Lingua Franca 

Spoken over grilled onions,

Lingua Franca 

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

Falling over backwards 

some truth yet said, mirage lips 

covet a single syllable. 

Strides with four legged

majesty to break the spell, shatter 

stone with a prying kiss.  

Treasured lips form pirate 

smile crescent reflecting ocean

stubborn windward tales.

Sense of what is carried 

branches by day swans by night

shouted whisper emanates.  

Speak mountains of river

coherent flow unbeknownst guest 

as Old Faithful chamber. 

Impressions dance on our

humming minds, rhythms match

between pressing records. 

To Be in your Thoughts

When you said so, with me forever.

Impressions…

To Be in your Thoughts

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Don’t know how I got here, but I’m happy to stay,

make myself comfortable, dance around and play. 

Was it something I said that popped me in your head?

Nice of you to have me, you really didn’t have to,

all the ways of wishing, sure did bring us true. Love

when you have me over, feel I could stay awhile, 

best part of being here is getting to watch you smile. 

And when the children ask, ‘were you like this when

you were young?’ We’ll only momentarily interrupt 

our impressions of sizzling shrimp to ask with 

condescension what is meant by ‘were young,’ then

straight back on the barbie we’ll go. I play the harmonica 

between your legs, lost in enchanted song. A realized

seat upon the piano bench of time, always playing 

for as long as you are mine. Throughout your darling 

days my little whispers tickle as they trace your wings 

with the morning dew we once knew. As you tread the 

garden of your golden hour mind, find me tiling away, 

tending with love the fruits thereof.