Poetry - Lynn White

  Time And Place What did he do that little boy when he Resisted the Occupation, for that was the charge against him. If he killed, it seems it was a soldier out of place illegally placed in that place. But sometimes in some places illegal becomes legal and resistance is criminal. Sometimes in those places, to exist is crime enough for some,  those whose childhood is stolen whose youth is stolen whose land is stolen like that boy in that place where power not law defines legality. https://inalove.world/2026/02/18/time-and-place/

  Only Time Survives Time is digging graves again graves of bones and flesh graves of ideas memories avenging a life lived a spent or mis-spent youth all buried now  the running away has stopped and only time passes. https://inalove.world/2026/01/21/only-time-survives/

  Meeting Your Match D H Lawrence once wrote that there were lots of good fish in the sea but as the vast majority were mackerel and herring, unless you were mackerel or herring yourself, you were unlikely to find your fish-mate. But that was in the teeming wilderness of then. There are a lot fewer fish now than in his day and even mackerel and herring are in short supply. Perhaps that will make it easier to meet your match amongst the precocious survivors. But maybe he would have something wilder in mind, for our times,   a salmon perhaps. There are even fewer of them now so only the wildest will meet their match   in today’s emptying wilderness. https://4fpfish.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwY2xjawRQgAZleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeHWo_yAE5x6Rb2S8VgBRJ0txzKOTOnyNymL0FSZJdzrrT0wzmsVQee2_mzjg_aem_k_Q5jJwyYO0QBM_VypkKTg

  Gone Fishing The fish were there gathered at the shoreline almost asking to be caught. But that was then. They’re all gone now replaced by plastic replicas. https://4fpfish.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwY2xjawRQgAZleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeHWo_yAE5x6Rb2S8VgBRJ0txzKOTOnyNymL0FSZJdzrrT0wzmsVQee2_mzjg_aem_k_Q5jJwyYO0QBM_VypkKTg

  Sea Glass And Driftwood I see them everywhere on the beach, sea glass and driftwood. Pieces of Art now strewn like a shipwreck drowned and sculpted by the sea. I see the sea in every piece of glass. In it,   not through it. I can’t see through it, though I know once it was clear. I remember the film ‘Sea Wife’ as I gather up the shiny sea glass and arrange it with the driftwood. The driftwood will be my ‘Biscuit’ trying desperately to see through, searching for her face washed up broken   and stained   in glass. Searching in vain beyond that beach, her face well hidden   as a nun in her habit. I view my collection, see exotic creations made by the sea and long to make one of my own to pay homage   to the beach, the sea and an old movie. https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-challenges/belinda-scott-ekphrastic-writing-responses-curated-by-kate-copeland

  Kinds Of Blue From the blue of the sky to the blue of your eyes and blue of the sea where sunlight reflects blue on blue. On such a bright blue day as this darkness cannot encroach blue is kept outside, doesn’t move in to infect us. But I know that surely later there will come a kind of bleary blue-black night and bring its bruising   blue tones blue notes   which will move inside. There are all kinds of blue. https://hotelmasticadoreshouse.wordpress.com/2026/04/17/kinds-of-blue-by-lynn-white/