Frances Poems - Poems about Frances

In this life I've seen several people die. It used to really haunt me and I would ask God why. The first time I was just a teen so many years ago, I was in the middle of giving a massage to a person I didn't know. The man was from Vienna and before he went with grace, he asked me to...

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Pope Frances It is a warm sunny day in Lisbon, the pope sits atop of Mercedes Jeep, he looks like an easy target for assassins Men in black suits and open jackets hurry alongside the jeep except for one lifeguard, who wears a gray suit his black suit is still at the cleaners The pope is heading for...

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Birthdays increase and lessen in import, Impervious to upward, steady climb. Reflecting on a life both sweet and short, Two primes; our mean, it seems, is also prime! However much remains, I do not care; Days spent with you are all that I could ask. And still, you leave me breathless, short on air: Your ever-loving man behind the mask!...

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She exits the Chinese Restaurant, scattering all in her hurry, her napkin falling, it flutters down in slow motion; a snow-goose hovering over a red cloth. 'Not a good way to break-up Frances, not cool'. On the pavement, high-heels clacking, Frances running, her calves straining, tendons bolting her onward. On its fore-legs, her toppling chair seems to want to follow – a thunderclap as the napkin lands....

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Frances exits the bistro. Her napkin falling onto the tablecloth, it flutters down in slow motion; a snow-goose onto a red desert. ‘Not a good way to break-up Frances, not cool’. On the pavement, high-heels clacking. Frances running, the backs of her heels bleed, tendons bolting her onward. On hind legs a restaurant chair tries to follow. A thunderclap as the napkin lands....

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Translation of " Bury Me in a Free Land " by Frances E. W. Harper (Homage to Frances Ellen Watkins HARPER, the First Black Lady of America, 1825 - 1911, Orphan, Poet, Novelist, Civil Rights Activist, Public Speaker, Suffragette, whose memorable lines of subdued indignation arise from controlled passions of the never-daunted Soul.) Enterrez-moi dans un pays...

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Frances, my wife and forever friend, Romantic, on her I depend, Always loving when I least expect, Never aloof, always showing respect, Caring and kind to all she meets, Even strangers smile she greets, She says she's no angel, she is to me. © Dave Timperley October 2014...

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With what beseeching Would, I pray—make me equal Thy works to perform...

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Remembering the laughable times we shared, Seeing that guilty look that you always gave, When we laughed and got caught, You will be missed, Being the lovable and caring person that you are, funny but also serious, You will be missed, You were Strong and wise, Loved to cook and feed everyone, but most of all for being loving, Grandma you will be...

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I felt that I had to write a poem to understand what Frances Inglis must have gone through after reading an article by Hassan Suroor by the same name in the papers dated Jan 29,2010. Perhaps the concept of absolute justice needs to be reviewed. "I did it with love in my heart, for Tom" Gave him...

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