Poetry - Lynn White

  Coloured Prometheus fashioned his men carefully as if he knew   they would inhabit the earth for a long time   once they could breathe. He surveyed them with satisfaction, beautiful earthenware bodies all with different features splendidly clay-coloured, earth-made for Earth. He almost called Zeus right then to view his creations, but he had second thoughts, as artists always do, maybe a little tweak was needed, a little tweak, or perhaps, a little colour. He searched the earth for pigments and coloured his men. The blue and green were his favourites though he was pleased with them all. It was then that he called Zeus.   Zeus appeared at once in great excitement   in his eagerness to see the new men. He looked for them impatiently, but they were smaller than he expected so at first he didn’t see them at all and as his big feet stood heavily down trampling the ground as big feet often do,   he crushed them. So that is why   there are no blue men and n...

  Going Nowhere In the beginning, right from the beginning, I was running round in circles, or that’s how it felt, going nowhere just round and round in colour splattered circles a palette I picked up from living   on the edge. And right from the beginning I have had to live on the edge. In the middle there are huge holes hovering, waiting, ready to suck me in. I must take care not to deviate, not to fall through the circle into that great hole   where the running will stop and everything will end when I wake. https://masticadorestaiwan.wordpress.com/2025/03/22/going-nowhere-by-lynn-white/

  His Shed He stands back and surveys it all. There’s everything in there. Everything for a lifetime of projects, jobs around the house where nothing stayed   the same for long. Everything for a lifetime of car repairs, in every spanner a story. Too much of a wrench to part with any of it, those nuts and bolts of a life well lived, its tools   well used well ordered and tidily placed so that every screwdriver could be found except the one he’s looking for. https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/

  For Nina Stand up and be counted party in the grass tell it like it is with no half measures dance   naked if you want to sing sing sing to be heard live as you wish to be remembered. https://feversofthemind.com/2025/02/16/fevers-of-the-mind-poetry-art-showcase-2025-33-lynn-white-poems-for-black-history-month/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2zNBPB8WXLd3dzhVGdVcliHjINs4lT-P_5zews3GEoJf6bhOSHyl4yYk8_aem_sWX3VfYx3gd-NdOooeDUUQ

  March Hares They’re getting ready for the boxing matches where the winners will take all. Afterwards, they’ll stand still for a moment and sniff the air to check all is safe and then they’re ready to roll so climb on board feel the wind in your hair the witching hour has arrived at last and soon all will be transformed, renewed,  remade as they spring forward in any shape they choose. It’s like magic. https://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=10958

  Indebted Tim sold cards on market stalls, ordinary greetings cards, nothing controversial. It was a quiet life and he liked it. Once his life had been exciting, much too exciting. In the Second World War as a fighter pilot he was shot down in Albania. Lying injured in the wreck he thought his end had come, until out of the darkness a small group of men appeared. He learned their names later, Enver Hoxha was their leader. Insurgents we’d call them today but then they were The Resistance, later they were to be The Government. Everything changes They carried him to safety across inhospitable terrain and over the next few weeks as they nursed him back to health they all became good friends though language should have prevented   the exchange of stories and politics he learned enough, enough to speak highly of them for the rest of his life even though no one else did. He’d been there, you see and knew that he owed them. They were allies then, on ‘our’ side. Everything changes. ht...