Poetry - Lynn White

  They See No Genocide   Up to now they have heard no cries. Up to now they have heard no sighs. They have known of no one who has died. They know there are lies but Israel never lies and there is no genocide. They must know but they’re dead inside. Not even votes   will bring this Party to life. Democracy is dead inside.

  Lammy’s Lament I hear no cries I hear no sighs no one has died there’s no genocide. So goes the chorus of Lammy’s Lament. In the choir the voices sing louder, louder and louder   in a chorus of lies to bring down the House of those dead inside,   to bring down the house on those dead inside. https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2026/03/lynn-white.html

  I Was Not Like Her I was not like her, the girl in the picture looking out scowling defiant rebellious. No I was not like her not me not then. I wore the gloves in summer   that my mother bought me the classic cut clothes   that she had always   wanted to wear even allowed my hair to curl as it wanted to as she wanted it to. No I was not like her, the one in the picture not then. But when I broke free made myself up wore minis or long skirts controlled my curls with an iron in hand yes I think I became her then. https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2026/02/super-sized-series_01377513491.html

  Sixty Million Tonnes And Counting Sixty Million Tonnes   and what do we get? Almost a song lyric   written for those who don’t get older,   the uncounted ones lost in the rubble of Gaza. Sixty Million Tonnes of homes, roads,   and infrastructure converted into rubble that will take uncountable years for us to clear and still longer to rebuild towns and villages,   to replant crops and trees. And who are the ‘us’ - the ones who will pay. The same ‘us’ as did it before and will do it again unless perpetrators are held accountable. And while this goes on, year upon year ‘they’ will feed those surviving living still in that wasteland of rubble. The same ‘they’ as did it before,   are trying to do it now and will do it again unless perpetrators are held accountable. And how will we, us, they and them   deal with the hate engendered. It will have to be dealt with, then what will we do as we count the cost once again. First published in 2024 as Forty M...

  Graveyard I sit here quiet and gravely thoughtful. It feels so peaceful on the surface but I know gravity is on the pull, drawing the dead down below trying to keep them for itself in the graveyard. I don’t think graves want gravity I think they want to rise up,   taste the joy of lives already lived which live on still in memories, and be grave no longer refusing burial rejecting gravity remaining alive in the glimpses,   of lives passed,   brushing with immortality as they wait. Wait   for the worms   to devour them   and bring life back to the graveyard of memories   and dreams. https://feedthehol.blogspot.com/2026/02/graveyard-by-lynn-white.html

  Oh, the arrogance embedded there, that sense of entitlement of those who can   those who can and do. Our Lords and Masters pulling our strings while hidden away in that different world, a Rich Man’s Only Club where champagne corks popped as they pulled the strings for each other. Yes, a rich man’s club par excellence and, though druggies were plentiful, Welfare scroungers were absent and only a few black bodies gained admittance to this most in-decent society. So 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://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-lynn-white-25/