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Francie Lynch Nov 2019
Poor wee me
When I was wee,
I used to sit on my mother's knee;
Her apron tore,
I fell to the floor,
Poor wee me when I was wee.

Poor young me when I was young,
The song's of youth are those I'd sung;
Songs of love that since have gone,
Poor young me when I was young.

Poor middle me back some years,
I worked and worried, drank whiskey and beer;
Paid my way and prospered here,
Poor middle me back some years.

Poor me today, poor me will stay,
For many poor years to come;
For I've things to do, places to go,
With granddaughters and grandsons.
Francie Lynch Feb 2019
Everybody loves the twins, you will too.
Everybody loves the things they’ll say and do;
Their eyes smile when they see you coming,
You smile back because they’re so loving.
Everybody loves the twins, you will too,
The girls surely love you two.

Brigid likes to crawl along the wall now that she can stand,
Ophelia does the same but the girls have to use their hands;
It won’t be long now until they’re walking,
Wait another month and they won’t stop talking.
Everybody loves the twins, you will too
The girls surely love you two.

They don’t know how to say they're in love with you,
But that's okay you can see that its plainly true;
They light up when they see you coming,
The arms start flailing and their legs start pumping.
Everybody loves the twins, you will too,
The girls surely love you two.

Dreaming of your loves in the comfort they’re in love with you,
Dreaming of your loves in the comfort that you love them too.
Dreaming of my loves in the comfort I'm in love with you.
Sung to the tune of Gary Lewis and the Playboys hit: "Everybody Loves a Clown."
Gary Lewis is the son of one of America's best-loved clowns, comedians, actor and philanthropist, Jerry Lewis.
Francie Lynch Dec 2018
I know whose toes
Are curled and peeking out below:
Beneath their nose,
Under lips,
Lower than their waist and hips;
Past their knees and their shins-
Toes they’ll use to count to ten.
Better yet,
With our twins,
They’ll count to twenty to begin,
Then move to forty without linger,
Counting on each other’s fingers.
Toes and fingers, fingers and toes,
Twenty wigglers they’ve come to know,
With twenty fingers to catch and throw.
For now we’ll rhyme toes off to market,
And play Pat-a-Cake
With Ophelia and Brigid.
Ophelia and Brigid, eight months. Granddaughters.
Isaac Oct 2018
Our grandkids will have grandkids.
This cycle will never end.
The world forever moving on.
Each generation a brand new friend.
Let us be the generation
That will one day make Earth say:
"Why do you have to leave?
I so wish that you could stay!"
Written 31 October 2018
Francie Lynch Jul 2018
I like what I see
In my kids;
Others may say, They're like her's or his;
That's okay, but they don't see
The subtleties revealed to me.

They were listening when I spoke,
And now they hear other folks;
They were watching when I'd act
In sync with our social contracts.
Please and Thanks was our mantra,
Repeated now as personal dogma.

I didn't see they were watching,
Watch they did, and they were copying.
Believe me, I'm not being boastful,
If that's the case, I too am blameful
For anything that causes pain,
Though unintended, it's the same.

I'm so pleased with my kids,
And they aren't just like
Her's or his;
They're mine.
And I like what I see in their kids.

Do you like what you see
In mine?
Francie Lynch May 2018
The twins came today.
They took their first breaths
On this first day of May.
Today, and all days,
I swear and I pray,
To love them always,
Come what may.
The twins are Brigid and Ophelia. Mother is well. All is good.
Mae Nov 2016
Where do you see yourself in fifty years? I have absolutely no ******* idea. I don’t. I really don’t and for the longest time I thought that was something to be ashamed of. It probably still is but I certainly am no longer on that boat. I can tell you where I would want to be, if that makes it any better…
The proper or more common way to answer this would probably be to describe my future employment of choice or the amount of little Julie’s and Tommy’s I plan on having around the kitchen table. Yeah, that would be ideal but then again, there is no substance in that. There is no honesty in that type of answer, only social norm. Or our need to go against it.
In fifty years, I hope to be sane. I hope to have developed the capability of living with my sins and not let my anger and poor decision crowd my mind. I hope to see that behind every stupid act I’d done in the past, were hidden good intentions and not just a broken window where the frigid wind of teen rebellion would flow through. I hope to be able to sit on my front porch, watch my grand-Julie’s and Tommy’s run around freely, knowing that the life they have is much better than the one I wanted.  
In fifty years, hopefully, I’ll have learned that grey hairs don’t mean wisdom but experience. That instead of guidelines to live by, I’ll have stories to share. I hope that my skin will have become creased with tall tales like a vase molded by life’s hands.
In fifty years, I hope to be young. To be filled with vibrant energy and to resonate love. I hope not to be the answer to problems, but a set of hands that’ll hold a loved-one when nothing can be done because that is when we truly need saving.
In fifty years, oh, how I will have lived. I will have fulfilled my most wanted wish from childhood.

In fifty years…I will have lived.
on a whim...
Arlo Miller Aug 2015
Today you left memories in our minds and love in our hearts,
in fact, looking around the room that's only the start.
You left behind grandkids, sons, close friends, and a wife,
who is probably the reason you made it this long in life.

Today you left behind houses that families call home,
and plenty of pictures reminding us how you never needed a comb.
You left tearful prayers on Christmas Day, hearty chuckles and grins,
the trunk of the tree where all these branches begin

Today you left and that's ok, we know you had to go,
to fulfill God's plan that we can only wish to know.
I may know the burglar, but it still feels like theft.
I guess you were a guest in this world, and today you left.
For Larry Dean Miller. My grandfather and an amazing man.
Louella Apr 2015
They kissed there for the very first time.
Their hearts pounding as the storm lashed the trees.
They made love there furtively on the grass.
The first humans to ever make love.
Five decades later, their grand kids stood there, a faded b/w picture in hand.

The old windmill smiled.
Francie Lynch Mar 2015
Mammy vacuumed
So the grandkids
Could play.
The kids have grown,
Mammy left,
Just the other day.
Mammy is an Irish term for Mother.

— The End —