Friday, 24 January 2020

It’s pleasant enough
wandering these pathways
flanked by the tall rectangular cages,
each protected by a steel door
with a security code.
Even pleasanter later,
when the cages become
walled enclosures of decorative brick,
surrounding green spaces.
Intricate metal gates protect them
with a security code.
Occasionally a creature may emerge,
sometimes with barred teeth
and raised claws.
But mostly looking sad
and out of condition.
Lost inside themselves.
Poor things.
Lost souls
Mostly though, I encounter them outside.
Moving purposefully to a destination,
not free to take random pathways, like me.
Or desperately heading back to their cages,
hoping there is no diversion
which may leave them lost.
Leave them to encounter the
terror of the unforeseen
that might arise
from freedom.
to be lost.
Poor things.
Lost souls
in or out
of their
SPILLWORDS.COM presents: Caged, a poem written by Lynn White, who lives in North Wales. Her writing is influenced by issues of social injustice ...

Thursday, 23 January 2020

My Place
I creased the page
to keep my place,
but when I returned
I was unsure,
if I had found it.
Was it really my place,
the place
I’d once inhabited.
It didn’t seem quite right.
Perhaps I’d moved on too quickly,
turned over two pages instead of one.
Perhaps I should go back,
retrace my steps.
Maybe then I’ll find my place.
    My Place   I creased the page to keep my place, but when I returned I was unsure, unsure if I had found it. Was it really my place, the place I’d once inhabited. It didn’t seem q…

Wednesday, 22 January 2020

I Was Not Like Her
I was not like her,
the girl in the picture
looking out
No I was not like her
not me
not then.
I wore the gloves in summer
that my mother bought me
the classic cut clothes
that she had always
wanted to wear
even allowed my hair to curl
as it wanted to
as she wanted it to.
No I was not like her,
the one in the picture
not then.
But when I broke free
made myself up
wore minis
or long skirts
controlled my curls
with an iron in hand
I think
I became her

Tuesday, 21 January 2020

Daisies Unchained
We buried our dreams beneath
a wreath of daisies
freed from their chains
to mark the grave
for each daisy death
to hide them
for ever,
someone has the key
that will release them
and make them

Sunday, 19 January 2020

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.

Friday, 17 January 2020

Feed The Flames
Gather round
the hearth
it’s a cosy place
if the fire is burning
and we’ll keep it burning
never fear
the flames
a living fire.
Gather round,
we’ll keep it burning
the home fire
let yourself
be hypnotised
be mesmerised
by the flickering flames,
waving and dancing.
Listen to them
as they crackle
and scream
as a living fire must.
Gather round,
never fear
feed the flames.