Monday, 31 August 2020

Where Am I?
Where shall I sit
in this place
I don’t know.
Which side of the aisle
Should I be.
Or should I be at the front
conducting the ceremony
like a lecture.
I’ve done that
often enough
when I knew where I was.
Or maybe I should stand at the back
ready for a quick getaway.
I couldn’t do that at my wedding,
but if it’s my funeral
I think that’s the best place
for me.
But is it?
So difficult to know.

About This Website
Poetry by Adam Levon Brown, Adrian Slonaker, Barbara Gurney, Carol Oberg,Christina Maria Kosch, Eduardo Escalante, Erren Geraud Kelly,Gary Beck, Gerard Caronna, John Grey, Joseph K. Wells, Julianne Fern Basile, Kellay Briggs, Ken Allan Dronsfield, Linda M. Crate,Liz Hargrove, Lynn White, Marc Car...

 In My Dreams

I have such beautiful dreams
inside my head. 

Inside my head.
Struggling to get outside
into the ragged, jagged
outside life
which passes for normality.

Such beautiful dreams.

Such a perfect life
lying inside my head.
I would like it to be
on the outside.

Sunday, 30 August 2020

 Button Box

I loved playing with the buttons
in ‘Grandma’ Kirk’s button box.
She wasn’t my real grandma
but mum’s friend
who used to have a Chip Shop nearby.
When she died ‘Auntie’ Stacey,
(who wasn’t my real aunt either),
took the money
that Grandma Kirk had hidden
under the floorboards,
even though it had been left to mum.
She was a bad ‘un,
my mum said.
The £200 that was in the bank
was all that was left.
She showed the bank manager
the hole in the floor.
He looked amazed
my mum said.
He said to leave it with him
and she heard no more.

Friday, 28 August 2020


She hangs
like a puppet
to the tune
of the wind.
Blown this way,
blown that,
but only briefly
before she takes control
like the mistress puppeteer
she is
to spin her silk
to weave her web
as she wills.
Or so she thinks.
But it’s an illusion.
She’s trapped.
and wrapped
by her dna
as securely
as any fly,
her patterns
to be repeated
after millennia
in her genes.

Thursday, 27 August 2020

 Joining The Dots

She saw the night sky as a join the dots puzzle.
She was an expert
far better than the adults
who could never work them out.
They told her that these formed a plough
and those a bear, well two bears,
Great and Little.
She couldn’t see it.
They were quite wrong
she knew
the stars
were glittering cairns
pin point sharp
marking the pathway to the moon,
to Venus,
to the sun
and beyond.
You just had to join the dots
and follow the paths
to find your way
to paradise.…/above-it-all-and-other-poems-by…/

Wednesday, 26 August 2020


The sun is standing still for them
Standing still for the streams of dreamers.
Dreamers streaming down the roads to somewhere
From somewhere that has become nowhere
destroyed by the money men,
the vultures who feed on their misery.
Dreaming of escape.
Dreaming of a future, any future.
Dreaming of better things to come.
Dreaming of the life they once had.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.
Dreaming of returning
when the sun comes up again,
hoping it shows more than the vultures
that follow them
circling overhead
waiting patiently
for those left in a nightmare.

Monday, 24 August 2020

 An Ordinary Moon

It’s an ordinary moon.
Not special
like a harvest moon
or a blood moon
or a pink moon in April.
It’s not even full.
It doesn’t have to be.
The tides still obey it
and when it shines
through the clouds
it lights me up.
Is that ordinary
that mystic moonlight?

Sunday, 23 August 2020

 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.

Aulos: An Anthology of English Poetry

Friday, 21 August 2020

 Seed Shells

The first seeds were sown a long time ago.
When these small seed shells burst open
they were scattered locally.
They grew patchily at first, in Palestine, in Israel,
in Lebanon and throughout the Arab world.
There were only little streams to irrigate
and fertilise them, so they often failed to thrive.
But that was then.
Now the shells have grown bigger
and the seeds have flown further.
Further and further.
And the streams have grown wider and longer.
And more nutritious.

When the seed shells have burst in this century,
they found ground that was even more fertile.
So more and more has come under cultivation,
irrigated and fertilised now from rivers,
rivers of blood.
So well irrigated,
so well nurtured and tended that
the patches of brown soil became rare indeed.
But there were some.

Later seeds spread wider over Gaza.
As larger seed shells broke and splintered
they found and colonised new areas
outside the brown patches
where it was now easy to germinate and thrive.
Now even trees could grow there and send out suckers
into the newly bloodied green places.
Soon there was a wood with dense undergrowth.
The rivers were torrents now
bloody torrents
with plenty of irrigation channels.

Now more seeds have flown. Ever bigger
seed shells are exploding and unloading
their crop of giant seeds.
The wood is a forest now,
a forest of giants now spreading their own seed
in the already fertile ground,
spreading it ever more thickly,
growing ever taller.
A forest of hate,
a writhing, spitting jungle
that we are unable to cut down…/three-poems-lynn-white-aa887aabf8b4

Thursday, 20 August 2020

 Home Sweet Home

Keep your distance!
That means you
in the hills,
on the beach
in the shops
on the street.
Keep your distance.
Better still
stay home
and get the fuck back home.
We’re closed.
This is no holiday.
Get the video instead
or run a marathon
on your balcony
or in your yard.
Or sit and contemplate
the clouds.
Put music on and listen
in your living room.
Turn it up
and have a dance.
Home is sweet.
Home is cool.

Keep your distance! That means you in the hills, on the beach in the shops on the street. Keep your distance. Better still stay home turn-a-round and get the fuck back home. We’re closed. This is n…

Wednesday, 19 August 2020

 A Face In The Crowd

Once I could be seen,
was known by my face,
my dress, my demeanour
recognisable in a crowd.
Now I have disappeared.
Even if larger than life,
even if upside down
I would still be invisible.
A few wrinkles is all it took
to fade away
to become
than a face
in the crowd.
To become no one.

A Face In The Crowd by Lynn White Once I could be seen, was known by my face, my dress, my demeanour....READ MORE