Poetry - Lynn White

  The Devil It Is Play me a tune a little light music to sooth my soul, and bring me cheer in these troubled times. Play it louder louder play louder all of you together. Summon the angels. Don’t let the devil seduce me don’t let him take me don’t let him carry my soul away. https://latinosenglishedition.wordpress.com/2025/10/14/the-devil-it-is-by-lynn-white/?_gl=1*47a6oc*_gcl_au*MTc2NjMzMjQ2Mi4xNzU3ODY4OTAxLjIwMzA0NDI1MzQuMTc1OTQ3NjQwMy4xNzU5NDc2NTQ5

  That Was Us That was us who wandered through Europe without maps or money,   or sense of direction. Who got lost a lot,   but didn’t get raped or murdered.   So far as we can remember. Who charmed hoteliers into letting us stay for free.   Who got up early (too cold to sleep), and cleaned the kitchen and the floors of the hostel in Laumiere   for the first time in many years. Then sat on the stairs and said ‘No Pasaran’ to everyone, until it had dried, explaining carefully in languages we did not speak,   why this was necessary.   Who, with wide eyed innocence and impressively bad French   failed to understand the policemen’s demands, ‘Vos papiers, s’il vous plait, vos papiers!’ Until our new friends with the nice smiles and no papers had disappeared. ‘Vos papiers, s’il vous plait, vos papiers!’   Sod off!   That was us who swam off the rocks, with a man we’d met in a cafe, because he said we could. And swam and swam until two pol...

  Barcelona Sandals Standing in the Andorra snow shivering in our Barcelona sandals. Glad of a lift down to Foix as darkness was falling. And the driver knew a hotel, Hotel du Centre. Very grand and full of people looking down long noses. But the driver knew the owner who was a kind man, a nice man. So we shouldn't worry   about the cost, he said. A lovely room and in the morning, breakfast! We must eat the owner said. Warm bread and jam. Coffee with hot milk which tasted sour. But I don't like the taste of milk, anyway, so most likely it was sweet. And then the bill. But there was no bill. Save it for the journey, the owner said. A kind man, a nice man, who believed the driver's story, whatever it was. A few years later,   we returned to Foix and went to find  Hotel du Centre. But it wasn't there. No one knew it. It didn't exist. Did it ever exist? Did any of it happen? Or did we somehow share a memory   from our   imaginations. https://stortellerpoetryrev...

  Barcelona Past It was our first trip to Spain. We were determined to travel and little money we hitched to Spain. Barcelona was the choice. Well not choice exactly. It was where the driver was going. He found us a pension in an old street. He knew the owner. Well he’d stayed there himself. It was cheaper than cheap and friendly. We went out to explore that first night. So different, so much character. Then we returned, returned to a locked door. No bell or knocker and shouting roused no one. A passer by understood our plight and clapped his hands. smiling. Seconds later a man appeared with a huge bunch of keys. He let us in. This was the time of Franco. This was the system in Barcelona past. We understood it then. https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2025/10/encore-presentation.html

  Roundabout He picked us up near Torino, a dapper Frenchman   with an impressive moustache. He was going to Nice. So were we! Such luck. One lift all the way from Torino to Nice. We settled back to enjoy the ride. We came to a roundabout. With gesticulations of frustration and twitches of his moustache, he missed the turning. We went round again and the next time, he missed it again. The third time we were ready to call out and point it out in good time. But with more expansive gesticulating and moustache twitching he still missed it. There were many roundabouts   between Torino and Nice. We came to know them intimately. On arrival we were hugged and kissed in thanks for our help. Without us, who could say where he’d be. Not us, for sure! He invited us to accompany him to Monte Carlo the next day, if we would like to. Yes! We would like to! We turned up at the allotted time and place, but he never came. So, we never went to Monte Carlo. Possibly he never went there eithe...