Poetry - Lynn White

  Outside In They didn’t know they were watched as they placed the presents carefully wrapped  in bright paper in place beneath  the evergreen branches decorated with shiny baubles. Everything was ready now in their house, ready for Santa. It was the last house for Santa for another year. He raised his glass of sherry and toasted his hard working elves whilst the reindeers waited impatiently nibbling the undecorated branches outside. No one noticed the shadows they cast. https://cajunmuttpress.wordpress.com/2026/02/18/3-poems-by-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwY2xjawQC1mdleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeCoV69AWi01XkiVlakntcEny0WunLef8h3gb4cFByJIjqPcqXEab2R4RY0-U_aem_BIj82sfWo-Y-Xx0xn-oqSw

  Future Perfect They gathered round eagerly. They’d heard great grandad’s tale many times before, but still they listened rapt.  He told of a time long, long ago  when a great great grandmother  had been squashed by a boot her hard skeleton broken her soft body splattered on the sidewalk killing her  stone dead. They were so lucky to live in a time  when there were no boots, no human feet inside them, no human heads to hate them. So lucky to live in a time when only love and peace prevailed.  https://cajunmuttpress.wordpress.com/2026/02/18/3-poems-by-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwY2xjawQC1mdleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeCoV69AWi01XkiVlakntcEny0WunLef8h3gb4cFByJIjqPcqXEab2R4RY0-U_aem_BIj82sfWo-Y-Xx0xn-oqSw

  Tulips vs Agaves Tulips won’t grow amongst agaves Nothing will grow amongst agaves. But tulips were his favourites so he climbed up high, balanced on the stepladder and painted one  on the wall. It bled. The agaves triumphed after all. https://cajunmuttpress.wordpress.com/2026/02/18/3-poems-by-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwY2xjawQC1mdleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeCoV69AWi01XkiVlakntcEny0WunLef8h3gb4cFByJIjqPcqXEab2R4RY0-U_aem_BIj82sfWo-Y-Xx0xn-oqSw

  Under Fallen Skies We are living under fallen skies in dark basements of sorrow, a world of broken elevators and stairs too steep for us to climb up from our depth of despair lying curled as a foetus for comfort waiting waiting and waiting for the skies to clear waiting waiting and waiting   for the sun to fill the blanks waiting for the sun to shine again. https://borderlessjournal.com/2026/02/16/under-fallen-skies-by-lynn-white/ https://borderlessjournal.com/2026/02/16/borderless-february-2026/

  Water Under The Bridge The Canadian canoe submerged as we got in too clumsily. The cushions, brought thoughtfully for comfort were soaked along with everything else. Then we discovered that we were unable to co-ordinate our paddling. So moving along the narrow canal in a straight line was impossible. So we made slow progress. And then we came to the long tunnel. The sign at the entrance was disconcerting, forbidding entry except with a torch. Of course, we had no torch, just spluttering roll ups made in darkness from damp tobacco, and five loud voices. Yes, we were five. Four adults who should have known better and a thirteen year old in despair as usual of his out of control parents. All water under the bridge   when we emerged   into the light to tell a survivor’s tale, now a memory. https://masticadorestaiwan.wordpress.com/2026/02/16/water-under-the-bridge-by-lynn-white/

  Chaos Theory On this canvas of my life it looks as though butterflies were flapping their wings and flitting about at every opportunity making trouble having fun and shaking things up a bit. Looking backwards into the cloud, I remember my lived life was similarly peppered with disorder, irregularities, random events. I struggle to discern underlying patterns, interconnectedness or organisation. It’s regularities and irregularities were left to the butterflies and their flitting and flapping. In the end, they flapped the clouds away. Tomorrow I shall paint a new canvas and with the help of the butterflies I will paint another picture drawn from my life. On canvas, I am the butterfly. I can make the patterns, the order or disorder. Others may make of it what they will. https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2026/02/14/5-butterfly-poems-by-lynn-white/