Up north on the west coast of North America
lies the Canadian province of British Columbia.
There lives a lady with poetic prowess.
With her words, she is quite a prolific poetess.
There is one thing that appears to be her hobby.
In her house, this lady has an aviary.
This is a fact that has piqued my curiosity.
With birds, how does she have time to write poetry?
Those feathered friends rarely live with silence.
To anyone preferring quiet, they can be a nuisance.
If my curiosity were a candle, it would be brightly lit.
Tell us Francine, how do you do it?
This looks like an ordinary carpet, but it’s a flying machine.
Would you like to come aboard and take a ride with me, Francine?
We can see what the world looks like from up in the sky.
Just get on with me, and away we will fly.
All we need is a simple verbal command,
and away we will go to any magical land.
What’s the matter Francine? Don’t you believe me?
Try it for yourself, and very soon, you will see.
Robert Pettit
For Skat’s Magic Carpet Ride contest
I admire the work by our own Francine.
She writes things descriptively clear and clean.
Each new submission I eagerly anticipate.
‘I will gladly read it because I’ll know it’s great.
Francine comes from the north in British Columbia
That’s the westernmost province up in Canada.
She lives with a very large collection of birds.
What I can admire are her poems with words.
Francine is a woman both knowledgeable and bright.
I can find her on the Soup both day and night.
Her many compositions have been put to the test.
Francine does rank up there among the best.
There is just one more item I have to say:
Francine, what do you have for us to see today?
Of nature's beauty,the lady writes.
Spring's renewal or winter squall.
Her eyes drink in the many sights.
From summer bouquets to trees in fall.
The words come sweet and gently flow.
About her animal friends she writes.
Birds in flight,creatures below.
Those sunny days and moonlit nights.
Along the paper her pen cascades.
Bringing color to the world out there.
She enjoys life's little escapades.
We're happy she will continue to share.
Merry Christmas Francine!
for p.d.'s poetry gift exchange contest
you can have your Mr Sorbo,
men about, i doesn't dream,
but that big dark girl in sandal's
who wields a sword so mean,
could get a deaf mute Camel,
to utter words obscene,
mind games hey baby doll,
no one comes here in between.
Don :(
Francine, of contests,
the sullen cause the bitey claws,
as the proud poet seeks a place,
jerking open mental doors,
encompassing mental flaws,
blind true judgement, deftly insures,
who gets the honored place?
perhaps?
Don Johnson 24-july-11
Francine..
Not by far, as pretty are,
you are, my sweet Francine,
out of reach, my silver star,
too out of reach my queen:(
love,
Don
16-july-11
to search and look beyond the tune,
search n wonder will it ruin,
suck on wine, the half flago0n:)
till thoughts get a reaction
them little women turn your head,
and cast you moaning from your bed,
what matters isn't said,
when they become your master :) been there:)
Sweet Francine
Sweet Francine if you were Queen
I’d be your Knight in Armor
I’d fight for you, to self be true
You lovely little charmer.
If deadly peril crossed our path
My sword would clear the way
Fight to the death and laugh
Though death might find a way
In any fight this poor knight
Will carry yes your banner
Prove true blue, in any fight
Approve you, hope my manner.
But dying there upon the lance
I can look up and smile
The charming lady passes by
But drops her head awhile …
Don Johnson 20-may-11
And lying here with broken spear,
the lance lodged in my chest,
my blood does flow,
darkness comes n goes
my love gives her last caress...
Yes Linda Marie,,,
my words get tangled up with fiction...
of foolish knights ...
chain mail the fights...
but the lance fixes his affliction....
xo
Don
Green eyes and golden hair,
My Mother's pride and joy.
She already had a boy
But she longed for a daughter fair.
Francis was the family name
For Father, Grandfather and brother
But Mother said "No, not another".
My name would not be the same.
Francine was the name she chose.
It was similar but not the same,
So she gave me my unique name.
Not a Frances, but still close.
Francis, the name, means free.
A name to be proud of
And mine was picked with love,
It has the same meaning you see.
So though my name is my own
I really was named for my dad
But I have always been glad
That I wasn't a Francis clone.
for Linda Marie's "Whats In a Name Contest"
*Francis is the male spelling , Frances is the female spelling
Friendly and witty, at least in my mind.
Rock and classical, my music combined.
Artistic and creative, when I want to be.
No longer dependant, happy to be free.
Casual and retro, my chosen form of dress.
Insecure at times, not fond of stress.
Need personal space, probably too much.
Enjoys being single, but misses someone's touch.
For "Forms of Poetry 101" contest.
Form is "Name"
Francine Roberts
'Tis true Francine... those lovers two...
On that Road to Kiloree...
Were to find a path quite new...
As love they found under oaken tree...
Yet theirs was naught but journey bright...
As your sentiment didst see...
Thus 'tis so must now I go...
Amidst those thoughts of yours...
To find my way to pen of day...
Those lovers we'll continue to know...
For yours the wish so found within...
Is goal of lofty worth...
And I? Indeed... shall be pressed to pen...
The why, the what, the when.
SeaWolf
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.