Poetry - Lynn White

My Bag I have a lifetime of projects, that I carry round in a plastic bag. A paper bag would be better environmentally, but plastic is more durable. And it needs to be. It has had to last a lifetime, my bag. A lifetime of ideas, thoughts, doings and sayings carefully annotated and stored for use sometime later. To be finished, or started sometime later. I can add an idea, capture a thought, write it down, so it will be there, safe, in my bag. It's getting heavy my bag. Who would have thought that dreams could be so heavy, even encased in paper. It's getting full my bag. So is my life empty with everything on the inside. Perhaps now it’s time to start emptying it out. Slowly though. One at a time, and with care. It's getting late. But not too late, I hope, to empty my bag. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087FJD9JF/ref=sr_1_15… The Stray Branch: Spring/Summer 2020 About This Website AMAZON.COM The Stray Branch: Spring/Summ...

Can’t Breathe We are being suffocated in this society of masks and miasmas, of family connections and corporate interests smothering us with hidden pillows of power and corruption, of prejudice hardly hidden in institutions we thought would protect us all. We are all George Floyd potentially behind the mask. https://newversenews.blogspot.com/ The New Verse News presents politically progressive poetry on current events and topical issues. About This Website NEWVERSENEWS.BLOGSPOT.COM CAN'T BREATHE The New Verse News presents politically progressive poetry on current events and topical issues.

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 outwards imperceptibly 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 exponentially covering it all. We should have seen it coming. How did we not see it? I think it’s too late to halt it now. http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/…/SirensCallEZine_Mar…

This Is Not An Egg The egg box was so sculptural with it’s peaks and troughs like a metaphor, a mirror of life in textured paper, I thought a giant version could easily become an acclaimed art installation and I thought I could make it. And then I remembered the glasses left behind in a museum of modern art by error or intent, real glasses, not the “ne sont pas les lunettes” Magrittean sort, I could feel some guerrilla art hatching inside me. I fetched the pot egg from under the broody hen and pondered the possibilities on the way to the gallery. There, I placed the egg box on a table, sneaked it in between the other exhibits then I placed the Magrittean egg inside. Just the one egg seemed most fitting especially since one was all I had. I had already written the title card. Such a work deserved two titles one above and one below the artist’s name, my name, of course. First came: “THIS IS NOT AN EGG” and underneath: “THIS IS NOT AN EXHIBIT” It was perfectly p...

Bath Time The bath used to hang on the wall in the scullery. Not our scullery. His scullery. We borrowed it from Mr Neil who rented us the rooms at the front of his house. One down, one up. My mother would knock on his door and he would lift it down for her. But she had to carry it to our living room. It was heavy, made of zinc she said. It took a lot of water which had to be carried from the outside tap and then heated on our gas ring. It took a lot of hot water and had to be filled and emptied with a jug. Sometimes it was just too much work for her and she washed me in a bowl as I sat on her fat lap. It was snuggly. I preferred it that way really. https://ephemeralelegies.com/…/…/11/bath-time-by-lynn-white/ The bath used to hang on the wall in the scullery. Not our scullery. His scullery. We borrowed it from Mr Neil who rented us the rooms at the front of his house. One down, one up. My mother would k… EPHEMERALELEGIES.COM Bath Time by Lynn Whit...

All The Devils Were There I used to dress in bakers white and take a basket of bread to Halloween parties. I never found many takers. Spiced pumpkin, apple cakes and candy were always more popular. So I had a re-think. Now I take a basket of babies. They can’t get enough of them all of those devils out there, even those who come as angels gather round for a bite. Just one bite will transform them so they’ll leave as devilish as the rest. https://msumredweather.wordpress.com/2020issue/  Contributors Red Weather Officers Prose Zachary Howatt- He Tasted Fuzz on His Tongue Megan Miranda- Second Opinion Catherine Kisongo- Dear Mama Africa and Self-Love Josiah Olson- The Golden Years o… About This Website MSUMREDWEATHER.WORDPRESS.COM Spring 2020 Issue Contributors Red Weather Officers Prose Zachary Howatt- He Tasted Fuzz on His Tongue Megan Miranda- Second Opinion Catherine Kisongo- Dear Mama Africa and Self-Love Josiah Olson- The Golden Yea...

As The River Flows The river flows by but doesn’t carry me with it as I sit solidly on the bank side watching my reflection fragmenting and reforming. It can’t carry away my reflection either, can only move it around, destroy and recreate it with a bit of a breaking backdrop which, on reflection tells me little about where I am, or who, or why. It leaves me behind. It always will, unless I enter and let it float me away. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087FJD9JF/ref=sr_1_15…  The Stray Branch: Spring/Summer 2020 About This Website AMAZON.COM The Stray Branch: Spring/Summer 2020 The Stray Branch: Spring/Summer 2020

Timescale We see the sights, gawp at the spectacles, go on expensive excursions to view them. We have forgotten that they were built to subdue us, to shock and awe make us feel small and insignificant, to know our place in the scheme of things. But we take for granted the everyday enormities, the skycrapering giants of utilitarianism towering over our Lilliputian selves. We have long ceased to wonder, to be impressed by their scale. We play our games, and live our lives under their shadows, and we don’t even see them. It doesn’t matter our subjugation is complete. https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/2020/05/19/timescale/… By Lynn White We see the sights, gawp at the spectacles, go on expensive excursions to view them. We have forgotten that they were built to subdue us, to shock and awe make us feel small and insign… About This Website THEDRABBLE.WORDPRESS.COM Timescale By Lynn White We see the sights, gawp at the spectacles, go on ...