Poetry - Lynn White

  Fabulous Faubus Soon we’ll be there back to those days when Faubus was fab when Klansmen were cool and swastikas were chic not shite. We’d thought it sorted, that That history had ended, that never again would mean never again and that Governor Faubus would stay ridiculous. Two, four, six, four just in time for the encore. https://www.breatheeveryone.net/posts/x28w55l7cgdscec-mmej8-h64wm-xm6fa-2sgym-8x3zb-xc8km

  Seed Shells   The first seeds were sown a long time ago. When these small seed shells burst open they were scattered locally. They grew patchily at first, in Palestine, in Israel, in Lebanon and throughout the Arab world. There were only little streams to irrigate and fertilise them, so they often failed to thrive. But that was then.   Now the shells have grown bigger and the seeds have flown further. Further and further. And the streams have grown wider and longer. And more nutritious.   When the seed shells have burst in this century, they found ground that was even more fertile. So more and more has come under cultivation, irrigated and fertilised now from rivers,   rivers of blood. So well irrigated, so well nurtured and tended that the patches of brown soil became rare indeed. But there were some. Later seeds spread wider over Gaza. As larger seed shells broke and splintered they found and colonised new areas   outside the brown patches where it was ...

  Squeeze Don’t squeeze too firmly you never know what will emerge from inside solid walls and even caring hands can be destructive. But sometimes something beautiful can emerge from that which is destroyed. So sometimes it’s good to take a chance give a squeeze and wait and see the new growth burst into being.

  Wild Fruit I like the wild berries best. Juice spilling over. Bursting, staining my tongue purple or my lips red. Each one a new sensation. A little harder to come by, than the bland clones, the cultivars. A bit more of a struggle. And, it must be said, not always sweet. One never knows with these wild fruits. With each taste comes a surprise. Spit out the sour, take in the sweet. Such joy! Oh yes! the wild berries are the best.

       Hollow Man He’d felt as lost and pointless   as the pages of an unread book as hollow as the coconut shells scattered there around the deck          empty                  broken                            bereft. Soon the shells will be floating to join the ship again. But he has left they have left, him and the boy, he could only take one, though he tried for more.                 They walked away.                          And they’re still walking                                                            walking               ...

    Ruby Oh Ruby Ruby, oh Ruby, black skin, white dress clear as the white and black in a black and white photograph. Ruby, oh Ruby, born to build bridges and grown to cement them into society. Ruby, oh Ruby, standing back to watch their bridges burn behind them. Ruby, oh Ruby, growing up a triumph, growing old triumphant. https://heyzine.com/flip-book/32dfef28d9.html