Poetry - Lynn White

Tomorrow Never Comes The orcas decreed that the dolphin’s wedding should be delayed by a day. Delayed till tomorrow, if tomorrow ever came. This would give more time, they said, to decorate the wedding gowns, to weave more shells into the kelp, the tiniest of muscle shells for him in every shade of blue, sweet pink cockle shells for her, sometimes veering towards red as if warning of danger. The music was to be rock ‘n’ roll, played by the Killers, of course on improvised pianos. The octopus was responsible for the wedding breakfast. He had enlisted the help of every friend to enlarge and beautify his garden. To transport rocks with anemones attached and bring a multitude of coloured pebbles and shells to enclose the fishy titbits collected specially for the feast. But in spite of their reassurances, still he worried about the guest list. So many orcas and dolphins who did not have a good reputation so far as the octopuses were concerned. But the garde...

Silver Baubles The little girl loved the glass baubles loved their shiny surfaces that could catch the light and shine it back loved the fragility that she was not allowed to touch. The oldest ones were especially fragile like old people, she thought, so easily broken. They had been bought by her grandmother, her old dead grandmother, so old she had never known her. Their colours had faded, it happens with time she was told. The glossy paint had cracked and peeled away, it happens with time, the heat and dryness does it like wrinkles and flaking skin even here where cold and damp prevails, yes, it happens with time, even here. But the baubles were still shiny gleaming silver underneath underneath their fading colours. The old people she knew weren’t glossy just wrinkled, dry and fragile. She wondered when they would become silver. She knew that just a touch could break a bauble shatter them so they no longer existed just like her grandmother and they other dead people. She wond...

In The End In the end   I’ll be like you. Dust with flakes of skin and bone wrapped in long hair. Teeth chattering With no voice. No sense of taste or smell. No reason. In the end we'll be invisible, impenetrable, anonymous, figments. But then, we always were you and I, we always were. http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_December2018.pdf

Fairy Queen She wanted to be queen of the fairies and live on the top of the tree displacing the star. That should belong in the sky, she thought. So she picked it up and threw it away, watched it float upwards to join the other stars. And then it snowed starlike snowflakes which engulfed her even on the top of the tree. SPILLWORDS.COM Fairy Queen, written by Lynn White at Spillwords.com Spillwords.com  presents: Christmas at Spillwords - Fairy Queen by Lynn White, who lives in North Wales. Her writing is influenced by issues of social ...

The Shattered Glass The glass has been shattered. Safely shattered, with no sharp shards. With no damage to anyone, seemingly. But Alice is missing. Only her absence is revealed in the shattered glass. Perhaps she is broken, shattered like the glass, but not safely. If only the shattered glass could reveal her presence. If only the cracks would heal. Blognostics https://blognostics.net/…/the-shattered-glass-by-lynn-white/

Look This Way Look this way. Turn away from the salt wind. There’s nothing to fear. Let me see your face. I know mine looks a little strange, but there’s nothing to fear, nothing. It’s just that I’ve been away a long time. I have a long life history, you see. Look this way. I’ve brought you flowers. I found them when I woke up, when I rose up. I didn’t see who left them. I hope wasn’t you. It would be discourteous of me to return your gift. But at least you know I’m no thief, no grave robber, just someone who has been away a long time. Look this way. Let me see the salt wind blow back your hair, let me see your face. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1719964335/ref=sr_1_1… AMAZON.COM Shadows & Light Anthology: September 2018 In this issue: Eat the Poor by Michael R. Collins All the King's Men by Sandy Rozanski Little Black Box by Jennifer Slatosch The Villain by Linda M. Crate Messages by Rick Powell Magical Moments by Ava Bi...

The Old Curiosities Shop “Curiouser and curiouser”, cried Alice as she rummaged through the remnants of other people’s lives, now offered for sale,   to become part of   another person’s life. “Curiouser and curiouser”, she said   holding up two fat schoolboy salt and pepper pots. “They look like real characters, I shall name them Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber, for now.” She searched in vain for a looking glass to see if she could walk through it. She had heard this was sometimes a curious possibility. But among the objects in a large shiny bag, she did find a set of playing cards with a fearsome looking Queen of Hearts. “I could write a good story about her”, she thought. She found the butler with his empty tray somewhat unsatisfactory. So she removed the tray and hung a tape measure round his neck and put a thimble on his finger. Now he could measure his former master for a new suit, she thought. S...

