Wednesday, 15 August 2018


Paradise Lost
It was paradise,
a perfect life in the sunshine
for the two of them.
Eating the luscious fruits,
drinking the succulent juices.
Wanting for nothing.
Nothing,
except,
perhaps,
to know the reason for it all.
To know
where they came from,
where they were going,
what point there was to it all.
To understand it all
would take some thought,
some working out,
some researching
of their paradise.
They would need to exercise
their intelligence
to find the answers
to all these questions.
Then they could be content again
in their paradise
with their new found knowledge.
It came to them suddenly,
the penny dropped
not the apple.
In a flash of understanding
they saw that
tomorrow could be different
That one tomorrow
would certainly
be different.
That human life doesn't go on
and on without an end.
It will end
and it's ending is unpredictable,
the where and how and when
unknown.
How could they live with this knowledge
and remain in paradise.
This was a new question to ponder.
No research could tell them the answer.
No exercise of their intelligence
could tell them
when,
or how,
their lives would end
however much they tried
to work it out.
What hell
to live with this knowledge,
the knowledge that they couldn't know,
the end.
So they were lost,
driven from paradise.
Knowing that death
would come
to them,
someway, sometime.
That it was unpredictable
and unalterable
however much they knew.
What hell
to live with such knowledge
for the rest of their lives.
Waiting for death to surprise them,
jump out on them.
And knowing
that for them,
there would be
no re-awakening,
no spring.

BLOGNOSTICS.NET
Paradise Lost by Lynn White It was paradise, a perfect life in the sunshine for the two of them. Eating the luscious fruits, drinking the succulent juices. Wanting for nothing. Nothing, except, perhaps, to know the reason for it all....READ MORE

Tuesday, 14 August 2018


Just Hair
First came the flowers,
then the song.
Then, in time
many songs
of hope
and love and peace
becoming
intertwined
in Hair.
A revolution.
Time passed.
Then came the spikes
and streaks and shaves
of grungy aggression
and despair.
A revolution.
Time passed.
Now there’s a medley
of coloured words.
The dark and bright
past
intertwined.
Revolutions dying
and being born.
Pasts intertwined
in the words
and in the hair.

Monday, 13 August 2018


Face Space
Sometimes
he felt like a man with no face,
his face space occupied
by a swirling mist of confusion.
So he had to wait
for it to settle down
to see what emerged,
what to find his face for today.
Sometimes
it was exciting,
but only sometimes.
Sometimes
he wished for a blank space
that he could fill himself
with a Magritte apple.
Or maybe a luscious peach
would be self fulfilling.
Sometimes
he wished he could wear
the same face every day,
wake up with it in place
and know it would stay,
know what he would be
every day.
VISUALVERSE.ORG
Visual Verse: An Anthology of Art and Words One image, one hour, 50-500 words. The picture is the starting point, the text is up to you.

Sunday, 12 August 2018


I Believe In Magic
I stood there
barely
naked
a naked tree in winter,
no leaves
no buds
no blossom
nothing
to relieve the bare branches
not even for Christmas
when so many trees gleamed and glittered
with berries
and baubles
sparkled with magic.
I stood there
barely
waiting for the magic.
I waited
and waited.
And then
I woke
to find myself clothed,
a green leafy garland
snaking
all around me
leaving empty shoes
Now I believe in magic.
I hope it hasn’t walked
away.

Friday, 10 August 2018


Journey
He’s standing on the platform
with a small suitcase.
I’m not sure if he’s coming or going,
if it’s an arrival or departure.
It’s unclear.
It’s unclear
if the suitcase is full
or if it’s empty.
Once he packed it full
of his dreams, but now
it’s unclear
if any remain,
caught in the lining,
perhaps.
Perhaps she will help him
find them
before they are carried away
and are gone forever
on this train
or the next.
Perhaps it will become clear
when the train leaves the station.
THEDRABBLE.WORDPRESS.COM
By Lynn White He’s standing on the platform with a small suitcase. I’m not sure if he’s coming or going, if it’s an arrival or departure. It’s unclear. It’s unclear if the suitcase is full or if it…

Thursday, 9 August 2018


Annabel And The Artist
Annabel had been a Social Worker
for a good many years.
She’d seen it all,
or so she’d thought.
And then she met the artist.
Neighbours had reported concerns,
but were somewhat vague
about the problems.
She called round anyway.
Annabel was like that.
She was old school,
didn’t work to rule.
The artist’s house was large
and a bit crumbly, dirty and decrepit,
rather like the artist herself, Annabel thought
and she didn’t chance the cup of tea, when offered.
There were paintings stacked up everywhere
and, in the corner of one room,
a large whitish sculpture.
It towered upwards
almost up to the ceiling.
Annabel walked round it pondering
it’s strange shape and texture.
The artist laughed, saying,
“That’s not a sculpture!
Years ago I had a dog
and never got round
to house-training it.
That’s dog shit!
I piled it up.
It went dry,
then solid,
then whitish
over the years!
And here it still is.”
Back at the office
Annabel reported,
there was no cause
for concern.
Time passed.
The artist died.
And today,
her only known sculpture, ‘Untitled’,
is being installed as the centrepiece
of her exhibition.
Annabel smiles.

Wednesday, 8 August 2018


Reflection
Tell me, mirror,
which face do you see
behind the glass?
Perhaps it’s a pale face
unsullied by sun,
moist and unlined,
a glowing reflection
shining
unbroken,
unlined.
But, let me scrape away the surface
to reveal the clear glass in places,
as if it were old, tarnished
and distressed.
Tell me mirror
which face do you see now?
Perhaps the face seems hazy,
patchy like the glass
as it reflects lines
and textures,
blotches
and blemishes.
Well, as time has passed both have
picked up some dirt in passing.
Maybe it’s darker still
in places,
in the deep places
not usually seen
Did the scraping away the glitter
reveal the treasure
and texture beneath
or is the new reflection a distortion
of reality.
Tell me, mirror,
which face do you see?