Where To Begin

I have to start with the skin I’m in.

It’s as close as I can get.

It changes.

Expands to fit me

as I grow.

It changes.

Responds to sun

or rain.

It changes

covered or not

by the clothes I wear,

the jewellery,

the mood I’m in.

It changes

By my hand

as I draw

on the important things

the listening,

the voices whispering,

the joining

together

in love.

It changes

to dreams 

in the end

and memories

when my number

is called.

https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-challenges/ekphrastic-writing-responses-romina-ciaffi

 Legacy

Vera Lynn was a famous singer,

the Forces Sweetheart, no less.

My mother was Vera,

so I should be Lynn.

My mother liked things to be

right.

But even more than 

the correctness

of Vera and Lynn, 

she abhorred diminutives.

They were definitely not 

right.

So I must have a name

which could not be shortened.

Joy was a contender, but, 

just suppose that

I was a weepy child.

That name would not fit me.

For me it would not have been

right.

She needn’t have worried.

But worry she did.

So, Lynn it was

and Lynn I am.

My legacy

from my

mother.

https://ephemeralelegies.com/2023/03/15/legacy-by-lynn-white/#more-1828

 Out From The Blue

Blue skies splashed white
to hide the horizon.
And then,
out of the blue,
you.
Taking me back
in that moment
to the sunshine
of the past.

So no blue moods
on this bright blue day
where the future is as hidden
as the horizon
together now,
for now.

And after all,
everything ends in tears
and loneliness,
so let’s take our now time
and chance the rest.

https://jerryjazzmusician.com/six-women-poets-sing-the-blues/

 Roots

By Lynn White

 

It’s said that you should remember your roots,

remember where you came from,

remember where you belong,

anchored by your long tap root.

But I have fibrous roots too,

growing out strongly from the main tap.

I have spread them out and

put them down in many places,

taken sustenance from them.

They’ve been part of my growth,

fed my main stem and its splits and branches.

I’ve branched out from them and belonged in them all,

all those places.

And some rootlets have broken free

and I’ve left them behind there

no longer belonging to me.

And I’ve left something of myself behind.

Would I find it if I returned?

I don’t think so.

But others may 

still.

 

https://womenspiritualpoetry.blogspot.com/2023/03/roots-by-lynn-white.html?fbclid=IwAR201wNb_Tdc7OusZ2uq7nuoroKP69arewl70ADoXfyqiyILK_k9WR-obW0

 Spinning

I’m spinning a sphere

of mirrored glass and

I’m seeing my world 

differently.

Upside down.

Round and round.

Making me dizzy.

But

perhaps it was always

upside down and

spinning out

of control

in any 

case.

Perhaps.

Perhaps it always will be.

https://feversofthemind.com/2023/03/15/poetry-showcase-lynn-white-march-2023/?fbclid=IwAR0y2dPiso8dJRwqSF5tArcrshXC0TrZVw_l_2qs2HTIB2r1eKGQctbTt6w

 The Skin I'm In

I used to wonder

how I would grow

and yet still fit in the skin I'm in.

If we would grow together,

me and my skin.

Well, we seemed to have done

quite well

for a long time.

I used to wonder

how you would grow,

and if you would still fit 

the skin you are in.

And if we would grow together

and stay intact in our

separate skins.

Well, we seemed to have done,

for a long time 

anyway.

Now I wonder…

Am I still the same person

under the skin? 

Are you?

I think I am.

The outside has changed.

But inside my skin

I am intact. 

Myself as before.

I think.

Not quite so comfortable 

in my new skin, though.

It doesn't fit me too well.

Doesn't always represent me.

Doesn't look like I still feel.

Like I still am?

What about you?

Are you still that person 

in your new skin?

I'm not sure now if the inside 

has also been renewed,

changed.

And if it is only on the outside, 

that we have changed together.

https://feversofthemind.com/2023/03/15/poetry-showcase-lynn-white-march-2023/?fbclid=IwAR0y2dPiso8dJRwqSF5tArcrshXC0TrZVw_l_2qs2HTIB2r1eKGQctbTt6w

 On A Sunny Sunday

It was a sunny Sunday,
a perfect day.
So he dressed them in their
Sunday best
and they went to the park
to play on the swings
and roundabouts.
My father.
My half brother and sister
on a sunny Sunday.
They were surprised
to meet her
as they walked home.
They were surprised
to see that
she was carrying a suitcase.
They were surprised
when she said goodbye.
They didn’t believe it 
so they went home
to their new council house
to wait.
She never came back.
It had not been a happy home.
She could be violent.
But it was their home.
She never came back.
So they moved to his parents
where they were 
only grudgingly accepted.
It was not a happy move
but it was the best he could do.
Sometimes on a sunny Sunday
she would leave the hospital,
escape in search of her family.
But they never found each other
again.

https://feversofthemind.com/2023/03/15/poetry-showcase-lynn-white-march-2023/?fbclid=IwAR0y2dPiso8dJRwqSF5tArcrshXC0TrZVw_l_2qs2HTIB2r1eKGQctbTt6w