Tuesday, 30 July 2019

One Last Time
Before the trees begin to fall
I’ll take a walk
through the woods
one last time,
hear the leaves glistening
and shaking
in fear of what is to come
some are already fallen
lying
dying,
it’s the season for it
after all.
I’ll see the light shining
lighting on the leaves of grass
that push soft spikes of green life
in between the fallen
see the light shining
through the trees
one last time.
It lights up the white crosses
chalked on the trunks
as it passes by
too many white crosses
all ready
to mark the graves
of the fallen.
It’s the season for it
after all,
always the season for it
one more time.
About This Website
AMAZON.COM
In this poetic call of his, he urges the poets of the generations to come after him to pick up the torch and carry the tradition onward. What better way to celebrate Walt Whitman's 200th Birthday than put together an anthology celebrating the Poets who came after him?The "Poets to Come" as Whitma...

Sunday, 28 July 2019

Stripy Jerseys
There were a lot of ragwort plants
around the library.
Some were bare of leaves and covered
with orange and black stripy jersey caterpillars.
Others were lush and green with leaves
and devoid of caterpillars.
As usual the family planning strategy
of the cinnabar moth
left much to be desired.
I began to transfer them carefully
from the leafless to the lush.
I stood back to admire my achievement,
momentarily disconcerted
when a rather stern looking stranger
asked what I was doing.
I explained.
“Huh”, she said,
“I’ve been doing the same over the other side.
I though it was only me who does this.”
It was a strange way to begin a friendship
but it lasted
all her life.
I think maybe I should go to the grave
in the woodland,
where her body lies
and scatter a few ragwort seeds.
Maybe the moths will come
each year
and make
a living memorial.
She would like that,
I think.
SPARKSOFCALLIOPE.WORDPRESS.COM
There were a lot of ragwort plants around the library. Some were bare of leaves and covered with orange and black stripy jersey caterpillars. Others were lush and green with leaves and devoid of ca…

Friday, 26 July 2019

The Only Way
We stood in line
ready
for our marching orders
ready
to march
all in order
one step at a time,
or all together
now
just as ordered.
What a blast that was.
What a blast we had
following the orders
of our masters.
It’s the only way
to settle the squabbles
of our masters,
and the grievances
of their paymasters,
just for a time.
Then
they’ll do it again!
Then
we’ll do it again
following our orders.
And again.
and again.
It’s the only way
forward
or back.

Wednesday, 24 July 2019

Predictable
I feel such a bright energy flowing,
zipping through my veins.
I can’t wait to move with it,
to uproot myself,
to be transplanted and reborn,
to recreate myself
at the time when all of nature
is recreating itself and starting afresh.
I will be reborn too in another place.
I’ve done it before and felt the new buds open,
bursting and shooting into a new life.
I've felt the excitement of the new spaces,
embraced the interest in the new peoples’ faces.
And then..
I’ve opened up my blowsy petals and
let my heart show through
pulsing,
exuberant,
ready
to turn towards the summer sun,
not believing it will destroy
my bloom,
make my petals fade and fall
when the shock of the new wears off
and the fresh green shoots start to brown,
and prepare for the season of wrinkles,
which always follows,
as my life folds out as before.
Soon I’ll be getting ready
for the ice of winter
in this new place.
A new place, but
with the same person in it.
To change where I am is the easy part.
To change who I am is difficult, hardly possible.
But without this change,
nothing will change,
except that summer will have gone,
winter will surely follow fall
and spring will be a long way away.

Tuesday, 23 July 2019

No Place
The buildings line the street.
Such bright colours
lining the street
of the holiday resort,
a place near the beach,
a living place.
But if I should transform the cars,
into their metal box shapes.
If I should paint out their windows
and doors,
and the windows and doors
of the buildings in the street,
it would leave me
with coloured squares
and rectangles
dividing blue from green or white
with no life left there.
No place,
no place
for life
at all.
BLOGNOSTICS.NET
No Place by Lynn White The buildings line the street. Such bright colours lining the street of the holiday resort, a place near the beach....READ MORE

Sunday, 21 July 2019

A Private Affair
She chose the quilt colour carefully,
bright red
blood red
so when she lay down
no one would see
her bleed out
emotionally
drained
empty
of the bright sunshine
that had filled her
full of joy.
It was always a private affair
so no one should see
and no one would see
as finally
she put it to bed.

Friday, 19 July 2019

After Time
“I’m late,
I’m late again”,
said the White Rabbit
staring at his pocket watch
with exasperation.
He turned the minute hand back a little
and perused the new time
with satisfaction.
He knew the effect would be limited
unless he could turn back the hands
on all the clocks everywhere,
but it made him feel better
briefly.
He had pondered this issue of time
many times.
He knew that clocks and watches were irrelevant
to it’s passing,
which made him feel better
about his manipulation.
Philosophically speaking,
he knew that he could change the time.
He could break the watch and freeze it.
Break all the wheels that turned inside.
Smash them to smithereens.
But even then,
even when
broken,
he knew
the wheels of time
keep turning, time after time.

Wednesday, 17 July 2019

All That Glitter
It glitters
like gold.
But is it
gold
or base
metal
being worked on
by an alchemist..
undergoing
transformation,
perhaps
with a touch
of magic,
with an elixir
of immortality,
an illusion.
Or perhaps
base oil
transformed
to
sparkly
plastic glitter
with
all too real
immortality.
Glittering,
littering
with
everlasting life,
all that glitter.
About This Website
BEAKFUL.BLOGSPOT.COM
Photograph by Quincemedia from Pixabay First published in ‘All That Glitters’, Silver Apples, Issue 10, 2018 It glitters like gold....

Sunday, 14 July 2019

Frankie’s Creation
It was a childhood hobby
carried out first
on the kitchen table
then in his room,
his shed,
his workshop.
He left childhood behind
but never moved on from his hobby.
Meccano and Leggo had their time
but Frankie left them behind
and began his collection
of bits and pieces
that might be useful
a bit of wood or metal,
plastic, nails, screws, rivets, wire,
Frankie kept them all
for his creations
his men and machines.
The boats and planes and trains
had had their time long ago.
Now it was the human form for him,
not the outer veneer
but what lies under the skin.
He studied the complex joints
and carefully fitted their metal muscles
and wired them with nerve-like fibres.
All that was needed now was the skin.
Carefully Frankie began to put it in place.
Soon his creation would raise its head
and open its eyes,
then it would be ready,
ready to go.
VISUALVERSE.ORG
Visual Verse: An Anthology of Art and Words One image, one hour, 50-500 words. The picture is the starting point, the text is up to you.

Friday, 12 July 2019

Turn Of the Tide
We will wait for the tide to turn.
It will carry us away
wave after wave
gathering up the debris
which surrounds us
sucking it up like so much dust
getting rid of it all,
everything going
with the flow.
We must wait for the tide to turn.
It will bring us home
leaving new things
there with us.
Bits and pieces.
Leaving them for us to find
so that we can take
what we need
everything
we want.
Or should we swim against the tide?
See where it takes us.
We could try.
It couldn’t be worse.


https://theliterarylibrarian.com/2019/07/05/turn-of-the-tide-by-lynn-white/