Thursday, 31 January 2019

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.

http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_December2018.pdf

Sunday, 27 January 2019


Friday, 25 January 2019

To Those Who Dream

The sun no longer shines for them,
for the streams of dreamers
dreaming of the road to somewhere else.
From somewhere that has become nowhere.
Dreaming of escape.
Dreaming of a future, any future.
Dreaming of better things to come.
Dreaming of the life they once had.
Dreaming of normality, whatever that means.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.
Dreaming of returning
when the sun comes up again,
if ever it does.

http://www.praxismagonline.com/dream-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR1bTsRCrMDSKbsccM0uPeEXuh8XcQusSiGcM3nUgPfO63nQoWaogIPqdW8

Tuesday, 22 January 2019

The Chase
Table chatter.
Laughter, quirky smiles.
And then
our glances held,
suddenly.
Moments passed.
She spread her hands,
arms outstretched.
A helpless gesture
of excuse me,
what can I do?
So
up to me.
Too complicated.
But.
I want to know
more.
Look this way
again.
I want to know
you.
So, look.
Look this way.
But no,
no luck.
Talking now,
head turned away.
Then,
smiles all round.
Mouth upturned,
eyes dead,
leave taking smiles.
Walking away.
Turn!
Turn!
No turn.
No backward glance.
Not for me,
it seems..
But I know..
so turn,
turn.
No turn.
So clumsy.
Chair upturned.
Excuse me.
Apologies.
Due haste.
Well,
never a gain
without a chase,
I know.


UGLYWRITERS.COM
The Chase is written by Lynn White and shared with The Ugly Writers for the theme All-Original for the month of January.

Wednesday, 16 January 2019


Perfectly Imperfect
It started when we stood hopefully,
with our thumbs outstretched
by an English roadside.
We were heading towards Italy and Yugoslavia
without maps or money,
or sense of direction.
And we made it to Italy.
and swam off the rocks,
with a man we’d met in a cafe,
because he said we could.
And we swam and swam until two policemen came,
(one very stern and one very twinkly),
and said we couldn’t.
Nor could we leave the rocks without clothes on,
or with clothes clinging to our still wet bodies,
or lie on the rocks until we were dry,
in case we disconcerted the traffic or populace.
This being the main street in Trieste.
And we made it to Pec and lived
in a house ‘typique du Turque’
with a water pump in the garden
and a toilet, also ‘Typique du Turque’,
which made us very ill indeed.
But the parties were good and
the conversations interesting,
Even though no one spoke English.
And we learned to speak some Albanian,
which was always handy.
And we survived to sit thirstily by a hot,
dusty roadside and fantasize
about the ice cold mountain water
streaming through the streets of Pec,
and even about the water pump in the garden.
And we made it back home.
We had got lost a lot,
but hadn’t got raped or murdered.
So far as we can remember.
What perfection.

TulipTree Publishing, LLC
15 hrs
This week's story of the week is by Lynn White. Dive in at http://www.tuliptreepub.com/story-of-the-week.html!

Friday, 11 January 2019


Such Nonsense
We had a new teacher,
a student still in college.
He read us a long poem.
I listened carefully trying
to make sense of it.
It was funny.
Was it meant to be funny?
or was the laughter of derision,
to what sounded like nonsense.
Laughter seemed allowed
and that was unusual.
School was not a place for fun.
Well, maybe it was nonsense
but I loved the imagery
and the colours of the words.
I asked if 'pea green' was
the colour of mushy peas
from the chip shop,
or was it those in pods
fresh from the garden.
Nothing was clear,
but it was fun.


Sunday, 6 January 2019


Red Dawn
There’s a new dawn breaking red
lighting up the sky,
colouring the clouds
and even the people below.
But the shepherds warn
of stormy weather
following the red
with darker times ahead,
as the red breaks and fragments
out of control,
challenged both by darkness
and the paler tints moving in.
Chaotic.
Unharnessed.
Shadowy.
Unclear
which forces will
pick up the reins
before the red sun sets
at the end of the day.




PRAXISMAGONLINE.COM
Red Dawn There’s a new dawn breaking red lighting up the sky, colouring the clouds and even the people below. But the shepherds warn of stormy weather following the red with darker times ahead, as the red breaks and fragments out of control, challenged both by darkness and the paler tints moving i...

Friday, 4 January 2019

https://issuu.com/scrittura_mag/docs/scrittura_magazine_issue_14_winter_?fbclid=IwAR1K9kHLHJBa8R-wt8sRJZEwC6c3yjSKVnefzG54usE4cATNgyHZYJwHACM

Wednesday, 2 January 2019


English Language
Times change and language changes with them.
Lost to English is the singularity of the second person,
recognisably archaic and unmourned in our time,
but controversial and contested as it declined.
Many heads were shaken at this innovation
in communication.
Words change in meaning, and in emphasis
so extreme obscenities become modest curses,
part of everyday speech and then positive adjectives
as time passes.
Sentences can now begin with ‘and’ and ‘but’
and no longer need to have a verb inside them.
So, new devices for emphasis and meaning form
as language and literature renews themselves,
clearly legible.
Commas can come before ‘and’ and
confusing apostrophes are dying out.
Colons and semi-colons are under threat.
They have lost their way with new generations.
The dustbin of history is open for them
to enter.
There they will join the ‘thous’, ‘alacks’ and ‘gazooks’
of our past, to be only remembered by scholars.
But relax, chill, German has already lost its future.
English may be next,
and these losses will also be mourned
by no one in our future.



OUTLAWPOETRY.COM
English Language Times change and language changes with them. Lost to English is the singularity of the second person, recognisably archaic and unmourned in our time, but controversial and conteste…

Tuesday, 1 January 2019

Moon Pool
I have left behind me the dark deep lake
with the threatening shadows waving,
with the wild waves crashing and
breaking on the rocky shore.
Walked away from it all.
Taken the path to the sweet water,
to the pool bathed in moonlight.
Bathed in smooth bright light.
Free of ripples.
Free of shadows.
Smooth and clear.
As if it has swallowed the
tranquility of the moon.
Taken in all it’s peace
so I can wallow in it.
I will not go back
to the dark lake.
Not this time.
Not ever.
Never.