Poetry - Lynn White

  Life After Death I am uneasy now in the places where I used to walk. I no longer emerge from my home to meet my friends   in those open spaces, or hug them   or share a coffee even though the cafes are open now. The ground has sickened where the men in white suits sprayed disinfectant   over streets and beaches to stem its diseased flow and I have sickened with it. But still I’m alive to the sounds of spring rising from the decay and death of winter. Still I’m alive to the prospect of summer when the fertilised ground shows the life that death has bestowed on it and blooms. I’m going home now feeling happy. https://www.mockingowlroost.com/blog/eath-life-after-death/

Strange Fruit “If this is justice I’m a banana,” I remember this being said and I liked the sound of it humour and pathos   combined incongruously. So sometimes I used those words to express how I was feeling in various situations. But strangely the oddness, and incongruity of the expression impressed no one. So I moved on to express myself with different words,   forgot about it, until now when the sight of a banana hanging singly by it’s stem on a hook not made for the purpose (how could it be?), made me realise that the banana, a fruit with no juice and usually no seeds, is always incongruous always out of place wherever it appears. https://gobblersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2024/10/12/strange-fruit/

  Weeping Mask The mask weeps diamond tears, turning ruby like as the blood   flow starts. Then black   like coal as decay begins and the mask itself begins to crack, to distort and disintegrate, to flake away, to disappear. As all masks will in the end. Until only   the tears   remain. https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2024/10/10/weeping-mask-by-lynn-white/

  Ravens Can’t Read “That’s quite a raven,” thought Poe looking   down. But of course it needed to be large to collect up   all the pages all the words   he had written. And then, what then, what will happen next when   all those words are collected up and made ready to be consumed for Evermore. Ravens can’t read after all.

  In The Pink Pink Panther was feeling low. He’d spent yet another week searching every Jewellers for his namesake diamond, not the one with the flaw, but the one he deserved, the one that sparkled   in pink perfection. Most Jewellers had recoiled in fear at his rather unusual appearance whatever disguise he adopted and he’d tried a few. And then he had an idea! A gender bend was in order! A female would surely be welcome! And so some time was spent shopping for wigs and heels, short skirts and sexy shades. And of course, all were pink Now she’s on her way to Japan, where she’s been told that   that there are diamonds   radiating pink in Hiroshima. It’s a long way to go for a panther but a pink diamond would be her best friend forever. https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_cartoon.html

  Entertainment As usual,   it was one tank that drew the crowd down in the museum’s aquarium. It was not the tank with pike gawping threateningly, their teeth barred in anticipation and hope   of attracting an audience. No, though there was a monstrous pike in it, swimming with its mouth wide open.   But it’s mouth was open wide in wonder, in wonder at its strange environment. Well, it’s not often that a pike gets to swim in a drawing room furnished from times past. It’s eyes bulged   with the strangeness of it all. But it was a crowd puller,   though still not enough to satisfy such an audience, the pike reflected,   as it considered the strangeness   of it’s very un-fishlike companion, the young girl costume dressed   to match the drawing room, standing there dreamlike or maybe drugged,   steadying herself with the chair. Perhaps earlier she was seated, when the water was lower. but now she has to stand. The water is already up to her waist and rising slowly. The audience gets large