Poetry - Lynn White

  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/

  That Was The Year That was the year   when politicians played   on the stage of the New Theatre of the Absurd where empathy   was dead as Roszencrantz and Gildestern and the victims   of Schrodinger’s genocide both lived and died where Palestine was once and now it had no territory though it was a state, where Israel had a territory for Jews of families not born there in this millennium or the last when their lies became truth and truth became lies that no one truly believed and pretence was real and death was life and things could only get better and things only got worse before the curtain came down to end it all. https://masticadorestaiwan.wordpress.com/2026/02/10/that-was-the-year-by-lynn-white/

  Fish They called me ‘Fish’ which I thought somewhat unoriginal, but they were kind and fed me my favourite foods of prawns and chocolate and I opened my mouth and wiggled my fins to show my appreciation. Sometimes plastic bits had blown into my pond. I’d tested them for food worthiness and spat them straight out, so tasteless and with a tough unpleasant texture. I’d rather eat raspberries, well, perhaps not raspberries, but fish food, yes, I’d rather eat fish food. But I wouldn’t let my human friends know   that this was an option. I was still concerned about Brexit   and wanted to make sure that   their stockpile of chocolate biscuits was adequate to see me through. When they give me a luscious big piece I always give them a big wet kiss in return. They seemed to like it and really it’s no trouble, they are so sweet. There are other issues that cause me concern. The frog they call Croaker told me that numbers of dolphins had washed up dead   with pieces of pl...

  Frog She looked into the pond where the frog, sitting on a lily pad looked back at her alert   its eyes meeting hers. She remembered the story about a frog, how it became a prince when kissed. She thought of the sleeping beauty and how she awoke to the kiss of a prince. So, it seemed that kisses and princes must have some connection. The frog was very still. She thought it may be   still enough to kiss but she couldn’t quite reach though she tried and tried and tried while the frog stayed there still waiting.   And then it spoke. “I’m no prince,” it said. “But I’ll come closer, I’d still like a kiss.” https://jayzomondarkmyth.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/145/poems/004.html

  Where Now Where do we go now after we’ve seen a lord in his knickers and a prince on his knees, where now   from that place where no crimes   were committed, “don’t you know.” Do you know where now? https://newversenews.blogspot.com/2026/02/where-now.html

  Knowing The Now When you climbed that mountain in the days when no one else  was on the paths, when you reached the summit ready for a lonely leap in the days when the space was empty of the selfie taking crowd, when you recognised the transience, the capture of a moment in gratitude before it died. You know  now that it’s the only time now but so much is new between  now and then. https://latinosenglishedition.blog/2026/02/04/knowing-the-now-by-ltnn-white/