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  Stripy Jerseys There were a lot of ragwort plants around the library. Some were bare of leaves and covered with orange and black stripy jersey caterpillars. Others were lush and green with leaves and devoid of caterpillars. As usual the family planning strategy of the cinnabar moth left much to be desired. I began to transfer them carefully from the leafless to the lush. I stood back to admire my achievement, momentarily disconcerted when a rather stern looking stranger asked what I was doing. I explained. “Huh”, she said, “I’ve been doing the same over the other side. I though it was only me who does this.” It was a strange way to begin a friendship but it lasted all her life. I think maybe I should go to the grave in the woodland, where her body lies and scatter a few ragwort seeds. Maybe the moths will come each year and make   a living memorial. She would like that, I think. https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2026/04/09/stripy-jerseys-by-lynn-white-bugs-insects-serie...
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  https://online.fliphtml5.com/vaxyt/nlzo/#p=2
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  Murphy Murphy was a poodle. He didn’t choose to be a poodle and he certainly didn’t want to be a poodle, but he was born that way. It happens. He hid it well. No one knew. Well, no one would have known except   for the one time each year when he was taken to a poodle parlour and given a shampoo, (oh, the horror of it) and a clip… a clip that made it clear   that he was a poodle, probably with French poodle genes. Quelle horreur! His shame was enough   to keep him indoors for weeks He emerged hesitantly,   always on a wet day, where he could be sure of finding mud to roll in. Soon, he would feel like Murphy again. https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2026/04/08/murphy-by-lynn-white/
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  Cloth of Gold I called it my cloth of gold it was so special with a bit of this and a bit of that remnants reclaimed and woven with love woven with tenderness into a cloth of shining colours making memories to wear wrap round memories like threads of time for all our time, memories that   in time became our shroud. I didn’t know it then. https://fourfeatherspress.blogspot.com/2026/04/50-poets-and-artists-being-published-in_5.html
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    Orange Light Orange is at the cheerful end of the spectrum. It should spill out it’s zest so I can live and love in a golden shower, taste exotic fruit, engulfed in an ecstasy of orange light, be part of a story with a happy ending, full of sunshine. Bright gleaming reds and yellows are not far away. Orange is their combination, inevitably.   Yellow and red. Cowardly, acidic and dangerous when parted from each other.   Colours have different moods when separated. As we do. So this palette can hide more than it reveals. And now it forms a mask on the face of black despair, a bright new dawn   that breaks the surface, but one which is not wanted, not desired. A flash of lightening breaking up the continuum of my horizon. There’s a cloud of bright dust swirling in a stormy sky,   with darkness following blocking out the sun,   destroying the light Rain like tears must follow as the light disperses and the golden sun is cracked open to reveal it’s inne...
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  Shades of Grey They’re placed together   like a still life by Morandi,   opaque vessels drably clad in multiple shades of grey. I would have preferred the bottles shiny and green, like the ten that once stood on a wall and dazzled the sunlight with their emerald and leaf. And the little jug should stand in brown and homely contrast, though terracotta has a certain cool. But style is important and pots in shades of grey have a certain elegance, but, it’s eloquence they lack. Greyness doesn’t speak in colour doesn’t sing or paint a picture, so I know it may be no accident if they fall. https://fourfeatherspress.blogspot.com/2026/04/50-poets-and-artists-being-published-in_5.html
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  Gone Fishing The fish were there gathered at the shoreline almost asking to be caught. But that was then. They’re all gone now replaced by plastic replicas. https://www.patreon.com/posts/issue-2-purple-154765573?source=storefront
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