Poetry - Lynn White

    The Funeral of Bosco Jones Over twenty years ago Bosco Jones died after a long and purposeful life. His children, (long departed from their roots), returned. “Don’t worry, Mum”, they said, “we’ll see to everything. We’ll make all the necessary arrangements.” They arranged a splendid funeral with a vicar and hymns and flowers. A lot of people went, for Bosco had made an impact during his life. They left the doors open so that all those outside could hear And join in the proceedings. There was nice churchy music and an atmosphere of peace and serenity. The vicar began the service with a lot of talk of God and Mrs Jones stopped crying. She started to look around her and take in the proceedings. She seemed somewhat agitated and alarmed. Then she stood up and shouted at the vicar, shaking her fist, “I’m having none of this!” she cried, “My Bosco didn’t believe in all this claptrap and nonsense!” Some people cheered in agreement and she sat down again. The vicar, a dedicated pro...

  No Pride in Prejudice There is no prejudice in Pride and no pride in prejudice. There is no morality in prejudice and no pride in its legality only pride in Pride. https://alienbuddhapress.wordpress.com/2026/06/01/alien-buddha-press-pride-month-2026/?fbclid=IwY2xjawSKJ75leHRuA2FlbQIxMABzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeO_wN2y7-EoAO7TgKmKXYdA1j7g7pmP01ecdpzDz9ClkAFDelSBofYolnYKE_aem_6et2U7lZrQ0EiEzwo97eAw

  Glad To Be Gay Miss Bunch taught Geography She was rather gruff and masculine. She laughed a lot. Miss Tomlinson taught RE. She was rather timid but very smiley. They lived together. We all thought they were “you know”. The word “lesbian” was unspoken and “gay” meant bright and cheerful, which of course, they were. We had no issue about it. We thought them rather sweet and no one sniggered. Ever year at Speech Day many of the staff would appear wearing caps and gowns. Miss Tomlinson and Miss Bunch   only had one between them. Miss Bunch wore it one year and Miss Tomlinson the next. We did have a giggle about that. https://alienbuddhapress.wordpress.com/2026/06/01/alien-buddha-press-pride-month-2026/?fbclid=IwY2xjawSKJ75leHRuA2FlbQIxMABzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeO_wN2y7-EoAO7TgKmKXYdA1j7g7pmP01ecdpzDz9ClkAFDelSBofYolnYKE_aem_6et2U7lZrQ0EiEzwo97eAw

  Orion’s Belt Orion is back.   He’s hunting again, his sword sharpened, his belt tightened. The animals insects   birds fish are all falling. And this time Gaia thinks not even the scorpion will survive. But she still has some hope   and pins it on the cockroach as she loosens his belt again. https://www.jayzomondarkmyth.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/index.html

  The Weight I Carry The weight is threatening to overcome me so much pressure I can hardly breathe I know I need to turn the scales and shift the weight to rebalance it all and lift the threat   from the weight I carry. I shall spread it around a bit. https://spillwords.com/the-weight-i-carry/

  My Bag I have a lifetime of projects, that I carry round in a plastic bag. A paper bag would be better environmentally, but plastic is more durable. And it needs to be. It has had to last a lifetime, my bag. A lifetime of ideas, thoughts, doings and sayings carefully annotated and stored for use sometime later. To be finished, or started sometime later. I can add an idea, capture a thought, write it down, so it will be there, safe,   in my bag. It's getting heavy my bag. Who would have thought   that dreams could be so heavy, even encased in paper. It's getting full my bag. So is my life empty with everything on the inside. Perhaps now it’s time   to start emptying it out. Slowly though. One at a time,   and with care. It's getting late. But not too late, I hope, to empty my bag. https://poetrywivenhoe.org/2026/05/day-1272-my-bag-white/