Thursday 31 October 2019

Birth Or Death
Death begins at birth
for pro-lifers.
The birth day
is lost
in those post foetal
post natal
which move us
into hours
into days
into months
into years
into decades
our death day.
They’ve long
lost interest
these pro-lifers.
They say that life
must be lived
according to
the law of God
as it is written
and dispatched
to them
in nightmares
and dreams.
Only break it
they’re back
with interest
and concern
those pro-deathers.

Wednesday 30 October 2019

We Should Have Seen It Coming
To begin with the dark parts were small
tiny black squares in the brightness,
we should have seen it growing
recognised its full potential
noticed the blurred edges
allowing it to creep
almost invisibly.
And now
there’s hardly a space between the black parts
and little space for brightness around them.
Even the red no longer looks dangerous
however vibrantly it tries to intervene
the darkness is winning
slowly but
covering it all.
We should have seen it coming.
How did we not see it?
I think it’s too late
to halt it

    We Should Have Seen It Coming To begin with the dark parts were small tiny black squares in the brightness, we should have seen it growing recognised its full potential noticed the bl…

Tuesday 29 October 2019

Breaking Through
It needs strength to break new ground
when it’s as hard and solid as
Or so I thought.
It needs strength to break through,
to break the mould and
Or so I thought.
But just suppose,
the ground gives up it’s power
and allows the colour
to break through, bright
so the delicate flowers can form,
can bloom, can flourish fragile.
Will they then open up
through the self shattered soil,
and melt the frozen silence
to make a space,
an opening
for a warmth,
that will shatter
even ice.
I think so.

Sunday 27 October 2019

In the Clouds
I’ve seen a dragon in the clouds
and a humming bird
and a tea table
set for tea.
Some say they’ve seen Christ
or Mohamed,
or fairy kings and queens.
They have all stayed a while,
my shapes in the cloud.
None have left.
Not until now.
when I saw the man
with his tufts of hair
growing haphazardly
here and there.
With his open red mouth already blooded.
With the sunlight shining through his eyes.
I have never seen such colours in the clouds.
And now
he seems to be leaving,
not blown away,
but stepping out
hungrily towards me.

SPILLWORDS.COM presents: Spillwords Halloween - In The Clouds, poetry by Lynn White, who lives in North Wales. Her writing is influenced by issues of ...

Friday 25 October 2019

Pure Gold
We were the pure gold people.
The golden generation of
bouncing baby boomers
who had it all,
the best music, the most fun
and the security and optimism
of a golden future.
Now we have had our golden future.
it is done.
Tarnished, cracking up, fragmenting,
turning to sharp dust and black mud.
And ashes, darker still.
We were there at the beginning
of the gold rush.
Now we’re at the end
and we know there will be no more
The gold has melted away.
Only base metal is left
and even that is fragmenting,
turning to sharp dust and black mud.
And darker ashes already
to bury all those golden dreams.

Thursday 24 October 2019

"Those who dream by day"


There was a time when
I knew where to find you,
knew the places and spaces
you inhabited
in my dreams,
in my day
and night
You would be waiting there,
waiting to be found,
waiting to come
to me
revealing your secrets.
Now it's harder to discern you,
to recognise your shape and form.
You are becoming fragmented and ephemeral, 
floating forms in a damp mist of change
holding on tight
to your secrets
Don't pass me by. 
I still want to know you
to discover you
to learn what you’ve become.

Tuesday 22 October 2019

Empty Chair
You turned my head so many times
I felt dizzy.
I felt
in a permanent state of dizziness
my head spinning round
full of sweet sayings,
full of sweet thoughts
Surrounding myself with hearts
and smiley faces,
happy faces
turning to tears now,
as the hearts turn blue
and I stand, still dizzy,
behind your empty chair

Sunday 20 October 2019

The lizard ran out
He sat on a rock
and looked up
checking the progress
of the sun.
It suited him
so he stayed
and stayed
soaking up the warmth
but alert
only moving when disturbed
by food
or danger
moving quickly then
into his hideaway.

Friday 18 October 2019

The Breathing Days
In the days when I still breathed air,
the days before
living took my breath away,
the days before
I knew my soul was there.
I thought about this time,
this time of no light,
the forever night time
with no breath, no air
to breathe.
Just dust and darkness.
And I pondered.
Would there be slow decay
or fast.
Stillness or movement.
Now I know.
I know everything about
the dust and darkness.
But I can't tell you.
Not now
in these days
of no breath,
no air
to speak.
Only my soul can speak.
Can you hear me?

