Poetry - Lynn White

Sister Millicent The teapot was full catering size perfect for the church function where I first met Sister Millicent. She was balancing it on her head. Her eyes were uplifted so were her lips. It was her party trick. I didn’t know nuns did such things. http://www.thedrabble.com/?fbclid=IwAR20ouBc2KpaPN5oc1MGGGPWxDLfWgLp2OF4q8-V2atFBgn8t6HcXvt173M  By Lynn White The teapot was full catering size perfect for the church function where I first met Sister Millicent. She was balancing it on her head. Her eyes were uplifted so were her lips. It was… About This Website THEDRABBLE.WORDPRESS.COM Sister Millicent By Lynn White The teapot was full catering size perfect for the church function where I first met Sister Millicent. She was balancing it on her head. Her eyes were uplifted so were her lips. It was…

Listen Listen. Listen, can you hear them? The sounds that went before the wall was built. Listen, I can hear them. Not the wall builders, no, not them, but others who also don’t want to see what lies beyond. What lies on the other side. Others who will build walls in the future. But listen, we can hear them. Listen. Listen for when the cracks appear, then push. https://pondersavant.com/2019/11/17/lynn-white-ltnc-series/

The Place Where The Stars Are Buried I’m on my way to the place where the stars are buried under a roof of rain. I won’t get lost. I’m following the silver snail trails and the muddy pools with the little shimmers of spangles. When I get there - to the place where the stars are buried. I shall dig a little, dig just enough to let a glimmer of light out. Just enough to let the love sparkle and sizzle in the light before it burns. http://beakful.blogspot.com/…/the-place-where-stars-are-bur… Greater stitchwort (Stellaria holostea) Photograph by Evelyn Simak First published in Midnight Circus , June 2016 I’m on my way...

Penwen Penwen was thoughtful. He’d heard that numbers of dolphins had washed up dead   with pieces of plastic in their bellies. And not the ubiquitous micro but chunks, big chunks. He shook his head and pursed his lips. He knew that dolphins were mammals and that mammals were said to be the most intelligent of sea creatures, yet they ate plastic! He shook his head and pursed his lips. Sometimes plastic bits had been blown into his pond and he’d tested them for food worthiness and spat them straight out, so tasteless and with a tough unpleasant texture. He’d rather eat raspberries, well, perhaps not raspberries, but fish food, yes, he’d rather eat fish food. He wouldn’t let his human friends know   that this was an option though. He was concerned about Brexit   and wanted to make sure that   their stockpile of chocolate biscuits was adequate to see him through. When they gave him a luscious big piece he always gave them a big wet kiss in return. They seemed to like it...

Caged It’s pleasant enough wandering these pathways flanked by the tall rectangular cages, each protected by a steel door with a security code. Even pleasanter later, when the cages become walled enclosures of decorative brick, surrounding green spaces. Intricate metal gates protect them with a security code. Occasionally a creature may emerge, sometimes with barred teeth and raised claws. But mostly looking sad and out of condition. Lost inside themselves. Poor things. Lost souls searching. Mostly though, I encounter them outside. Moving purposefully to a destination, not free to take random pathways, like me. Or desperately heading back to their cages, hoping there is no diversion which may leave them lost. Leave them to encounter the terror of the unforeseen circumstances that might arise from freedom. Freedom to be lost. Poor things. Lost souls in or out of their zoo. https://spillwords.com/caged/… Spillwords.com  presents: Caged, a poem written by L...

My Place I creased the page to keep my place, but when I returned I was unsure, unsure if I had found it. Was it really my place, the place I’d once inhabited. It didn’t seem quite right. Perhaps I’d moved on too quickly, turned over two pages instead of one. Perhaps I should go back, retrace my steps. Maybe then I’ll find my place. https://fragmentedvoices.com/…/…/22/my-place-by-lynn-white/…     My Place   I creased the page to keep my place, but when I returned I was unsure, unsure if I had found it. Was it really my place, the place I’d once inhabited. It didn’t seem q…

I Was Not Like Her I was not like her, the girl in the picture looking out scowling defiant rebellious. No I was not like her not me not then. I wore the gloves in summer that my mother bought me the classic cut clothes that she had always wanted to wear even allowed my hair to curl as it wanted to as she wanted it to. No I was not like her, the one in the picture not then. But when I broke free made myself up wore minis or long skirts controlled my curls with an iron in hand yes I think I became her https://visualverse.org/submissions/i-was-not-like-her/?fbclid=IwAR301D-dyOA105-JRKwnGA4ajSlLxjtD0kUeEVV_KO-D2X6Vc0hH3f6B3as

Daisies Unchained We buried our dreams beneath a wreath of daisies freed from their chains to mark the grave temporarily. Waiting for each daisy death to hide them for ever, unless someone has the key that will release them and make them flower again. https://blognostics.net/…/17/daisies-unchained-by-lynn-wh…/… Daisies Unchained by Lynn White We buried our dreams beneath a wreath of daisies freed from their chains....READ MORE

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. http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/…/SirensCallEZine_Oct…

Feed The Flames Gather round the hearth it’s a cosy place if the fire is burning and we’ll keep it burning never fear the flames flickering dancing alight alive, a living fire. 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 only feed the flames. https://www.trulyureview.com/2-11 TRULYUREVIEW.COM 2.11 | TrulyU