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          Blue Period         The vases were pink         from my Rose period                   but then          when I was   feeling blue             and all cut up,                    I made                a paper cut                   in blue      like Matisse might make, I looked at the roses despondently         wishing they were blue.          I’ll break them up               and start                 again.  https://online.fliphtml5.com/obsvt/THE-SOLILOQUIST-Summer-26-issue-peMK/#google_vignette
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  The Music of My Dreams I have such beautiful dreams. They sing sweetly to me inside my head.  Inside my head such sweet dreamy music growing louder and harsher as it struggles to be heard, as it struggles to get out into the ragged, jagged outside life which passes for normality. Such beautiful dreams. Such perfect sounds. Such a perfect life playing inside my head. as I would like it to play out on the outside. https://online.fliphtml5.com/obsvt/THE-SOLILOQUIST-Summer-26-issue-peMK/#google_vignette
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  Trumped Trump was full of tricks. And he had all the cards, a handful of trumps. But even his tricks couldn’t win this game. It was the red card that did it, trumped him and sent him off the pitch. It was a hand full of Trump, not a handful of trumps. And so he lost the game. https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-lynn-white-27/
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  Hattie’s Tea Party “I find her quite intimidating, actually,” said Dormouse sleepily, “not the sweet little girl I expected and I really hope Hattie   doesn’t invite her I don’t think she would quite fit in.” “Who the cares if she fits in or not,” replied Rabbit firmly. “In a mad world no one knows their place. Hattie will be asking her questions and he knows the importance of madness, so if she can’t answer madly, then she’ll have no place.” But it was they who had no place, they who were transformed, consumed   in the madness so only the whiskers and ears   of their old selves were left, while Alice danced her way in,   invited or not, and sat in the spotlight like a star. And it was Hattie who had to leave. Their cups were empty. He had forgotten the tea. https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2026/07/four-poems-by-lynn-white.html
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The Sheep Grazed Clouds The birds fell like rain on the roof feathering their way down to the sky. And inside we tried to adjust our eyes tilting turning and reversing as we re-viewed the outside coming in. And we were impressed as we gazed up at it. A Magritte-like world,   unpainted and inside   our living-room in the clouds upside down unfathomable beyond belief. Far above us   fish flew   gasping surprised then diving into unfathomable heights. where the lake shimmered in welcome and the grass grew tall, unmolested, un-grazed. Only the sheep stayed in place sheepishly stoic unimpressed unmoved. The sheep grazed the clouds.   https://penstricken.com/descent/