Tuesday, 30 April 2019

Above It All
Sometimes
I need to be out of the fray,
above the drama
and the darkness,
look down on it all,
be part of the scarlet sky
and the jagged skyline.
Sometimes
I will climb so high
that I’ll have no way back,
no wish to go back
only to stay
above it all.
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UGLYWRITERS.COM
Above It All is a poem written by Lynn White and shared with The Ugly Writers for the theme Inner Strength for the month of April.

Sunday, 28 April 2019

Off With His Hair
“Off with his hair!” Cried the Red Queen.
“I don’t think that’s quite right,” said Alice.
“It should surely be, off with his head”.
The Red Queen’s frown deepened.
She didn’t make mistakes.
It was a well known fact.
Never the less…
She shouted to Jack
who was reclining lazily as usual.
“Which is correct, hair or head?”
“Well, you are quite right, of course
as everyone knows.
But consider..
As all strength flows from hair to head,
Cutting off his hair may make it unnecessary
to cut off his head
even though all around are losing theirs.”
“Of course”, cried the Red Queen.
“Off with his hair!”
“They’re as mad as hatters” thought Alice.
But she didn’t say so,
Just in case an unfortunate judgement was made.
One couldn’t be too careful in a mad world.
BLOGNOSTICS.NET
Off With His Hair by Lynn White “Off with his hair!” Cried the Red Queen. “I don’t think that’s quite right,” said Alice. “It should surely be, off with his head....READ MORE

Friday, 26 April 2019

Smoking Gun

I know I’m no angel
but I’m not a devil 
either
I said.
They said 
I would cause a sea of blood
and it does look a bit like that
except,
I think the sea may be the sky
and the blood a red moon glow,
I’m unsure,
confused,
but I know it’s not me who held
the smoking gun.
See
it’s just a cigarette.
I know I’m under age
but that’s all it is
a cigarette
which lit up the sky 
and bloodied the sea,
made them both red

and gave me a halo.


EKPHRASTIC.NET
Jenn Zed: Ekphrastic Challenge Responses- Poetry

Thursday, 25 April 2019

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.

Monday, 22 April 2019







PRAXISMAGONLINE.COM
"Listen" by Lynn White |Praxis Magazine for Arts & Literature

Thursday, 18 April 2019

Buzzing

I can hear the flies buzzing
since I died.
In life I could shoo them away,
open a window
to persuade them through,
though usually they were
too stupid
to grasp the chance of freedom
offered and escape.
Now there is no window to be
opened.
This is a closed space.
Eternal night.
No possibility
of freedom,
or escape.
Not for me.
Not for them.

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


Wednesday, 17 April 2019

Annabel And The Artist
Annabel had been a Social Worker
for a good many years.
She’d seen it all, 
or so she’d thought.
And then she met the artist.
Neighbours had reported concerns,
but were somewhat vague
about the problems.
She called round anyway.
Annabel was like that.
She was old school,
didn’t work to rule.
The artist’s house was large
and a bit crumbly, dirty and decrepit,
rather like the artist herself, Annabel thought
and she didn’t chance the cup of tea, when offered.
There were paintings stacked up everywhere
and, in the corner of one room,
a large whitish sculpture.
It towered upwards
almost up to the ceiling.
Annabel walked round it pondering
it’s strange shape and texture.
The artist laughed, saying,
“That’s not a sculpture!
Years ago I had a dog
and never got round
to house-training it.
That’s dog shit!
I piled it up.
It went dry,
then solid,
then whitish
over the years!
And here it still is.”
Back at the office
Annabel reported,
there was no cause
for concern.
Time passed.
The artist died.
And today,
her only known sculpture, ‘Untitled’,
is being installed as the centrepiece
of her exhibition.
Annabel smiles.

Sunday, 14 April 2019

https://gallery.mailchimp.com/e2c7528f98e8fa3c893c6c12d/files/7faf8ba1-7c6d-44bc-878b-81a0f99736f7/Printed_Words_March.pdf


Friday, 12 April 2019

Void
There are dark misty spaces
topped by the blackest clouds,
so that I can’t see into them.
I have always been afraid
of the monstrous beings
which may lurk there
waiting in the dark.
But now the mist
is lifting,
moving
away.
The cloud is becoming thinner,
allowing the light to penetrate.
Now I am even more afraid,
afraid of the light,
afraid
that it may reveal
not monsters, but
the bare boards
of emptiness.
PRAXISMAGONLINE.COM
Void There are dark misty spaces topped by the blackest clouds, so that I can’t see into them. I have always been afraid of the monstrous beings which may lurk there waiting in the dark. But now the mist is lifting, moving away. The cloud is becoming thinner, allowing the light to penetrate. Now I...

Thursday, 11 April 2019

I Saw A Bird
I saw a bird today,
just one.
I wasn’t alone,
many people saw it,
more came out to look
dusting off their long unused
binoculars.
Facebook was buzzing
like the insects used to buzz.
And so many tweets
trending for all those lost tweeters.
It made the local headlines,
then the national ones.
It flew a long way that bird,
then it was gone.


SPILLWORDS.COM
Spillwords.com presents: I Saw A Bird, written by Lynn White, who lives in North Wales. Her writing is influenced by issues of social injustice ...