27 May 2017


When casting off we have no fears, 
with youth and strength we're fortified.
Inside we're older than our years,
our dreams have yet to be denied.

Flags flying we set sail at speed,
horizons beckon far ahead,
of compasses we have no need,
forgetting all our parents said.

Foul winds may blow us far off course
yet breasting all those waves with zest,
no time to stop and feel remorse,
we'll tell ourselves it's for the best.

We hit the doldrums now and then
- time hanging heavy on our hands.
Such stagnant doleful days are when
we feel no other understands.

But then a fresh new breeze will start,
and ease us forward carefully,
as gladly we again take heart,
and launch ourselves against life's sea.

Yet over time strength fades away
until at last there is no more
and inwardly we spend our days
just drifting to that unknown shore.

16 May 2017

Facial Recognition

Is this the face that's best left hid from view,
of those who feel themselves a better race,
who've never thought to question all they knew,
is this the face?

While caught up in their lives of keeping pace,
their main intent to get all that's their due,
the rights of others never reaching through.
Is this the face?

Not wondering if what they hear is true,
no reaching out to see if it's the case,
such mindless hate can be a heady brew.
Is this the face?

FORM ..... a SonnetyRondel.  This is a form invented by Lisa Morris, aka Streambed on Allpoetry, which uses the rentrement (the first phrase of Line 1) as a refrain:

Stanzaic: Four quatrains
Metric: Iambic pentameter and di-meter
Rhyme Scheme: abaB baaB abaB

15 May 2017

In her heart a maiden

what does it matter come the day
it’s only chatter what they say
she’s had her life, she’s old and grey
mad as a hatter anyway

she turns her head with with muted cry
to hear these words as they pass by
she knows how fast the years can fly
how all life's plans can go awry

her winter feet now feel the chill
all steps become an act of will
but she can bear life’s bitter pill
while in her heart a maiden

12 May 2017


a layer of cobwebs
sticks to my fingers like candy floss
but does not taste of strawberry
sitting stale and bitter on my tongue
yet cannot be swept aside

patinas develop on surfaces
reflecting only blurred images
the true grain of the wood is lost
polishing no longer an option
cobwebs gather


a poppy seed flies in the wind
and landing lightly on the earth
lies waiting for sun's energy
to germinate and give it birth

a droplet falls from rainy skies
weak sunlight warming with its rays
until in spring new growth begins
it's bloom sublime on summer days

blood red a field of poppies shine
each one a hundred others yield
these symbols ever in our hearts
of all who died on Flanders field

Hotter than July

in fields of golden grasses dry and tall
cicadas singing lazily as one
the air so hot no will to move at 

as languidly we stroll out in the sun

no other living creatures can we see
but seeking respite shade beneath a tree
a small brown bird alights and sweetly sings

as hot leaves sigh he flutters dusty wings

NOTES - Rispetto, an Italian form of poetry, is a complete poem of two rhymed quatrains with strict meter. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of abab , ccdd

29 Apr 2017

A Farewell

I watched alone by sunlit edge
of pond and meadow touching hands
those flirting leaves that twitched and swirled 
gold dessication incomplete

while water ruffling to shore
beneath bowed willows' trailing arms
pushed tender shards of russet brown
to curl contentedly in reeds

no harsh sounds to be heard that day
for everything seeming hushed and still
but autumn whispered in the breeze
and summer hummed a sad farewell

2017 © Lesly Frances Finn

24 Apr 2017

Point me to the cliche!

Who doesn't like to sneer at a cliche?
Although pound for pound cliches don't count for much
here I can write as many as I like - a double whammy
Or a winning combination!

Let me call a spade a spade.......
this could separate the wheat from the chaff,
or have I merely shot myself in the foot!
Only time will tell!

I may seem like an okay sort of guy
(does the Pope wear a funny hat?)
and have both oars in the water
but who would know?

Let's be honest, this was a half-baked idea
but even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in a while
and I thought I would have a shot.
Although I won't hold my breath!

With tongue firmly planted in cheek
I've put my best foot forward -
in this life if you snooze, you lose

So here's looking at you, kid!

19 Apr 2017

Paying Attention

it's time to move he says
can't have you falling down the stairs
at every chance you get
....... attention seeking

our home is perfection she says
looking out over the ocean
other houses hidden from view
....... and no barking dogs

but they start looking anyway
at hutches and rabbit warrens
neighbours within spitting distance
....... as they nearly all are

they explore all city suburbs
short list their preferences
a few streets here and there
....... not many fit the bill

they consider a retirement village
a ghetto for the elderly 
while watching their net worth dwindle
...... but the children approve

Yes they must do something
sooner rather than later
before one of them carks it
....... attention seeking

18 Apr 2017


these days there is a shadow on my heart
a stone so weighty breathing is suppressed
such sadness from this time we've been apart
and memories of times when we were blessed

no sleep while eyes keep searching in the night
your warmth no longer felt here at my side
without your arms to hold me nothing's right
no comfort to be had for tears I've cried

why did you have to be the one to go
how could I be prepared for such a day
you've taken secrets only you could know
I'm left with all these words I didn't say

dear love, I do so long for it to be
no longer 'I' but once more back to 'we'

11 Apr 2017

A Litany of Loss

In each and every corner lies
the blood of cruelty
while human kind ignoring cries
allows inequity.

