A poem is like a tickle,
it gives both joy and pain:
with blissful tears and tearful giggles,
you'll read that poem again.

A poem is like a damaged heart in need of surgery:
a cut that heals,
a line that leaves a scar
along your heart.

Francie Lynch
From his portrait on HelloPoetry.com
https://hellopoetry.com/francie-lynch/

trickling down cheeks
the beads of sweat gather on chins
jaw lines glisten
chalk on asphalt
contenders equidistant, soon to be unison
two of them
racing
each reach for the first to get
to the line
a place for few of them
bronze rusts, and silver runs
but nothing like us
off that starting gun
all at a chance
to watch the refs
wave the flags
and decide a winner
go for gold
outside the champion's circle
are shoulders cold
if you don't give it all
you're no pro
you're an amateur
a beginner, 1st in show

They , the grass carps
eat away the algae of my brooding from the pond of my feelings.
Like painters , they paint the blank canvases of my life with unforgettable sweet and beautiful moments by their delicate and innocuous jacose paint brushes.

Tickling me with loads of laughter by their innocuous hilarious acts is their shadow.

Folding the tender age of the two little beauties into my palms for ever is my fantasy and living with their childhood memories shall be my ice cubes on my burning wounds.

In a sea of umbrellas,
          There are waves of people,
Collecting the little ones
              rippling through puddles.

With wellie boots on,
              making a splash
As raindrops tickle
              Their noses.

Winter lass shows off,
Her icicle diamonds;
Cold fingers tickle

There you are,
I can barely see you
Lost in the fog
On the other side of the platform.

How did we miss the connection?
Why are you standing over there?
You are so far away from me.

You ran away quickly
I watched in slow motion
As you darted behind my rainbow
To your familiar darkness.

Radiating my light
Turned you to dark stone
A mere statue that stood frozen
In the halls of my memory.

Could barely grasp your ticklish flesh
As you disappeared into smoke
**** mirages
A private oasis for you alone.

I could not reach you
As the smoke took you to safety
From my colorful world
My rainbow connection.

For just a moment
I felt the smile of friendship
Your numbness wiped the smile away
Put us to sleep in an instant.

Two ships
Choppy waves
Tickling caresses
Laughter for you
Tears for me.

We passed each other in the night
On the internet highway
On the end of a phone line
On the other side of a table
On a spinning carousel of anxious feathers.

The pain is so familiar
Like an airport farewell
A wave from the train station
The hello turned goodbye.

So, tell me again,
How did we miss the connection?

Where do feelings go
When the train speeds away?





Copyright 2018 Stacey Handler

The mere wiggle of my fingers
The stroke of a feather
And it all begins.

First there’s the tickling
Then there’s the tears
the ship leaving my emotional ocean
you leaving me empty,
feather still in my hand.

Connection of joy
Laughter, squirming flesh
Togetherness briefly
Pain wickedly lingering.

Tickling stains the moment
Tears stain my cheeks
Your exiting footsteps quickening their pace
My heart slowly sinking.

As the tickling ends
Your coldness begins
A faucet abruptly turned off
A story with pages torn out.

Echoing laughter remains,
I wipe away my tear stains
As you vanish into the dust.





2018 Stacey Handler