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Francie Lynch Jan 2017
When you soar,
Others are up there too.
When you fall,
You fall on someone.
When you stand,
You don't wait alone.
When you dream
Of having wings,
Or being chased, tripping
And falling before the beast,
When you dream
Of being naked in the crowd,
Laugh out loud,
You're still not alone.
There's a few billion doing the same.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
When I say,
Eeny, Meanie, Miney, Moe,
You know what follows,
Today's children don't know.
Should we be shamed,
Though blameless,
Called racist and supremacist.
I learned those words long after the rhyme,
Losing innocence with time.
Can I still call you Whitey
If my skin is...
Well, different from Whitey's.
I'd be stupid
To catch a tiger
By the toe;
PETA would skin me.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
If he says one day, he takes seven.
Does he know it shortens his life.
A two month job takes a year off him.
His runs to the lumber mill, and beer,
To the hardware store, and tokes;
Then to the beer store,
And smokes.
Sometimes, not often, but occasionally,
Whiskey and wine,
With beer.
And the morphine for his back... whew!
Seven to one ratio sounds true,
but poor odds.
In his favour, he's below average
in height,
like a small dog,
it helps longevity.
In most small dogs,
In what we call the Free World,
With government assisted suicide.
There's a call coming in.
George G is building a shed
Out back.
Gotta go.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
We're so sure
Concerning births,
With one hundred billion
Born on Earth
Since chaos turned to form;
There's fourteen times more people dead
To the eight billion this time round.
And yet,
I can't conceive
The finality of death.
The equation's misconstrued:
Of all the numbers
Come and gone,
I count mine,
Not yours.
No transmigration, reincarnation, elevation, ascensions, etc. Just death.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
Daddy held me in his arms
Once, when I was five;
He wasn't one to embrace,
To clap and say well-done.

To hear him speak two words
Was volumes from someone
Who tsked and rolled,
But never scolded
His daughters and his sons.

In his hold, so foreign,
He made his assumption,
That I was content to be held,
Though squirming for the ground.

For me it wasn't soothing,
He never was inviting,
His demeanor so discomforting,
He never did it again;
Not that I could tell;
And yet the security
Never diminished
From arms that once held me.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
A house perched
On solid foundation
Provides shelter for a generation.

Homes aren't made of brittle bricks,
Wanning woods or crumbling stones;
You can't raze a well-built home.

A divided house will not stand,
A listing castle on shifting sands.

The peaks, dales and family travails,
At home are not abnormal,
They're common and diurnal;
Yet the undaunted home prevails.

Your house comprises various rooms
For eating, sleeping, and mundane routines.

Homes furnish rooms with smiles and tears,
And gatherings throughout your years,
To be shared or on one's own,
The choice is offered,
You're not alone.

Houses grow proud, though gratifying,
With amenities truly satisfying.

Homes swell with smells of love,
The sounds of children snug above,
A sense that all is safe and sure;
This day has given more than enough.

Houses get tidied, cleaned and aired,
Decorated for special affairs;

Homes are fingers, toes and hair,
Hampers, dishes, and underwear.
Its doors lead to who knows where.
Doors to let you out;
Doors to let me hear
When you're back again;
Welcoming your return.

Homes fill us
With memories
Houses never will.
For my daughter's new house and home.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
Of course,
Of course we misunderstood
That somethings bad
Are someone's good.

I was standing in the open,
Feeling spirits broken,
Fearing the unspoken.
I should run for cover now.

These times are surely falling,
My shades are halfway down,
The locks are frozen,
My hands are cold,
There's a fire inside and it's taking hold.

Soon the terms were meted,
The losers greeted
Like old comrades in arms.

It started up again;
Begins as it began,
And I'm standing in the open,
I'm mad for cover again.
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