Thursday 17 October 2019

Washed Away
Cool cleansing water running over me,
washing away my sins, my impurities,
Cleaning me up, getting rid of the villainy
and lack of chastity.
Absolving me.
But who’s to say they should be washed away
like the scruffiness of childhood innocence.
Who should judge these scents and tastes and sweats
of a life cleanly and clearly remembered.
What sins, what villainy?
I wished they could remain unwashed and pure
retaining their essence within my reach.
Hanging about me in my lived in face.
A testament to my life, an affirmation.
It didn’t take much water to remove them.
But I was already clean.
I can remember.

Pre-order From The Ashes An international anthology of womxn's poetry Edited by Amanda McLeod & Mela Blust Official release date Nov...

Wednesday 16 October 2019

Tell Me, Mirror
Tell me, Mirror,
which face do you see?
Is it a pale face,
fairer than fair,
unsullied by sun,
moist and unlined,
unblemished by wind.
Glowing white,
white as virgin snow
unbroken by footprints.
Or is the glowing skin wrinkling,
the shining white greying.
As time has passed
has it picked up some dirt
in passing.
Maybe it’s darker still in places
as the whiteness decays.
As it melts away
like the snow.
Tell me, Mirror,
Which face do you see?

Tuesday 15 October 2019

Can Can

They’re lined up ready to go on stage
These dancers of the Folies Bergère
their mouths reddened,
stockings suspended
heels high as heads
ready to dance
their Can Can.
And yes they can
they really can
kick their legs that high
and wave them around
as if they are disconnected
as if their bodies are barely held 
but they are together
and they really can
hold on
at least to each other.

Sunday 13 October 2019

Red Car
The abandoned car stood on the waste ground,
rusting away, doors hanging off, leather seats ripped.
The children played there on warm summer days
but I was not allowed.
The place was dangerous
and the children were rough.
It was the first time I had ever been in a car.
I sat behind the wheel to drive it making
engine noises like a bus.
It was a black car.
In those days all cars were black.
Any colour you like, so long as it’s black.
I thought that a red one would have been nicer.
For the 2019 Summer Muses' Gallery, we asked poets to share their passion for driving and cars. Automobiles are a means of getting to a destination. In this collection, the car means much more. Car as machine and technological marvel. Car as identity. Car as culture. Car as freedom and liberation...

Friday 11 October 2019

Fish Out Of Water
The birds swooped and dived,
“listen carefully to us”,
they sang to the fish.
“We lived in water. Then
we wanted to change
so we came out of the water,
left it below. Then
we swopped scales for feathers,
exchanged fins for wings.
We soared on the thermals
and perched in the trees
so come fly with us now
it’s your turn to leave.”
The fish listened carefully
they were intrigued.
“How do we fly?”,
they mouthed
in response.
“Come up and join us,
we’ll teach you to fly”.
“If you fall from the sky
we’ll teach you to swim”
the fish called up to them.
But the birds didn’t hear
until they joined in.

​ Guest Editor’s Note: Thank-you to all of the writers who entered the DALE PATTERSON CHALLENGE; I was impressed by the quality, quantity and variety of the interpretations to Dale’s...

Thursday 10 October 2019

The Earth Is Broken
Hold the moon carefully,
it’s very fragile
so easily broken
by the human touch,
so easily broken
just like the earth was broken,
just like the earth is broken.

Wednesday 9 October 2019

They were returning
to their spaces at tables
left only ten minutes ago,
he from the cloakroom to the left,
she from the cloakroom to the right.
They paused together at the open door
and saw him leaning back,
a half smile on his face
slightly bemused
just a little fascinated.
She was leaning forward,
elbows on table,
hands gesturing
to help her explain
the complexity
of the issue.
She sat back.
He asked her something
they couldn’t hear
but they saw it all,
saw her vigorous nods
and more explanation.
Saw her stand briefly
to demonstrate her meaning
then sat back down again.
They saw it all.
He was nodding now
then suddenly
he leaned
forward to take her hands,
her clenched hands folded in his
as he smiles
smiles and speaks.
They still can’t hear,
only see as they move
to retake their spaces
but think they could be lost.
They looked up,
to see them.
In ten minutes they’d been forgotten
and they knew they were lost.