Poetry - Lynn White

  All That Glitter It glitters like gold. But is it gold or base metal being worked on by an alchemist.. undergoing transformation, perhaps with a touch of magic, with an elixir of immortality, an illusion. Or perhaps base oil transformed to sparkly plastic glitter with all too real immortality. Glittering, littering with everlasting life, all that glitter. https://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2026/05/5-poems-by-lynn-white.html

  Peace Is Peace is more  than the absence of war though that would be a start. And then the dissolving of boundaries constructed by humans to cordon off one from the other and shout across the divide. Then we can whisper and hug our way to peace. https://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2026/05/5-poems-by-lynn-white.html

  Winners And Losers There’s always one. Always one ready to cast the first stone. Always one  righteous  enough, confident enough, arrogant enough. And the rest of the pack will follow. It makes no difference  who they follow  which prophet which god, the game’s the same  and it will play out until the stones become a mountain from which her blood flows like a river. Then they will celebrate. They’ve won again. https://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2026/05/5-poems-by-lynn-white.html

  The Last Time I took a walk through the woods before the leaves fell for the last time. I heard them glistening and shaking getting ready to fall. It’s the season for it after all. I saw the light shining  on the leaves of grass getting ready  to push soft spikes in between the fallen, saw the light  shining  through the trees lighting up the white crosses chalked on the trunks crosses lined up as in the fields of a cemetery after that war to end wars. Too many white crosses  ready now to mark the graves of those about to fall. It’s the season for it after all. It’s always the season for it, we’ll wait forever for that last time. https://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2026/05/5-poems-by-lynn-white.html

  Chosen They were the master race chosen by genes pure.   They chose who should die by burning by bombing   by starving by any means necessary. They chose those who were different   genetically politically. They chose the naysayers those who didn’t make the grade those who didn’t pass the test they chose. They were the master race chosen to be masters of all the captured people the captured territories masters of all. They were the chosen people chosen by genes pure.   They chose who should die by burning by bombing   by starving by any means necessary. They chose those who were different   genetically politically. They chose the naysayers those who didn’t make the grade those who didn’t pass the test they chose. They were the chosen people chosen to be masters of all the captured people the captured territories masters of all. Time after time might defines right in the selection process. Time after time there’s a selection process where only the mast...

  The Melon Market It was a small town, Pec, in Kosovo now, then in Yugoslavia. It was 1966, the year before watermelons became illegal   in Palestine. It was a small restaurant with no menu so communication wasn’t easy. But the guy on the next table spoke French opening up a channel of communication for us. John wanted to eat melon but there was no melon. Our French speaking friend, he was a friend by now, Had a late night solution. He took us to a large dry field, a melon market, he said. There were huge heaps of watermelons, dark green globes waiting in heaps. Each heap with its sleeping seller resting on a bed of melons. He shook one seller awake   and carefully chose a melon. We all went home with him, he called the neighbours in and there we had a melon party eating great juicy slices   off tin plates in a small house in Pec in 1966, the year before Israel banned watermelons in Palestine. https://fourfeatherspress.blogspot.com/2026/05/50-poets-and-artists-being...