Poetry - Lynn White

Blow It Away I’m thinking that every grain of sand represents some part  of my life as I lie wet on my towel. I’m thinking that every speck has some meaning, some significance for me. And now I’ve shaken them up to dry them off and I’m watching them float away. Float away likes motes in the sunshine leaving me ready to begin again with a clean towel. https://totaleclipsepittsburgh.weebly.com/ Order a physical copy here:

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Dragonfly It was so beautiful, gleaming huge and iridescent gold and green and blue and black. With wings that should have been clear, filled with shining rainbows not like this, twisted at strange angles and dulled with sticky silk. Not stuck there waiting to be prepared for some spider’s supper. I held it gently and took it from the web. I carefully removed the sticky silk and saw the rainbows sparkle as they should, saw it’s eyes brighten and gleam with the prospect of freedom. It took a while, this disentanglement, a delicate task to free this fragile creature. And when it was ready, I opened my fingers and let it fly away. It bit me then. No parting kiss, but a bite that left a bruise. Such gratitude! https://uglywriters.com/2019/06/24/dragonfly/

On The Inside The circles are in such a tangle it’s impossible to explore them impossible to see what’s inside impossible to plumb their depths the coloured threads of a life intertwined. So I’m left with the outside which is much simpler much clearer much duller less colourful and yet still incomprehensible. Sometimes even when things are straightened and appear clear I can’t make sense of them can’t manage to join the dots and the dashes and the tangles are more beautiful which seems to be important. The colourful threads of a life intertwined round and round on the inside of my head. http://www.ekphrastic.net/…/ekphrastic-writing-challenge-re…

http://www.highlandparkpoetry.org/themusesgallery.html http://www.highlandparkpoetry.org/themusesgallery.html 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.

Round And Round Round and round, go the gaudy horses trotting cantering round and round the small sawdust ring with the Ring Master in control holding his whip close making sure the show goes on. Round and round they go, with a bareback rider glamorous smiling swaying on a rump, but the smiles are fading now and the once bright horses drab and disheveled are staggering lurching round and round their treadmill. Round and round. Round and round. Just one more revolution and they'll be ready. Ready to bite the hands that refused to feed them. Round and round. Round and round. Only one more revolution, to sharpen up the teeth. Round and round, just one more revolution. What a circus. https://mercurialstories.com/2019/06/19/volume-2-issue-8/4/

Dirty Hands Gloves will protect you from the dirt in the ground as you pot and dig and prune. Gloves will protect you from the bugs in the bathroom and the unclean creatures invading the scratches of your hard labour. But nothing will protect you from your dirty work the kind that leaves dirt on your soul not your hands. Nothing will protect you from that. It will soil more than your hands as it engulfs you, covers you even when invisible. You know and its stench will stay with you You know that you’ll never feel clean again. PRAXISMAGONLINE.COM "Dirty Hands" by Lynn White |Praxis Magazine for Arts & Literature Dirty Hands Gloves will protect youfrom the dirt in the groundas you pot and dig and prune.Gloves will protect youfrom the bugs in the bathroomand the unclean creaturesinvading the scratches of your hard labour.But nothing will protect you from your dirty workthe kind that leaves dirt on your soul n...

Here Comes Summer Here comes summer. Long days of bright sunshine and shiny warm evenings stretching into starry nights. We have waited a long time for the thaw, for the ice to melt away. Sometimes the clouds gather briefly, the dark ones, not the fluffy whites. Sometimes there’s a shower of rain, perhaps refreshing, perhaps thundery when the clouds let fall their tears. But for now there’s warmth and heat and pleasure with warm moist days to follow when the sweet leaves begin to fall. And a winter of blue skies belying the cold, so we can almost believe that summer is still with us and we are not lost as the freezing fog descends to envelop us again. BLOGNOSTICS.NET Here Comes Summer by Lynn White Here Comes Summer by Lynn White Long days of bright sunshine and shiny warm evenings stretching into starry nights. We have waited a long time for the thaw....READ MORE

In Flames Gather round! Gather round the hearth it’s a cosy place if the fire is burning and we’ll keep it burning never fear the flames. Gather round to watch them flaring back to life leaping and lapping from the once cooling embers, watch the shapes and shades flickering dancing alight alive, a living fire. Gather round, gather round! We’ll keep it burning the home fire watch closely let yourself be hypnotised bewitched be mesmerised by the flickering flames, waving and dancing. Listen to them as they crackle and scream as a living fire must. Gather round, never fear the cold we’ll keep it burning the home fire screaming crackling dancing flaming living aflame with new life. Gather round. https://www.newreadermagazine.com/download NEWREADERMAGAZINE.COM Download | New Reader Magazine Download our released issue here. New Reader Magazine is a quarterly journal for fresh, brave new voices in literature, culture, and the arts.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel They all said the same, that the light at the end  of the tunnel had been switched off. She didn’t believe it. Who would do such a thing? So she went in search of it wended her way along the long dark tunnel until she saw it just a speck at first, a glimmer of starlight shining seemingly from the outside in while leaving the dark outside. Perhaps they were right someone had turned it off inside. She scrambled up towards to the end of the tunnel and searched for the switch. She found it turned it on and then all was bathed in light flooded with bright white light but still she saw nothing nothing hopeful just emptiness bathed in light, in blinding light so bright so blinding she fell back disoriented into the dark into the emptiness of the dark. She left the light on. https://suddendenouement.com/…/guest-writer-lynn-white-the…/ SUDDENDENOUEMENT.COM Guest Writer Lynn White The Light At The End Of The Tunnel The Light At The...

Loss The door was unexpectedly locked. He found an open window and climbed in. He found her lying on the bathroom floor. He tried to revive her but she was already dead. “I’m sorry for your loss,” they said but the greatest loss was hers, the one who was dead. He knew then that irony was still alive. https://thelocaltrainmag.wordpress.com/…/12/loss-lynn-white/ About This Website THELOCALTRAINMAG.WORDPRESS.COM Loss – Lynn White The door was unexpectedly locked. He found an open window and climbed in. He found her lying on the bathroom floor. He tried to revive her but she was already dead. “I’m sorry for your loss,” they …

A Rose For Gaza Gaza is a garden full of roses. Stone roses. Rock roses. No petals to crush and bruise to release their fragrance. Only dust. Dust and the stench of death. No green space left. No sweet tranquility, peace or quiet. No escape. No garden of Eden here. No gateway to paradise. Rubble and rock roses. So I shall plant a rose for Gaza in my green space, in my tranquil garden. I won’t bruise it, just gently sniff its fragrance and hope that one day fragrant roses will bloom again in the garden of Gaza. What else can I do? SPILLWORDS.COM A Rose For Gaza, a poem written by Lynn White at Spillwords.com Spillwords.com  presents: A Rose For Gaza, written by Lynn White, who lives in North Wales. Her writing is influenced by issues of social injustice ...

Washed Up So many dead people caught in the crossfire created by the the money men,  the arms traders, the super ego-ed politicians. They lie dead where they fell. Flesh and blood transformed to fertilizer to nurture the seeds and grow the crops, in a future they will not see. Their bones decaying to dust to form the building blocks of homes they will never inhabit. Dying where they fell, over there, not here and not looking like us. Unseen or soon forgotten by us here. But the dead washed up on holiday beaches look like our flesh and blood. They’re wearing our clothes. They’re washing up to haunt us in the Old World. Then there’s the living, washed up alive and by any means necessary moving on to bear witness, if any one is listening. To bring the horror home to those who created it in the Old World. Bringing it home to the Old World, soon to the New. http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=7371 http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=7371&fbclid=IwAR2RXNdi-7GvI8...