Poetry - Lynn White

  The Circus It was called ‘The Big Top’ so I expected size and glitz and glamour but it was small and tawdry inside. I expected glamorous girls riding bareback   not these surly unsmiling performers. It was not like the circus of my dreams where the unicorns were prancing, flashing their rainbowed hooves, pointing with their golden horns. With sequinned swimsuited riders they danced round and round the circle of the ring kicking up the gold dust ground   from their droppings into shimmering sawdust, not that dirty looking soil where no unicorn could find the gold to nurture and replenish their unique golden horns. https://www.strandbooks.com/capture-this-a-slice-of-life-anthology-9781998214082.html About "Tony" & "The Circus" What was your motivation for writing "Tony" & "The Circus”? Both are narrative poems telling stories from my remembered past. “The Circus” about an event that disappointed me as a child and “Tony” about an event in which...

Tony It was a Physics Society party. I’d been to many   and didn’t like them much. Physics students were creeps. Well, they were generally creeps, but Tony was different, he thought they were creeps as well, even though he was one of them. He was a miner’s son from North Yorkshire. He thought the rest were upper class, including me it seemed. ‘What did your father do?,’ he asked. It seemed weird to say ‘Tram Driver’ when the trams were so long gone and saying he was dead didn’t satisfy him, so, I opted for the marriage certificate occupation. ‘Garage Mechanic, that’s not bad’, he said. I didn’t share his experiences of class and entitlement, the students in my course were mainly working class Grammar School products, like Tony, like me, so I thought he had an unreasonable chip on his shoulder   and we had nothing in common. Now I understand him better and wish I’d talked longer   and known him more. I think we could have been friends. https://www.strandbooks.com/capture-t...

  Growing Up Sometimes I borrowed my mother’s clothes and her make-up, her high heels and handbags. Of course, they were too big for me. Same with daddy’s briefcase and the suitcases we took on holiday trips. When I saw the tiny red suitcase in the toyshop I bought it with my birthday money. It had thick shiny plastic and looked really swish. I took it everywhere.   When I grew older, I decided to become an artist but my childish drawings were only ideas. So I collected bits of coloured pictures, discarded by older children at school. Just the ones I liked best and hid them in my suitcase. No one got to look inside. They were my secrets, my special things for inspiration when I was grown up.   I had it all planned.   But by the time I was grown up my secrets were just bits of torn paper covered with scribbles and street dirt. They meant nothing to me anymore, and my tiny red suitcase was dull and worn.   Dreams cracked and broke and finally faded away. https://p...

  Ruby Oh Ruby Ruby, oh Ruby, black skin, white dress clear as the white and black in a black and white photograph. Ruby, oh Ruby, born to build bridges and grown to cement them into society. Ruby, oh Ruby, standing back to watch their bridges burn behind them. Ruby, oh Ruby, growing up a triumph, growing old triumphant. https://issuu.com/georgiasouthwestern/docs/blue_fire_spring_2026?fr=sYTg5MjgzOTEzNzI

  Ice Bird The snow is falling. Flurries        of the white stuff flakes     falling downwards blanketing all that lies beneath. It’s cold. The snow bird is frozen. Her wings won’t flap                              or fly. The clouds are ice no longer moist                rain givers but dry ice. It’s so cold. It’s become her throne   and she sits strangely. She’s an ice bird now   wings like frozen arms                      pouring snow                            slowly                            quickly quick       quick          snow              dancing  ...

Bits And Pieces They waited patiently standing in line hunger made them quiet un-childlike too quiet for children standing in line. Who knew what they’d be when they grew up those children tinker, tailor, soldier, spy on our side or theirs whoever the us and them are. Now we know for certain that   they’ll be none of those things now they’re scattered   in bits and pieces bombed to bits just in case. Futures laid to rest in bits and pieces just in case. https://www.breatheeveryone.net/posts/x28w55l7cgdscec