The Language of My Dreams
I have such beautiful dreams.
They speak sweetly to me
inside my head.
Inside my head
such sweet dreams
growing louder and harsher
as they struggle to be heard,
as they struggle to get to the outside
into the ragged, jagged
outside life
which passes for normality.
Such beautiful dreams.
Such perfect words.
Such a perfect life
lying inside my head.
I would like it to be
on the outside.
https://ricjournal.com/2021/08/28/the-language-of-my-dreams-lynn-white/
An Alphabetical Error
We had a map,
of course we did!
And the names of the streets
were clearly written
in English.
The names on the streets
were also clearly written
but in Cyrillic Greek,
of course they were!
This was Athens in 1966
and we were struggling
to find the Folk Museum.
Then we had a stroke of luck!
We spied a grand building
with sentries in national dress
standing outside
and we knew we’d found it!
So we went inside
and wandered around for a bit.
It was unusually empty,
the rooms and corridors devoid
of the expected folk exhibits.
A smartly dressed woman
descended the stairs
carrying a file of paper.
We asked her if she had a Guide.
She threw us out!
Of course she did!
The Royal Palace was not open to tourists!
It was to be an unrepeatable incursion.
A few months later the colonels took power
and everything changed
except the alphabet.
https://pureslush.com/store/anthologies-themed/25-miles-from-here-pure-slush-vol-21/
The Neighbours Fish
The neighbours had asked her to feed their fish.
They were going on a short holiday.
It sounded straightforward,
should have been straightforward.
“But I overfed it,” she said,
“and it burst open,
exploded
all over the place.”
She looked glum.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Next thing is
the dog’s eaten it.
And that wasn’t the end of it,
next thing is
he started to be sick,
just puked it up all over their carpet.”
She looked glum.
“The carpet’s wrecked,” she said.
https://www.spillingcocoa.com/the-neighbours-fish-by-lynn-white/
Mermaid
It was the change in her hair she noticed first
growing now like harsh thin weed
but attached
firmly
attached
and inedible.
She tugged at it
but the pain was too great
to separate it from her head.
And then her scales
began to disappear
her beautiful shiny scales
washed away with her gills.
Her brothers and sisters
and the rest of the school
swam around her still
but she couldn’t hear them,
couldn’t understand
what they were saying.
The art of communication
had been lost
washed away
with her gills.
What was she now?
Neither fish nor fowl.
Fowl,
where did that come from?
She ran her fingers over her skin,
still smooth
unfeathered
up to now.
She waited
waited to see what would emerge.
Then the next wave came
and carried her
to the beach
so she crawled along
the sharp sand
uncomfortably
on her swollen belly
until she found a rock
and clambered up
then slithered down
algaed slime
into a recess
a safe cave
a haven
with a shallow pool
left by the tide,
a birthing pool
she thought
and she knew
that the next tide
would bring her sustenance
while she waited to see
what would emerge.
https://spectrumfantasticforms.blogspot.com/2021/08/lynn-white.html
Like Alice
I’m too big.
I’m too small.
I can’t I fit in,
fit into this, rabbit hole world,
any more than I did the other,
the above ground world.
Both can’t be wrong,
can they?
It must be me
that doesn’t fit,
that can’t be made
to fit into them.
Me that’s wrong.
Both worlds can’t be wrong,
can they?
https://spectrumfantasticforms.blogspot.com/2021/08/lynn-white.html
Dog
Don’t challenge his growls,
said the man with no face.
Look down on the ground,
be humble, not brave.
Don’t cry if you fall,
the blind girl explained.
The field’s full of dog shit,
so don’t touch your eyes.
I loved my pet doggy,
the dead baby cries.
We all loved him so much
until the day that I died.
https://www.thequiverreview.in/2021/08/poems-by-lynn-white.html
A Rose For Gaza
Gaza is a garden full of roses.
Stone roses.
Rock roses.
No petals to crush and bruise
to release their fragrance.
Only dust.
Dust and the stench
of death.
No green space left.
No sweet tranquility,
peace or quiet.
No escape.
No garden of Eden here.
No gateway to paradise.
Rubble and rock roses.
So I shall plant a rose for Gaza
in my green space,
in my tranquil garden.
I won’t bruise it,
just gently sniff its fragrance
and hope that one day
fragrant roses will bloom again
in the garden of Gaza.
What else can I do?
https://www.amazon.com/Harbinger-Asylum-Z-M-Wise/dp/B09CGCXK47/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=harbinger+asylum+summer+2021&qid=1629340218&sr=8-1
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.
https://www.amazon.com/Harbinger-Asylum-Z-M-Wise/dp/B09CGCXK47/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=harbinger+asylum+summer+2021&qid=1629340218&sr=8-1
Dance Of The Damned
At last the party is over.
Friends and family are gone,
long gone in some cases,
though with us in spirit
earlier.
Now I’m the only one left
still dancing
all alone
until
the ravens came to join me
bringing with them more guests,
not only the souls of the dead
but the souls of those
we had taken care to exclude.
They’re with me now,
the souls of the damned
ready to join in the dance.
And they won’t let me leave.
https://cajunmuttpress.wordpress.com/2021/08/13/cajun-mutt-press-featured-writer-08-13-21/?fbclid=IwAR0S5dqdLd5lEEPIRHaf-5JLkRopLHuZ3ZDWV_eCQtHn2alsnMQ8GtkyKuM
Spread The Words
Words of love, words of hate,
the conjoined twins of freedom.
Spread the word.
Psst… have you heard… pass it on..
Chinese whispers spreading
truth and lies,
the conjoined twins of freedom
in the age of misinformation.
They’re spewing out of mouths
clacking and clicking
in the scrabble
to be free.
Wave after wave
crashing
breaking up
washing up.
A tsunami
of words.
I’m drowning.
https://issuu.com/thepineconereview/docs/the_pine_cone_review_issue_2
Playtime
Imagine a sitting room peopled with dolls
an attic space filled with toy trains and cars
adult places filled with children’s playthings
passive playthings
out of their time
and moved on
into a time
when even the box
with it’s wrappings
and writings
fails to excite us
creating
no spark,
no glamour,
only needy memories
in passing
as time
moves
on.
https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-writing-challenges/ekphrastic-writing-responses-derrick-hickman
In The Wilderness
I may be in the wilderness
but I’ve not lost my way.
It’s far too easy
to keep to
the road
the dirt road
the straight and narrow
the predictable
way through
this predictable landscape
each second
each minute
each hour
the same as the next.
And I know that
each day
will be the same
until I stray
until I find a way
to escape this desert
of dust baked sand and clay
sand and clay
and clay and sand
sun dried desiccated
and deserted
dressed in it’s orange brown uniform.
If only I could see another way
if only a door would appear
to take me off piste,
a door that I could open
and pass through
into the unknown
where I could
lose myself
wet myself
in a muddy pool
and find the dark or the light.
https://www.lionandlilac.org/2021/08/01/two-poemslynn-white/
Far Horizons, Distant Dreams
Once the light shone so brightly
that time and distance stretched for ever,
the horizon at infinity strung with the pearls
of distant dreams.
And in between
a hinterland
of possibilities
just waiting to be grasped.
But then, as the light dimmed,
time and distance collapsed inwards
dragging the horizon closer
a hinterland
of rubble
in between,
the spent remains
of possibilities
uncompleted
or untried.
Only the dreams stretched further
beyond the horizon now
in the fading light.
Soon I’ll reach them
and perhaps discover myself
as part of someone else’s dream.
https://www.lionandlilac.org/2021/08/01/two-poemslynn-white/
