Thursday, 31 January 2019


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.
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.
everything has to be hidden,
so as not to frighten the swimmers
for when the holiday is over.

Monday, 28 January 2019

Erothanatos | A Peer-Reviewed Journal | v3i1n17
Erothanatos is a literary journal, published quarterly in January, April, July and October.

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.

Tuesday, 22 January 2019

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

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!

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.