Poetry - Lynn White

  Sixty Million Tonnes And Counting Sixty Million Tonnes   and what do we get? Almost a song lyric   written for those who don’t get older,   the uncounted ones lost in the rubble of Gaza. Sixty Million Tonnes of homes, roads,   and infrastructure converted into rubble that will take uncountable years for us to clear and still longer to rebuild towns and villages,   to replant crops and trees. And who are the ‘us’ - the ones who will pay. The same ‘us’ as did it before and will do it again unless perpetrators are held accountable. And while this goes on, year upon year ‘they’ will feed those surviving living still in that wasteland of rubble. The same ‘they’ as did it before,   are trying to do it now and will do it again unless perpetrators are held accountable. And how will we, us, they and them   deal with the hate engendered. It will have to be dealt with, then what will we do as we count the cost once again. First published in 2024 as Forty M...

  Graveyard I sit here quiet and gravely thoughtful. It feels so peaceful on the surface but I know gravity is on the pull, drawing the dead down below trying to keep them for itself in the graveyard. I don’t think graves want gravity I think they want to rise up,   taste the joy of lives already lived which live on still in memories, and be grave no longer refusing burial rejecting gravity remaining alive in the glimpses,   of lives passed,   brushing with immortality as they wait. Wait   for the worms   to devour them   and bring life back to the graveyard of memories   and dreams. https://feedthehol.blogspot.com/2026/02/graveyard-by-lynn-white.html

  Oh, the arrogance embedded there, that sense of entitlement of those who can   those who can and do. Our Lords and Masters pulling our strings while hidden away in that different world, a Rich Man’s Only Club where champagne corks popped as they pulled the strings for each other. Yes, a rich man’s club par excellence and, though druggies were plentiful, Welfare scroungers were absent and only a few black bodies gained admittance to this most in-decent society. So where do we go now after we’ve seen a lord in his knickers and a prince on his knees, where now   from that place where no crimes   were committed, “don’t you know.” Do you know where now?  https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-lynn-white-25/

  Lovers Afterwards we lay there naked looking through the window at the paired down blue landscape. We thought it was just as if waiting for Magritte to add  a surreal touch. We thought if only a fine artist was standing behind us easel and paints at the ready. What a beautiful picture we would make lying there in love even without a surreal touch. https://4fplove.blogspot.com/2026/02/lynn-white.html

  For Love I’d always loved flowers. You helped me surround myself with them to bring me joy. I would like to lie in my garden in the mist of the soft sweet smelling mist of them  for ever. But everything has it’s time, its time to live, and its time to die and only the flowers  will bloom eternally each in its season for love. This is my season for living and it’s now that I need them. The flowers you carried  in that season are for me. Later they should be for you for all of you that I left behind and all of you still to come to life. Don’t let them die for love of me. Nobody wants dead flowers, least of all, dead people. https://4fplove.blogspot.com/2026/02/lynn-white.html

  Don’t Go When I’m with you I feel I am whole. Captured and completed. Engulfed by you. When you kiss me all my fears disappear in the kiss. Where do they go? I don’t know. Do you wrap them round your tongue and swallow them whole? I don’t know. I only know the comfort I feel, such peace. So don’t go. Don’t go. Please, don’t go. https://4fplove.blogspot.com/2026/02/lynn-white.html