Poetry - Lynn White

To My Old Friend Who Knows How It Is What ever happened my old friend? You know right from wrong. You know, you saw with your eyes open. You knew oppression, abuse of power, state terror, apartheid. You knew. You know. We boycotted, we campaigned, we did what we could. Then I would have shared anything with you. Now I wouldn’t even share my space, wouldn’t stay in the same room as you. What ever happened to you my old friend? Rediscovering your jewishness shouldn’t mean giving up your humanity, negating your history, seeing with your eyes tight shut but you know you know. What ever happened my old friend you know. https://literaryyard.com/ …/poem-to-my-old-friend-who-knows…/ https://literaryyard.com/2018/05/02/poem-to-my-old-friend-who-knows-how-it-is/

http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/1483719

Unicorn I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve always shunned the spotlight, always feared it. Unlike the horses and dogs who play the game, perform, do what’s expected by their human providers, by their audience. I’ve always been afraid of being seen onstage just in case I was taken short and golden notes fell from my arse and made rainbows brighter than the spotlight, upsetting the lighting engineers. I think we’re all the same, we unicorns, shy creatures. That’s why we’ve survived, hiding in dreams. https://tropicalacedmagazine.weebly.com/issue-2 Artwork by Lynn White

In My Dreams I have such beautiful dreams inside my head. Inside my head. Struggling to get outside into the ragged, jagged outside life which passes for normality. Such beautiful dreams. Such a perfect life lying inside my head. I would like it to be on the outside. https://www.amazon.co.uk/…/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_api_i_Z0agBbTP09J… http://voxpoetica.com/just-hair/?fbclid=IwAR0735fHOD_ZQ6Nnj7TB3bOeX5VnTOwgjIfwhJ7r_Bs8OYKz4FWOrnwT_tA AMAZON.CO.UK Further Within Darkness & Light: A Collection of Poetry Further Within Darkness & Light is a collection of poetry and verse, from across the world. Featuring the very finest of international talent. 212 poems, reflecting upon the darkness and light of life that exists within this world of ours. Poems of love, loss, mental anguish and hope that will ce...

Sore Fingers At night my long hair was wrapped in rags - pristine strips of thick white cloth. Sore fingers, my mother called them. My unruly curls bandaged into six stiff sore fingers, to be unravelled in the morning to reveal shiny ringlets ready to be tied in bunches with broad, bright, bias cut ribbons. I wanted plaits. All the heroines in my childhood books had plaits I dreamt about plaits fantasised about plaits. No more sore fingers. I wanted plaits. Sometimes I untied the ringlets, to my mothers displeasure, and made untidy, unsuccessful plaits. Plaits would ruin my hair, my mother said. Would spoil it’s natural curl, destroy it in some way never specified. I didn’t care. I hated ringlets. I hated sore fingers. I wanted plaits. http://spillwords.com/sore-fingers/ https://spillwords.com/sore-fingers/

Rooks There are just two pieces left. Two fragments of our dreams. Two castles in the air, the remnants of a game we played where there was no winner. Like a game of chess with an improbable ending. Just two rooks left on the board. More flying over our castles in the air leaving them behind. https://medium.com/dreamnoir/two-poems-cadbd3273d

Taped I was pleased with my reel to reel recorder. It was four tracks which was good, as tapes were expensive. More tracks, less tapes needed, that was my reasoning. My source of music was the radio. Radio Luxembourg fading in and out with lots of crackles. Or Forces Requests on the BBC. Or occasional Pop programmes. Very occasional. I hadn’t thought it through, the source of my recordings, so the quality was poor. But I didn’t mind, it was music, my music and I stuck with my reel to reel enlivened by a transistor radio and pirate stations until the age of relative affluence caught up with me. Eventually it became an amp for my boyfriend’s guitar. But I never bought a cassette. https://visualverse.org/submissions/taped/

https://issuu.com/…/docs/scrittura_magazine__issue_12__summe https://issuu.com/scrittura_mag/docs/scrittura_magazine__issue_12__summe

Magical Child In this strange new world it’s hardly surprising that a strange child has slithered it’s way through the dark passage, the secret tunnel that others have feared to enter. In this strange new world such magic is normal and unsurprising. So come to me, magical child and we will find new secrets, new passage ways to a different future and spread magic as we breathe. https://go.epublish4me.com/public/issue… GO.EPUBLISH4ME.COM Titlestand - Online magazines and books

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://uglywriters.com/2018/07/07/turn-of-the-tide/ UGLYWRITERS.COM Turn Of The Tide - The Ugly Writers We will wait for the tide to turn. It will carry us away wave after wave gathering up the debris which surrounds us

Dandelion clocks The field was yellow with dandelion flowers only a week ago. A field of sunshine. I caught it at that moment, a moment in time. And now the moment has passed, clocked off, has become a field of clocks which can’t tell what time it is. Only that the yellow sunshine was fragile, as fragile as a dandelion clock. Only that time has passed leaving only clocks that will soon be wished away in the wind. https://treehousearts.me/…/…/dandelion-clocks-by-lynn-white/

Sunrise The rock looms large above me, the petrified remains of the last time the sun burned in the time of giants. Giant rocks and giant creatures fused together in the fire. Look! I’m climbing now Higher and higher. Now I'm lit by moonlight, but soon the sun will rise and consume us, fuse us together the rock and I. I am not sure anything will remain after. https://www.amazon.co.uk/…/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_api_i_Z0agBbTP09J…

Holiday Even Death needs to take a break sometime. Needs to sit on the beach in the sun with his scythe hidden, so as not to frighten the swimmers. Well, everything about Death has to be hidden. There can be no exposure beyond a few inches of face and hands, hardly more than a woman in a burka. Yes, everything has to be hidden, so as not to frighten the swimmers ready for when the holiday is over. https://www.amazon.com/Scryptic-2-1-Black-Cha…/…/ref=sr_1_7… https://www.amazon.co.uk/Scryptic-2-1-Black-Chase-Gagnon/dp/1721736158 AMAZON.COM Scryptic 2.1: Black and White Edition Scryptic Magazine is a bi-monthly alternative art and literature magazine.

Spotlight On Writers Lynn White Where, do you hail from? I'm from Sheffield in northern England originally. I went to college in Liverpool and never went back! So I lived for many years around Merseyside and still love Liverpool but I now live in Blaenau Ffestiniog, a small town in the mountains of north Wales. What is the greatest thing about the place you call home? It's a lovely community - safe, eccentric, beautiful! Pity it rains so much!!! What turns you on creatively? It can be almost anything - a phrase in someone else's writing, anger at some humanitarian injustice, a past event which comes to mind. I also enjoy the challenge of writing to a theme or picture prompt. What is your favorite word, and can you use it in a poetic sentence? In terms of my writing, probably 'dream' because it can mean so many different things. It appears a lot in my writing! What is your pet peeve? 'Peeve' seems to me quite a small word o...