Poetry - Lynn White

  Do You Remember Do you remember when the future stretched endlessly ahead, when the older looked forward  to a contented retirement and the younger to all the joys of life and living. Now the mists are down swamping everyone  in a gloomy miasma and the future is closing in moving closer and closer, a cell-like structure of mutating cells. https://4fprememberwhen.blogspot.com/2024/04/lynn-white.html

  I Remember My Father I remember my father. Remember being carried high  on his shoulders when he was walking into town. I remember that I was scared. I had never been carried on shoulders before. Was there a bus strike or no money for the fare? That I don’t remember. I remember my father sitting in a chair, a passenger on a bus or tram, as I collected his fare and gave him a ticket. He drove trams once and then later he cleaned them. I remember my father. Remember sitting on his knee looking at Rupert Bear books. I knew the stories by heart so people thought I could read and were very impressed. But I could only remember. I remember my father. I don’t need photographs to jog my memory, which is just as well since there are none, None of him whole, anyway,  just one of his legs in loose grey trousers, sitting by me as I planted seeds in my first garden. https://4fprememberwhen.blogspot.com/2024/04/lynn-white.html

  With Open Eyes I have my eyes open now and I can see the sky  framed by debris, by rocks, by wire, by dereliction. Framed  by sharpness and impenetrable barriers. I want to see it clear, like I remember when my eyes were closed clear and unblemished creamy white and pink and blue. I want want to see it framed by trees, I want to see the rocks become flowers  again. I want to go back to where the birds are singing breaking up the sky with flight. Does it still exist, this place? I don’t think so. Will it ever exist again? I must believe so. https://4fprememberwhen.blogspot.com/2024/04/lynn-white.html

  Shall I Go Gently? I’ve always been indecisive and I’m still undecided but soon   I will have to choose whether to build my ship, and furnish it   comfortably   and sail with you   gently into the dark into oblivion gently or to rage and fight scratch and bite kick and scream so that you have to drag me to where I will not follow gently into oblivion into the darkness the inevitability of the end whichever way I choose. https://beakful.blogspot.com/2024/04/shall-i-go-gently-by-lynn-white.html

  Scourge Who will help the prisoner lying on the floor, lying there alone, unwashed   and bleeding. No one came. They said he deserved the scourging, that it was their job to administer punishment and keep society safe, safe from such scourges. So no one came Only angels, those fat cherubs   of empathy and kindness, they came down to help him. But only in his dream. https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-challenges/francisco-antonio-vallejo-ekphrastic-writing-responses

  Nevermore I know what Poe said, but can the raven really call ‘nevermore’. I have heard many a ‘caw’ from the crows and ‘jacks’ from the jackdaws. And I have heard many a raven call, but never a nevermore. ‘Never say never’, maybe says Poe. But ‘naw’, say the crows. ‘Cack’, say the jackdaws. There’s   never a never more. https:// gobblersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2024/04/04/nevermore/comment-page-1/?unapproved=11267&moderation-hash=42737948c61d02f612d936abe8f3b38e#respond