Poetry - Lynn White

  Dragonfly It was so beautiful, gleaming huge and iridescent gold and green and blue and black. With wings that should have been clear, filled with shining rainbows   not like this, twisted at strange angles   and dulled with sticky silk. Not stuck there waiting to be prepared for some spider’s supper. I held it gently   and took it from the web. I carefully removed the sticky silk and saw the rainbows sparkle as they should, saw it’s eyes brighten and gleam   with the prospect of freedom. It took a while, this disentanglement, a delicate task to free this fragile creature. And when it was ready, I opened my fingers and let it fly away. It bit me then. No parting kiss, but a bite that left a bruise. Such gratitude! https://4fpbite.blogspot.com/

  The Curse Of Consumption I can hardly remember my early life when I wiggled and wriggled   embryo-like blindly   consuming all before me. I know I sensed the warnings not to bite off more than I could chew, but consumer of cliches that I was, I carried on regardless making a meal of everything I could swallow, even the words. I could feel   that change   was coming and eventually it happened! I made it happen! My curse became a blessing and I broke out   of my hard carapace, split open the shell that had become my prison, did my best to leave it behind to have a look at the world outside and continue my cruise of consumption. Nothing was sacred I ate it all and grew fat, so fat, too fat. So fat I felt ready to explode. And then it happened,   I swear, it was like a nuclear explosion inside me all the dust and debris of decadence   solidifying   into something unspeakable, mushrooming into something unintelligible to be spewed out of my big ...

  Suffer The Little Children Poets are dangerous. Naming the dead   leads to arrest. The killing   of some, by some is fine, unlike the threatening nature of reading a poem. And the unmentionables, the nameless children, must suffer silently. Poets are ‘The Brave’ in Scotland today. Poetry is dangerous. (context - A Scottish pro-Palestine activist faced charges for “threatening and abusive behaviour” after reading a poem about children killed by Israel. Bill Williamson, 74, said he had been at a weekly Palestine vigil outside Dunoon Burgh Hall on July 4 2026, while he was reading out “Don’t Mention The Children” by the Jewish writer Michael Rosen through a megaphone. — The National (Scotland), July 19, 2026) https://edgeofhumanity.com/2026/10/16/edge-of-humanity-magazine-poetry-monthly-october-2026-issue-23-authors-%c2%b7-31-works/

  Get Me Outa Here Hey, drop me a line I need a safe space. I’ve lit my torch and I’m signalling   just like you said to but you’re still withdrawing still drawing up the lines   to leave to leave me behind to leave me   alone in this alien place. I don’t like it here I don’t feel safe take me back with you   back into outer space. Get me outa here outa this space. https://www.lulu.com/shop/som/qutub-minar-review-october-2026-issue/paperback/product-84q7myk.html?page=1&pageSize=4

  Frankie’s Creation It was a childhood hobby carried out first  on the kitchen table then in his room, his shed, his workshop. He left childhood behind but never moved on from his hobby. Meccano and Leggo had their time but Frankie left them behind and began his collection of bits and pieces that might be useful a bit of wood or metal, plastic, nails, screws, rivets, wire, Frankie kept them all for his creations his men and machines. The boats and planes and trains had had their time long ago. Now it was the human form for him, not the outer veneer but what lies under the skin. He studied the complex joints and carefully fitted their metal muscles and wired them with nerve-like fibres. All that was needed now was the skin. Carefully Frankie began to put it in place. Soon his creation would raise its head  and open its eyes, then it would be ready, ready to go. https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2026/10/four-poems-by-lynn-white.html

Evolution It seems that animals, the cows and sheep and pigs are getting smaller. And they’re feral now eating everything including humans. It’s unavoidable when humans are so small, small as microbes and therefore invisible to them. It seems that birds are getting larger, so while chickens still live in the houses  that humans built they need bigger houses  that birds are so enormous patrolling the sky like gigantic robots  at their will. https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2026/10/four-poems-by-lynn-white.html