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The Vase The kitchen looked tired and worn like my mother did, the last time I saw her there. I felt no nostalgia for it. It was not my childhood kitchen. It held no special memories, I thought. And then, I saw the vase on the counter top. My friend found it on the Kings Road. Bought it and brought it home. I’d asked her to buy me something, a souvenir of swinging London. She bought the vase. I never much liked it. Dark and bulbous, it spent most of it’s time at my mother’s, though she didn’t like it much either. Then time stole it away, took it from my memory, erased it. And now, here it is again, sharp as ever bringing the past home as it stands empty on the counter top. It seems that her death invested in it a poignancy that it had not known before. I took it home with me. http://nowthenmagazine.com/manchester/issue-60/word-life/

The Revolution Is Postponed The revolution is postponed until the towels are on, so they once said. Until   last orders had been called and the beer pumps covered with towels to make it clear that they would be pulled no more that night, ten minutes drinking up time then it was,   “do your talking while you’re walking”, we’ve had your money, now piss off, and a beery smokey exit. Unless   there was a lock-in in which case the revolution would be postponed again. Now they’re open all hours. There’s no last orders, no need of towels   to cover the pumps. No ten minutes   allowed to drink up. They’re open all hours and the revolution is postponed. Again.

Fox It’s a rare thing to see, a fox in a field of pink, a fox in a field of foxgloves. He looks up and sniffs them. He could put his nose right inside if he chose. But he doesn’t. He could slip each paw in turn inside the pink glove, but he doesn’t choose to. Why would he, unless he knew the connection, the link, the identification. But he doesn’t know it. So he just sniffs the air and moves on. https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2018/12/10/fox-by-lynn-white/ Blognostics 1 hr  ·  https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experi…/…/

Roundabout He picked us up near Torino, a dapper Frenchman with an impressive moustache. He was going to Nice. So were we! Such luck. One lift all the way from Torino to Nice. We settled back to enjoy the ride. We came to a roundabout. With gesticulations of frustration and twitches of his moustache, he missed the turning. We went round again and the next time, he missed it again. The third time we were ready to call out and point it out in good time. But with more expansive gesticulating and moustache twitching he still missed it. There were many roundabouts between Torino and Nice. We came to know them intimately. On arrival we were hugged and kissed in thanks for our help. Without us, who could say where he’d be. Not us, for sure! He invited us to accompany him to Monte Carlo the next day, if we would like to. Yes! We would like to! We turned up at the allotted time and place, but he never came. So, we never went to Monte Carlo. Possibly he ne...

Dreams And Plastic Smiles The accordion player was from Eastern Europe. He was there each morning on the promenade in the south of Spain, He plays popular songs with an unremitting plastic smile. A little further along sits the beggar with no legs. He is also from Eastern Europe. He sits there every day with an unremitting plastic smile and a cardboard sign written in English and Spanish. I wonder what lit the fuse to set them off on their incredible journey into the unknown. I wonder if the smiles fade on the way back to their new homes. I wonder if the dreams have faded or whether they scrape along as the men scrape along. Or perhaps they’re as vibrant as ever, full of hope, surviving in the mild winters, ready to blossom like the cherry trees in the spring. First published in New Reader Magazine, March 2018 https://www.newreadermagazine.com/download  Download our released issue here. New Reader Magazine is a quarterly journal for fresh, brave new voices in l...

Beetle They had a reputation for reliability but there’s always an exception to the rule. Mine was the exception with an inclination to come to a halt for no reason, just a whim. It was worse after it was fixed, it’s tappets adjusted or perhaps renewed. It became so afraid of stalling that it was reluctant even to start. One part of the car park was on a slight slope. I got to work early to make sure of my place. I switched on the engine, gave it a push, leapt inside and put it into gear. Usually that did the trick and the engine spluttered into life. No way will I let anyone fix tappets on my car again. https://titlestand.com/public/buy/id/122