23 Feb 2017

Where angels tread


let misty evening be my shroud
soft tendrils drifting cool and dim
where only angels are allowed

where mourning trees stand ever proud
a nightjar's song the only hymn
let misty evening be my shroud

unearthly treasures are endowed
to those who tread this pathway grim
where only angels are allowed

go softly where the bluebells crowd
lit azure by day's dying rim
let misty evening be my shroud

falter not though head is bowed
to find this place as senses dim
where only angels are allowed

yet hearts are singing strong and loud
such is the world of cherabim
let misty evening be my shroud
where only angels are allowed



22 Feb 2017

beneath our feet



energy boiling underground
those seismic forces ebb and flow
sometimes erupt with might and sound
energy boiling underground
such cataclysmic shifts abound
tectonic plates play touch and go
energy boiling underground
those seismic forces ebb and flow


21 Feb 2017

color me unique




color me phosphorescent
and I would glow in the dark
gathering my light
from external sources

color me fluorescent
and I would be a bit more 
out of the ordinary 
and you would see me

storing and reflecting light
I would glow day and night
better even than metallics
and all just for you 

color me phosphorescent
color me fluorescent
oh, pretty please, see me
- why don't you?


20 Feb 2017

Shadow Dance

why did she choose Calliope
as her artistic muse
brain damage not the kindest friend
when searching words to choose

the swirling vortex of her mind
keeps her battling every day
to communicate with other folk
but words slip slide away

it is the same with poetry
as she jumps into the breach
she sees words glinting in the dark
somehow just out of reach

she sits there waiting several hours
ever hopeful that she'll tease
from those tangled skeins of thought
that very word to please

vocabulary was her thing
but with sadness she now finds
that the eloquence she used to own
belongs to other minds

So her poetry is simple
and she envies those whose rhyme
embraces all that artistry
that she can merely mime

 © Lesly Frances Finn 2017




















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Revised version of my poem 'It's in there somewhere'. 
The painting is 'Shadow Dance' © Lesly Frances Finn 2009

Refreshments





she thought maybe her bed needed balance
so she tried out a new lacey valance
then wore nothing at all
when her beau came to call
so he'd not miss the rest of her talents



Night Jar







secretly whisper on evening wings
tormented creatures of the night
brush against a mouth that sings
softly lamenting fading light




16 Feb 2017

Do Not Disturb



She's always been the strong one
That's what she's shown
That's how she's known
But inside it's not really true
Nor has it been her whole life through
While tending others she's been left
And now she finds herself bereft
She feels the need to lay her head
Remain forever safe in bed




13 Feb 2017

what my daddy done told me


skinny women look cold
my pa always said 
for warming the bed
man needs buxom instead
somehow that has always 
cheered me up 
considerable



Her Worst Nightmare











it bellows forth and tugs her hair
she falters on the muddy track
its fury howling through the air
sheer terror stops her turning back

she falters on the muddy track 
the black wind hides which way to go
sheer terror stops her turning back
she hears waves crashing far below

the black wind hides which way to go
no moon, no light of any kind
she hears waves crashing far below
and now must walk as if she's blind

no moon no light of any kind
she weeps to be in such a place
and now must walk as if she's blind
rain lashing harsh across her face

she weeps to be in such a place
no friendly sound or call or bark
rain lashing harsh across her face
hands clawing in the whirling dark

no friendly sound or call or bark
its fury howling through the air
hands clawing in the whirling dark
it bellows forth and tugs her hair

8 Feb 2017

brief barn-yard bulletin


baa-lambs bake in balmy breeze
babbling 'bout the birds and bees
Blanche is bossy and she's big
Blackhead's bold (but wears a wig)
Brownie, bleating bold debate,
believes that beef's best brown bear bait

7 Feb 2017

Youth is but a short dance



quite entrancing 
she is dancing
as yet no false steps
no stutters or mutters 
to spoil her rapture

youth is the key
maybe all she can see
is that time is for herself
as she beckons the seconds
grasping all she can capture

so young and free
what joyous liberty
it shows in her dancing
so naive, so entrancing
best let her be



A is for Acrimony