Poetry - Lynn White

  The Third Man There was a third man   carrying the body, well, it was heavy, and Harry needed to hide   in plain sight just like Kim. But this Third Man did not hide he was an uncomfortable presence,   hidden only by the colour of his skin not white and his religion not Jewish. And so he was hidden, not like Harry not like Kim, this discomforting third man mentally ill made invisible ill fitting for the narrative. Three third men Harry Lime and Kim Philby hiding and Ishmail Hussein hidden in plain sight. https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-lynn-white-26/

Midas Touch The sorcerers and scientists of past times experimented with their powders   dissolved them, fired them up in their laboratories. searching for the glows and gleams from base metal, the Midas touch that would create the riches of gold for them. They never found it. Now, the sorcerers and scientists have discovered how to dig deeper, scrape harder and stand by while we dig and scrape for them. And watch the gold flow, watch it pour like magic making wrinkles and scars suffocating our skin. https://latinosenglishedition.blog/2026/05/26/midas-touch-by-lynn-white/ 

  In The Club 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://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H2HNZTQF?content_source=fb&fb_content_id=Q9-wBQEky0mjvG92v6sKoztA-QwSGFYnBrSQUFPW2PJ9qRlMCGRTqSLlre7oZc6mKw&channel_type=fb&fbclid=IwY2xjawR-P-xleHRuA2FlbQIxMABzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeTgQMhkpldydikfqzse5ZfJXoD_EHMVHFDsm194zy5xcsRaKL1w9Uu-Pth2Q_aem_ZBoGi...

  Faking It The search goes on to find it that golden transformation that makes base into precious and spins a thread of gold. Yes, there’s a new alchemist on the block and he has it to a T faking gold to make gold sneaking forth to guide and gild your path with threads of gold   spun   yarns. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H2HNZTQF?content_source=fb&fb_content_id=Q9-wBQEky0mjvG92v6sKoztA-QwSGFYnBrSQUFPW2PJ9qRlMCGRTqSLlre7oZc6mKw&channel_type=fb&fbclid=IwY2xjawR-P-xleHRuA2FlbQIxMABzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeTgQMhkpldydikfqzse5ZfJXoD_EHMVHFDsm194zy5xcsRaKL1w9Uu-Pth2Q_aem_ZBoGi69E0CYzUrrhSoYkvg

  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.amazon.com/dp/B0H2HNZTQF?content_source=fb&fb_content_id=Q9-wBQEky0mjvG92v6sKoztA-QwSGFYnBrSQUFPW2PJ9qRlMCGRTqSLlre7oZc6mKw&channel_type=fb&fbclid=IwY2xjawR-P-xleHRuA2FlbQIxMABzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeTgQMhkpldydikfqzse5ZfJXoD_EHMVHFDsm194zy5xcsRaKL1w9Uu-Pth2Q_aem_ZBoGi6...

Ground Force Gaza Episode Two This poem is an update. I wish it wasn’t. The original was written in 2014. I didn’t expect to write a sequel, but here we are again. One hour to leave carrying what you can knowing everything you love will be destroyed   behind you,   you and 1.5 million others. You and 1.5 million Others. Who could do this? People could not do it. Soldiers. Things in uniform obeying orders, yes sir no sir-ing their way into oblivion. They could do it. They would do anything, if told to. Humanity suspended. Killing machines.   Destroyers of dreams with their tanks and bulldozers, burying them in the rubble with the bits. With the bits of bodies,   the hands and the feet, the breasts and the balls. Things in uniform. They could do it. Revenge is never sweet. But maybe if enough things die they will stop their slaughter. Maybe if enough things die they will become extinct like the dodo, the stuff of legend like the unicorn. I hope so. https://www.amazon.c...