Friday, 22 March 2019

A Disappointing Day
If they hadn’t asked her
to smell the nice scent.
If she hadn’t remembered
the scent from before.
There would have been
no screams, no stamping
up and down on the trolley.
The nurse would still
have her cap on
and the doctor would have
no fist or feet marks
on his white coat,
no red hand mark
on his pale cheek.
There would have been
no shock, horror reports
to those who had put away
Red Riding Hood
and were waiting
anxiously for news
of their little girl.
But they did ask her.
They did ask her.
The scent wasn’t nice.
She knew it.
And there was no ice cream
afterwards either.
They’d lied about that
as well.
A disappointing day.

Thursday, 21 March 2019


Every Cloud

Every cloud has a turquoise lining
sparking in caught sunlight.
You can see it 
even though
your eyes 
are tight shut 
against the light
you know it’s true
you can see that it is
even though your eyes
are shut tight against the light.
Believing is seeing
after all.


https://eventhorizonmagazine.com/



Wednesday, 20 March 2019

Curly Cashews
That’s what it said on the packet,
‘curly cashews’.
But right now,
I would like a straight cashew
for a change,
had enough of those that are curly.
So I asked
in the Health food shop.
I asked in several Health Food shops.
Some very strange looks were forthcoming,
but no straight cashews.
I don’t give up easily.
I searched on Google.
Perused Amazon.
Lots of cashews,
but in the photos all were curly.
Looks like I will have to become a plant breeder,
a hybridiser to satisfy this need,
fast becoming an obsession,
for a cashew that has no curl or curve.
I believe someone has developed a straight banana,
so in time, who knows what there will be.
BLOGNOSTICS.NET
Curly Cashews by Lynn White That’s what it said on the packet, ‘curly cashews’. But right now, I would like a straight cashew for a change, had enough of those that are curly....READ MORE

Tuesday, 19 March 2019

River
I look into the river and see myself in reflection.
Colour fast but unstable, I move helplessly in it’s flow.
I am constantly being moved and changed,
but left stationary, moved but not moving on
like the fishes and pebbles.
Here I am, disturbed and abstracted,
surrounded by this rippling, babbling, watery world,
which leaves me unclear who I am and,
more unclear about the solidity of my background
and what is happening around me.
I look into two worlds which are intermingling,
becoming inseparable before my gaze.
My own distorted image fades and breaks
with the images behind and beyond me
in the background of my life.
This river is becoming a metaphor for my own confusion.
For the displacement and fragmentation I feel inside.
I am in danger of being broken up and washed away.
Unable to bring myself together, I remain in pieces,
undecided, lacking definition.
It is also a metaphor which stretches beyond my person,
into the confusion and fragmentation beyond it’s edges,
into the reality outside, which is pressing in on me.
It excludes any coming together, any resolution as
it embraces me in it’s ripples and sounds.
Such sweet, watery sounds, cooly relaxing my spirit.
Shutting out the incoherent babbling outside.
But still, even as I put my hands over my broken ears,
I know it will find a way inside and overwhelm me,
in any case.

Sunday, 17 March 2019

Old Reds
Molly was a red,
her politics even redder than her hair.
She met in the city centre pub
every Tuesday night
with the three Tommys,
a Gramscian Tommy,
a New
and of course,
Tommy the Trot.
Every Tuesday night
they met and argued
about the Spanish Civil War.
They’d been doing it for years,
decades in fact
every Tuesday night
their voices undiminished by age
growing louder and louder
as the Guinness worked it’s magic
spilling over a little as fists banged the table
every Tuesday night.
But the new Landlady was no respecter of age,
“Youse come in here disturbing the peace again
next Tuesday and yer all banned”, she cried!
“Well”, said Molly ,“that’s not very comradely!”
Quietly,
at last they all agreed.

https://mercurialstories.com/2019/03/17/volume-2-issue-4-red/2/

Saturday, 16 March 2019


Every Breath

It's interesting to consider that
every breath I take
has already been breathed by
someone else,
another person or creature.
Been part of their breath.
Perhaps that dog over there, 
smelly and hairy, 
licking it's own arse.

I would prefer not to have 
molecules of oxygen from it's breath
entering my blood stream, 
giving me life.
But there's nothing
I can do about it.
Have to take what comes.
Breath the air that's there
wherever it's been before.
Rebellion is not an option.



https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/2019/03/15/every-breath/?fbclid=IwAR0Ti2urTchsHmz35UUBxKeZlCpUtxEA1Lt-5978aznShjQPijnDG0AK_ic


Friday, 15 March 2019





SCARLETLEAFREVIEW.COM
Category: LYNN WHITE
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries...