Korea),
There are multitudinal crises,
All conspiring succinctly,
With too much sneaking thievery,
Adding grist to an angst-filled life.

Do I really need to ask,
What will our kids do,
When they leave their angst behind
To be worry free as you.

Francie Lynch Apr 11

I paid a visit to Byron.
He was distressed about
His sixteen year old son.
A smart lad.
Can't sign his name for his driver's license.
     He was never taught cursive writing, By.
I lamented with him.
The blue book, half the size of standard,
With the two solid blue lines,
Divided by a-broken-red-line.
We began with dull HB pencils,
So not to tear the pages.
By Grade Five, we had fountain pens.
Pages and pages...of loops, sticks, slanted at the correct angle,
Through the red line and all the way to blue,
Or (and this took serious concentration),
Only three-quarters the way,
Up, and/or down to the lower red.
Pages of o's, p's, q's, x's, z's.
Every letter its own uniqueness.
Then joining them like a chain gang:
Creating words that dug, turned over and spread out.
Any and all words making sense of the world,
In sequence, patterns and sound.
Such power.
Letters to distant Grandparents,
Valentines, notes.
Hieroglyphics.

Your Signature.

Francie Lynch
246 Devine St., S.,
Sarnia,
Ontario.
Canada
North America
Western Hemisphere
The World
The Solar System
The Milky Way
The Universe

I was one with infinity and creation.
In ink. Real ink,
By age 10.

Joyce used a very similar way of expressing the emerging artist in Portrait, but I'm sure even he read that address litany somewhere. Perhaps in the very book he was holding as a young Stephen.
Francie Lynch Apr 6

Weren't you told,
Some time ago,
A picture's worth a thousand words.
Well I can show with a click or two,
A thousand pics for each word you choose.

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