Friday, 19 July 2019

After Time
“I’m late,
I’m late again”,
said the White Rabbit
staring at his pocket watch
with exasperation.
He turned the minute hand back a little
and perused the new time
with satisfaction.
He knew the effect would be limited
unless he could turn back the hands
on all the clocks everywhere,
but it made him feel better
briefly.
He had pondered this issue of time
many times.
He knew that clocks and watches were irrelevant
to it’s passing,
which made him feel better
about his manipulation.
Philosophically speaking,
he knew that he could change the time.
He could break the watch and freeze it.
Break all the wheels that turned inside.
Smash them to smithereens.
But even then,
even when
broken,
he knew
the wheels of time
keep turning, time after time.

Wednesday, 17 July 2019

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.
About This Website
BEAKFUL.BLOGSPOT.COM
Photograph by Quincemedia from Pixabay First published in ‘All That Glitters’, Silver Apples, Issue 10, 2018 It glitters like gold....

Sunday, 14 July 2019

Frankie’s Creation
It was a childhood hobby
carried out first
on the kitchen table
then in his room,
his shed,
his workshop.
He left childhood behind
but never moved on from his hobby.
Meccano and Leggo had their time
but Frankie left them behind
and began his collection
of bits and pieces
that might be useful
a bit of wood or metal,
plastic, nails, screws, rivets, wire,
Frankie kept them all
for his creations
his men and machines.
The boats and planes and trains
had had their time long ago.
Now it was the human form for him,
not the outer veneer
but what lies under the skin.
He studied the complex joints
and carefully fitted their metal muscles
and wired them with nerve-like fibres.
All that was needed now was the skin.
Carefully Frankie began to put it in place.
Soon his creation would raise its head
and open its eyes,
then it would be ready,
ready to go.
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.

Friday, 12 July 2019

Turn Of the Tide
We will wait for the tide to turn.
It will carry us away
wave after wave
gathering up the debris
which surrounds us
sucking it up like so much dust
getting rid of it all,
everything going
with the flow.
We must wait for the tide to turn.
It will bring us home
leaving new things
there with us.
Bits and pieces.
Leaving them for us to find
so that we can take
what we need
everything
we want.
Or should we swim against the tide?
See where it takes us.
We could try.
It couldn’t be worse.


https://theliterarylibrarian.com/2019/07/05/turn-of-the-tide-by-lynn-white/

Wednesday, 10 July 2019

Me And Five Pears
There’s something about the shape of this fruit
about the way it makes the light reflect
the colours from yellow to green
and from pink to red.
The green ones were my first choice.
Green turning to brown
with yellow and gold
highlights.
I thought I liked them best.
But in the end it was the brightness
of the red that won me over,
convinced me
of its perfection
for incorporation
into my painting.
I chose them carefully
and arranged them in a dish
spilling them out on to the table top.
Then I threw away the dish
and held them myself.
I struck a pose.
Look!

Monday, 8 July 2019

The Fox Poetry Box
12 hrs
THE FOX POETRY BOX is very happy to be displaying Poet Lynn White Poetry's beautiful poem today! Lynn lives and writes from North Wales, UK. Her work is very centered on social justice, something we need more of during these turbulent times. She has been published widely and nominated for the prestigious Pushcart Prize.
Readers, enjoy the colors! 🌼🌻🍀🌷🌸

A Grey Place?

This is a grey place, 
there's no denying.
Grey slate, grey granite,
grey houses built of both.
And it rains a lot, there's no denying.
Vertical, or horizontal, or swirling rain
falling greyly from heavy misty clouds.
But when caught by a sunbeam
it makes glistening slides 
shimmering across the slate 
and falls in bright white tails 
or snakes like silver
where the mountains leak it.
And spills heavily over rocks,
it's foaming, frothing, yellow ruffed 
cascades catching rainbows as they crash
then spitting them back out 
in a fine spray of colours.
And now there's no grey 
in the dark blue, black sky 
filled with gold and silver twinkles.
No grey at all in this place now,
there's no denying.