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.


About This Website
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.
https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/jenn-zed-ekphrastic-challenge-responses-poetry



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.

Friday, 19 April 2019

Unzipped
Closed
up tight
focused 
seeing straight ahead
into the dark,
the grey,
the black.
Closed.
Unzip,
unbutton,
loosen up
see the blue behind.
Unzip
unbutton
loosen up.
You can see it now
if you look.
You can feel
the brightness
that lay hidden.
Unzip
unbutton
expose
reveal all.
You’ll feel better for it.
BLOGNOSTICS.NET
Unzipped by Lynn White Closed up tight focused seeing straight ahead into the dark, the grey, the black....READ M

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 ...

Wednesday, 10 April 2019

Re Reading Old Words

Once again I’m re-reading old words
re-reading them
over and over again
like comfort eating
to avoid the shock
of the new.
Re-read
review
like an album of old photographs
of people locked in their past
still located there
living there
dead
history in a flash
gone in a flash
brought back
to life
dead
renewed on a treadmill
turning
round and round
on a loop
replaying
endlessly
returning like old clothes
kept for comfort
to be worn again
like re-read words.
The new rejected
neglected
shut out
so I can languish
in the comfort
zone of the old
dead words
for ever.

http://www.praxismagonline.com/re-reading-old-words-by-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR3gh7SL5iXFXIzYCYmsUl_zFLzR0P53AM998DBlz2wCoeJCU0UJi0bA_Gc


Monday, 8 April 2019

A Dormouse Dreams
“Let me out, let me out!”
cried the dormouse.
“I don’t want to live in a teapot,
not even in a dream!
Let me out, let me out
before the water boils for tea!”
“Boiled dormouse!
Now that could be a tasty morsel”
Hatter said thoughtfully.
“But would it be worth the risks
of mousicide?
We must consider”
All nodded in agreement.
“Let me out, let me out!”
cried the dormouse.
“Escape is difficult.”
said the March Hare,
“To escape you must go back,
through the glass like she did,”
nodding towards Alice,
“but backwards
and as we know,
time only moves forwards.”
All nodded in agreement.
“It’s getting late,”
said the White Rabbit.
“But where is the glass,
there is no glass!”
cried the Dormouse.
All nodded in agreement.
“It’s time for tea!”
cried the White Rabbit.
And time waits for no one,
not even a mouse.

THELITERARYLIBRARIAN.COM
“A Dormouse Dreams” – a poem by Lynn White hosted on the Literary Librarian’s Pantheon of Poesy

Sunday, 7 April 2019

Secrets
Do you have a secret life,
with secret places explored
only by yourself?
Do you?
Tell me about it,
let me in.
No you can’t,
of course you can’t,
it’s a secret.
Only you can go there.
So I must imagine
your secret life for myself.
May I?
Perhaps a house
with another family in it.
Perhaps a box hidden
under the floor
containing
old love letters
or pornographic magazines
Am I getting warm?
Of course you won’t say.
Well, you can’t say.
For you are part of
my secret life.
My imaginings,
my dreams and fantasies.
And they are part of me.
As real to me as the life I expose.
but no one can go there.
They’re my secrets.
What about you?
Do you have a secret life?
Do you?




PRAXISMAGONLINE.COM
Secrets Do you have a secret life, with secret places explored only by yourself? Do you? Tell me about it, let me in. No you can’t, of course you can’t, it’s a secret. Only you can go there. So I must imagine your secret life for myself. May I? Perhaps a house with another family …