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Francie Lynch May 2021
We know there is an island for lost toys;
A chest for lost treasure;
Pandora's box for one last hope;
The morning brings lost dreams;
And the heart fills with lost loves.
For socks, we have a dryer.
Today is lost sock memorial day. Go figure.
Francie Lynch May 2021
Not hate,
Loss is a more apt opposite.
I don't hate.
Euphoria is distilled to misery;
Happiness trickles into sadness;
Delight drips to deflation.
Nope, I don't hate.
I'm lost, Love.
Francie Lynch May 2021
Thinking for myself was one of the first things I did.
I had original thoughts.
It was like *******.
Done alone, in silence. Easy and reliable.
If help was necessary,
There was a pictorial in National Geographic;
Last years Christmas Catalogue,
Or Supergirl,
Flying skyward with one knee cocked.
To think was to develop, to grow into maturity.
Best results were achieved by turning off.
That's hard to do, but doable.
Unplug your podcast ears;
Turn down the Foxbits;
Start your own Blog.
We can think for ourselves
To avoid Jihads, insurrections and revolutions,
Unless,
We think them necessary to clear our heads.
Francie Lynch May 2021
What was that. A knock?
Sssh!
Listen.
I heard something.
Was it the wind, scratching across my pane?
The pine tree branch thumps its fingers.
Squirrels, racoons and mice scurry over my roof.
My porch light is a beacon of revelation.
The doors are locked against friend or others.
I will wait.
Fall asleep.
Dream.
A hut on an island in the blue,
No ghostly memories.
Francie Lynch Apr 2021
Nietzsche postulated His death.
tRump proved it.
But gods are known to resurrect.
"God is Dead"
Francie Lynch Apr 2021
When she first met him,
He was so slim;
A gentleman,
To begin.
When she first met him.

When he first met her,
She was so demure;
She'd defer,
Often concur.
When he first met her.

She'd smile on him.
He'd open doors.
She cooked and worked.
He worked and cooked.

Good morning, my Dear.
Good night, my Love.
I got groceries.
Did you get milk?
I called your Mother.
Is your Father okay?
Teacher interviews at five.
I'll drive.
Did you get to the bank?
I made an appointment.
What's the address?
Your sister's on her way
.

This was their dialogue
On that day.

She's kind.
He's a find.
He's hers.
She's his.

Ever the twain shall meet.
  Apr 2021 Francie Lynch
Valsa George
Why the thought of an impending death
Stubbornly clings to me from time to time
As icicles hanging from the trees
Sending chills up through every neuron
I hear their empty rattle in my head
As rabid dogs barking at nothing
Though Shelley was full of praise
And hailed Death and Sleep as brothers
To me it is not so and will never be

Not that I am afraid to die
Nor my absence will shake the Earth out of its orbit
But it makes my thoughts break into fragments
And I find it hard to piece them together

Even if I die, my children will live as before
My husband might seek another partner
Or might pass to a new celibate state
They will never be benighted or tempest tossed
And eventually my memory shall fade
Fade away without a trace from all hearts

As I walk through the winding road
And the closer I come to the terminal
From where there is no more treading
And as time pulls the blind on my life
When the curtain falls finally and my play ends
I don’t want to leave this stage
Nor want to lose my hold
Of those hands I love and care
There are gifts still to be opened
And newer avenues to be explored

Oh, I am in love with this world
To be more true, with narcissistic ardor
I am in love with myself
I know how dangerous it is to be addicted to love

So Death, carry me in my sleep, if you must
Or sweep me away by an inundating tide
Unawares into the ocean of Eternity
Like a feather blown away by the winds!
(Inspired by the Poem- Do Not Go into that Goodnight by Dylan Thomas)
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