Tuesday, 12 December 2017

It was so beautiful,
gleaming huge and iridescent
gold and green and blue and black.
With wings that should have been clear,
filled with shining rainbows
not like this, twisted at strange angles
and dulled with sticky silk.
Not stuck there waiting
to be prepared for some spider’s supper.
I held it gently
and took it from the web.
I carefully removed the sticky silk
and saw the rainbows sparkle as they should,
saw it’s eyes brighten and gleam
with the prospect of freedom.
It took a while, this disentanglement,
a delicate task to free this fragile creature.
And when it was ready,
I opened my fingers and
let it fly away.
It bit me then.
No parting kiss,
but a bite that
left a bruise.
Such gratitude!
|| N E W P O E M ||
The newest poem is up on the blog this afternoon. Go check it out.

Monday, 11 December 2017

I’m ready for the birth of a new day.
Ready for a pink dawn to rise
and break
full of possibilities,
as the light takes
over from the dark
and the day is born
And I shall follow the road towards the light,
and leave the dark behind,
But I have found that the dark always follows.
Catches up with me, as if it were the past.
If I hurry maybe I’ll escape it this time.
Maybe I’ll catch the light
and hold on to it and
not let it break
A collection of poetry reflecting upon the darkness and light of life that exists within this world of ours.What makes you want to shout out and share your emotions? Express your darkest times or your happiest moments? Let…

Friday, 8 December 2017

I called the doll Gloria.
I no longer know why.
My father bought her for me
on a trip to the seaside,
on my first trip to the seaside.
I was bored with the endless sand
and the cold grey sea
and with the effort of pretending
to enjoy myself
on my expensive treat,
at the seaside.
We went to a toyshop after
and my father bought me the doll.
I called her Gloria.
I no longer no why.
Perhaps it was the name he suggested.
Or maybe my mother suggested it
when I couldn’t decide.
I don’t remember.
But I remember the doll.
She had real hair that I could comb.
But it turned out to be plastic,
nylon, I think.
after I had combed it a few times,
the whole lot came off leaving her bald.
without her wig she was bald,
my Gloria.

Thursday, 7 December 2017

There are clouded spaces
so dark I can’t see into them.
I have always been afraid
that monstrous beings
may lurk there,
But now that the cloud
is lifting, moving away,
I am even more afraid,
afraid of the light
it may reveal
the bare boards.
Lynn White's poems 'Void' and 'In This Space'

Wednesday, 6 December 2017

Crossing Over
Running downhill, on and on,
the orange sun bearing down
on me.
Scorching me,
burning me up
I come to a river cold with ice.
Icy water flowing too fast.
Too fast.
Faster than I can run.
Flaming under that bridge.
A bridge to somewhere
from here,
from where I am.
But where is here
or there?
And is the bridge real
or a bridge of dreams.
Or, a bridge for my dreams,
leading nowhere.
If I cross over
will I plummet
into the nowhere
on the other side.
Shall I try?
Or shall I stay here
looking for the light
I find it.
First published in Ramingo Magazine, Issue 1, 2017

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

A Wish Come True
When he was very young
he was told that if he wished hard enough,
his wish would come true.
much too late,
he was told to be careful of his wishes,
that sometimes they came true
and were regretted.
He often thought back to the tricycle,
to how he tried to ride it over too rough ground
and learned that even the most stable of things
can topple
and result in calamity.
He no longer makes wishes
he knows.
A Wish Come True – A Poem by Lynn White