Poetry - Lynn White

  Chosen They were the master race chosen by genes pure.   They chose who should die by burning by bombing   by starving by any means necessary. They chose those who were different   genetically politically. They chose the naysayers those who didn’t make the grade those who didn’t pass the test they chose. They were the master race chosen to be masters of all the captured people the captured territories masters of all. They were the chosen people chosen by genes pure.   They chose who should die by burning by bombing   by starving by any means necessary. They chose those who were different   genetically politically. They chose the naysayers those who didn’t make the grade those who didn’t pass the test they chose. They were the chosen people chosen to be masters of all the captured people the captured territories masters of all. Time after time might defines right in the selection process. Time after time there’s a selection process where only the mast...

  Ankle Boots I bought them in a sale, brown ankle boots divided down the centre, one half shiny leather   the other suede. They were cheap, a real bargain. One had been kept in its own dark box, the other displayed in the sunny shop window. So one was faded,   the other not. But it soon caught up   and then they were a perfect match. I love them still, old as they are. A lace broke years ago and was replaced by one slightly rounder, but it doesn’t show so no one knows the difference. And I love them still, my old brown boots, well worn but still going, a bit like me! https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2025/07/05/ankle-boots-by-lynn-white-my-favorite-things-series/ Sketch by Lynn White

  Apocalypse Then The people were observant of the night sky and that night they could hardly believe their eyes. At first the night was alight with sharp spirits as it always was on a clear night, but then the moon swallowed the sun and the spirits burned. Now even the sun was burning, burning out in a fire that will leave nothing but darkness a darkening prelude to a world without light a world without life, an apocalypse. https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_apocalypse.html

  The Summer Of ‘89 The ice-cream man appeared   at frequent intervals on the corner of the street near the large grassy area in summery Sochi. He had no van just a barrow and two cardboard cartons of paper wrapped briquettes. He had no fridge, didn’t need one, everyone knew   Russian ice-cream to be the best, the best in the world and so never got time to melt! The evidence was all around. The grass was full of people enjoying the lazy sunshine, sharing their music, smokes   and iced creamy kisses in the Sochi summer. The perimeter of the grass was edged with signs. ”Keep Off The Grass”, an English speaker translated. She smiled. “But we take no notice!” https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2025/07/super-sized-series.html

  Paddling No one swam in the seas round Britain when I was a child. The water was empty beyond the edge of the shore even on the warmest of days. Paddling was as adventurous as it got. Nothing wetter was allowed, Trousers rolled up, skirts tucked in knickers clothes to be protected from the salt water waves. Only then was paddling allowed taking due care not to kick or jump, taking due care not to let the wet waves go to far. https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2025/07/super-sized-series.html

  The Great Dictator He thinks he’s so fine resplendent well groomed perfectly dressed strutting and tupping to trump all their tricks. He’s an early riser and cocky as cluck his voice always loudest above all the rest his promises always fatter and juicier soon they’ll be kings of their castles, he says. Then he calls them to roost in the little shack that is their home.   His roost is grander. He rules it now and with his bone sharp spurs, he’ll defend it to their death. They’re all listening now, the powerful, the powerless obediently following his orders but one day all those fluffy chickens   will come home to push him off his perch. Then they’ll take him home. https://www.orenaugmountainpoetry.net/2025/07/the-great-dictator.html