the poet - Maggie Francis lane
"In 2017, I started writing poems. Maggie Francis Lane is the name I adopted for fun, as a pen name. Maggie and Francis are the names of two of my aunts, from my mother's side of the family. Aunt Maggie, now deceased, and my Aunt Fran, whom, as of 2018, is still living in Logan, West Virginia. "Lane" comes from my dad's mother's side of the family, or better known to me as simply, great Grandma & Grandpa Lane."
Aunt Maggie
Aunt Maggie, born in the 1920's, was a quiet, courageous, and independent woman. She never married and lived in Los Angeles for several years before moving back to WV, where she was born.
Aunt Fran
Aunt Fran has always been a beautiful, intelligent woman, whose gracious style, personality, and demeanor were unique and lovely.
Poems By Maggie Francis Lane
If I Were a Bubble
Writer, Maggie Francis Lane
If I were a bubble
I would alight softly on a tree
And wait for a breeze to carry me off again
I would float carefully and gently
Through the clouds
and soar on the wings of a robin
I would drift between rain drops
In the middle of a storm
And count on the current
to keep me dry and warm
I would give reflection to the moon each night
And spin in space like the earth
Round and round the sun I’d go
Bouncing on a star
Then in the flutter and whirling of the wind
I'd waft back down again
So feathery light and delicate,
Of medium size and girth,
I'd pose on a prickly pinecone
Til the air in my belly bursts
Listen
Writer, Maggie Francis Lane
What do you hear?
The howling of darkness and dread
The song of your dreams
The drumming of your toil and strain
The anthem of your faith?
The world is a cacophony of sounds
From which those sagaciously attuned, emerge joyful and victorious
All others, whose ears are dull and simple,
hear noise that weakens the body, wounds the spirit, and clouds the mind
Listen to the voice of virtue
And the wind of opportunity, while it is passing, for it is passing.
Let it carry you into fleeting moments of greatness.
By will, the ears of your spirit hear, so listen with much discretion to lovely words of honor and praise.
Despair, that dreadful orator, whose tongue is a deadly arrow; ignore his clamorous chatter and thunderous speech, for he will slowly destroy and bring you to ruin.
Listen to the chorus of the hills and the earth; to the silent majesty of the rising sun; to the roaring ocean and the babbling brook; to the warmth of a dog’s love, and the comfort of your own bed.