From palaces and parliaments
despots seek their way
while using gods to justify
they care not who they slay.

Wreaking terror in their path
some bomb to kill and maim
while others have no need for guns
oppression is their game.

For centuries the multitudes
have toiled their days 'til death 
in poverty and ignorance,
their lives mere taking breath.

But modern man cannot excuse
indifference to cries
from those who live life in distress,
it's there before our eyes.

Inside our homes come fictions foul
de-sensitising soul,
acceptance of atrocities
becomes part of our whole.

Great writers, only read by few,
described all they foresaw,
no longer reach their audience
- not lost, but gone before.

Summer Magic

the outhouse, such a magic place
to hide away in and pretend
we'd set up house in that small space
when summers seemed to have no end 

evicting spiders with a broom
brushing the cobwebs from the walls
contents piled high to make more room
we'd crouch evading adult calls

our favourites sometimes joined us there
wizards, kings and underlings
we the princesses tall and fair
our robes old curtains tied with strings

fair heroines from fairy tales
invited us to join them dine
serving the finest worms and snails
sipping sump water as the wine

candles in jam jars giving light
when daylight could not penetrate
keeping weird potions out of sight
recipes on a piece of slate

being fairies one day, witches next
by giants and trolls and elves beguiled
guarding our secret muscles flexed
imaginations running wild 

summers of fun behind that door
we'd set up house in that small space
as children who could ask for more
- the outhouse, such a magic place

6 Apr 2017

Butterfly Days

Those days when hearts were light and free,
happiness flew from tree to tree,
seemed plenty there for everyone
like butterflies in summer sun.

The woods were filled with laughter then
with promised kisses sought in vain,
soft laughter drifting as we'd run
like butterflies in summer sun.

Innocence lit by summer days
filtered now through wintry haze,
such happy times we filled with fun
like butterflies in summer sun.

Those days when hearts were light and free
like butterflies in summer sun.

knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door

Now God, if you are really there
I'll ask you nicely if I dare,
They say heaven's gates are closed to sin
so ..... am I out or am I in?

29 Mar 2017

The Dancing Musketeers

At dancing class my friend comes too
- we're all for one and one for all,
a taxi brings us up from Kew,
at dancing class my friend comes too.
But now I don't know what to do -
there must be room, he's only small.
At dancing class my friend comes too
- we're all for one and one for all.

No stopping me

they said you can't do it
that did it for me
the rest is 


Please come and live with me, said he.
My parents won't agree, said she, 
they'll tell me that it's not for me
and I would rather marry.

But if we wed then not agree,
it could end in divorce, said he,
and this way you will easy see
I'm no Tom or Dick or Harry.

Look, said she, quite honestly
though you're a special man to me,
it's something that can never be
unless your name I carry.

You're something of a pest, said he,
I know what works the best for me
- it's not marriage and monogamy
so I'll no longer tarry.

All sorts and conditions of men

All sorts and conditions of men
are available to taste -
she picked you out
then spat you back.

13 Mar 2017

Song of the Nightjar

secretly whispers on evening wings
softly lamenting fading light
brushing against a mouth that sings

settles lightly where a cobweb clings
fluttering though the breeze be slight
secretly whispers on evening wings

beware dark melodies that bring
tormented creatures of the night
brushing against a mouth that sings

hovers gently over fairy rings
calling quietly for his own delight
secretly whispers on evening wings

swoops where faintest shadows fling
from startled creatures taking flight
brushing against a mouth that sings

such sweetness from a note that rings
before the first night star shines bright
secretly whispers on evening wings
brushing against a mouth that sings

Kernow - land of tales untold

Land's end indeed, as pounding seas
and craggy cliffs remind us still
that this the seat where Arthur ruled
and Celts survived with stoic will.

Scraped lives from harsh and windy moors,
and fought to fill their nets with fish,
searched for copper, tin and clay,
to survive with pride their only wish.

Bounded by water on three sides, 
villages and coast are sights to see.
Her people, surviving nature's whim,
heirs to proud, rebellious history.

Beware the stair

descending her eyesight deceived her
she tumbled downstairs and it peeved her
having got such a clout
that she knocked herself out
a medical service retrieved her

the ambulance men did some things here -
their injury gear almost sings here 
but she cried - 'don't go quick
cos i'm feeling quite sick,
you sure that this motor has springs here? '

the Casualty staff got her sorted
from the dire disaster she'd courted 
after all sorts of bods
did enumerable prods
all lesions were clearly reported

then came stitches and plaster and more
and admission to Surgical floor
she praised all staff involved
for the problems they'd solved
and advice she'd no longer ignore


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