Poetry - Lynn White

  Wasted How many candles must I light to commemorate all the dead souls, all the lives wasted in wars without end. So many that candle making   became a profitable industry, its candles even surviving death. I have never lit such a candle. My time wasted has been   in protests for peace, in dreams of peace. My voice has been wasted in words of peace in poems of peace. And now I wonder   if there be anyone left to waste a candle for me. https://keepingtheflamealive.wordpress.com/

  Mad Swirl She always preferred to blend in to the background to lose herself in the mad swirl of colours from other peoples lives. It’s how she became   invisible, how she became herself. https://maniamagazineue.wixsite.com/mania-magazine/mania-pieces-1/mad-swirl

  What Is To Be Done History is littered with stories of imaginary futures. Bread, land and peace were Lenin’s promises and the Bolsheviks believed them and, like others before and since, believed in themselves, believed they could achieve them. But power intervened, power and conflict external and internal and internal contradictions all in the mix and look where it took them. Such promises, such imagined futures, have a long history and a large geography. They were being similarly re-imagined at that same time by the early Kibbutz movement. Simplicity and co-operation in one harmonious state. They believed they could achieve it, believed they could set an example for the whole world to follow. But power intervened, power and conflict external and internal and internal contradictions all in the mix and look where it has taken them. We thought the monsters were defeated, starved, dead, buried with stakes through their hearts, but they were sleeping and being fattened ready   t...

  Playthings It’s the need to possess that baffles me, the need to own   objects of no decorative or use value, objects destined to become   encumbrances sooner or later, passive playthings out of their time moved on into a time when even the box, it’s wrapping and ribbons fails to excite creativity. Playthings   destined to become   encumbrances sooner or later. Ever sooner as time moves on. https://latinosenglishedition.blog/2026/02/11/playthings-by-lynn-white/

  Shepherds Warning A new dawn breaks red   lighting up the sky colouring the clouds cracking   grey   to pink. But shepherds warn still of stormy times even   as the paler tints move in   the dark stays breaks fragments the red. As dawn cracks chaotic it’s unclear which forces   shall prevail when dawn   becomes   day. https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_agesoftheday.html

  As The River Flows The river flows by but doesn’t carry me with it as I sit solidly on the bank side watching my reflection fragmenting and reforming. It can’t carry away my reflection either, can only move it around, destroy and recreate it with a bit of a breaking backdrop which, on reflection tells me little about   where I am, or who, or why. It leaves me behind. It always will, unless I enter and let it   float me away. https://hotelmasticadoreshouse.wordpress.com/2026/02/10/as-the-river-flows-by-lynn-white/