Poetry - Lynn White

  Coming Through We used to head out from our homes   to explore what remained   of the countryside, to walk in the lanes and through the wood hoping to leave the darkness behind and push ourselves upwards and onwards into the light. Now you’re following us making a new pathway all the way through to the river where the golden glow of sunlight   will seek you out as it passes   through   the wood. Now we have all come through and are ready to cross over the river   into the light. https://braveandrecklessblog.com/2021/11/30/coming-through-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR0W5e6vh1HFv4y-L1mAc4eZSf9x1bRrqfVFqi5ejoiUtjw8dly7XLCbMKk

  Broken Hold the moon carefully, it’s very fragile so easily broken   by the human touch just like the earth was broken, just like the earth is broken by that same touch. Perhaps the world ends here its tears falling like autumn leaves weeping to its end   with a whimper. https://braveandrecklessblog.com/2021/11/28/broken-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR1imOeS0vPTa0oEkPTCBvNsYs4tt06ot6pQdhLehBh-MoY8pOCEcuKUS5E

  Unspoiled I didn’t spoil easily, not even as a child I took the treats in my stride and resisted my mother’s attempts to mould me in her image. I knew it would ruin me, arrest my development, curtail my growth, my flowering. So I was ready for you   when you tried. You tried. But by then I knew who I was and there was nothing you could do   about it. https://redeftreview.blogspot.com/2021/11/unspoiled-by-lynn-white.html

  Snakehead What a fearsome beast she became. Beautiful humans often do when they make themselves up to honour  the myth-like Medusa  of their imagination. To dress for power or style or fun. To tempt, or not to tempt, that is always the question to tax your thoughts till it makes your head ache with the stress of it. If the answer lies in the hair lying in it’s snaky tendrils ready to pounce then cut it off! Cut it off! But it won’t help. It’s just a distraction from those killer eyes that will leave you standing still. She’s no guardian angel but she’ll take care of you her way and there’s no safety in her death. http://www.theworldofmyth.com/

  Facing Up You’re looking past her avoiding her eyes, the eyes of the woman in the front line of the protest the one who reminds you of your mother or your mother in law or your grandmother or all of them together. You don’t need to look at her, don’t need to meet the challenge of her eyes, you have the power   you have the choice to look past her. You can do anything so long as you don’t face her so long as you don’t cower you have the power. You know it   when you collect your pay check when you slither on your belly in the wet fetid gutter to collect your police pay check and take it home   to your wife or mother or grandmother ready to meet her eyes proudly if only you could open the door if only she would open the door if only she would let you in if only your key would still fit her lock if only she would still look in your eyes. But she has the power to look past you. She knows it. She knew it then. You know it now. Diverse Voices

  Waiting I’m not waiting for ageing or changing, for growing, restoring, or recreating the mask. I’m not waiting for structures to collapse and reform and reshape and remake themselves from the ruins. I’m not waiting for the revolution in thinking, in acting, in feeling, to happen when the walls finally fall. No. I’ll dig the tunnels. Then I’ll wait. Wait for you   to scramble through to greet me then we’ll be away, through with our waiting. Diverse Voices

  Nevermore We have all lost our loves and revelled in our misery while longing for oblivion and release and the hopeful terror of reliving. We may have experienced the distraction of birds   tapping at a window or fluttering sootily down a chimney to enter a room like an uninvited saviour or demon and worried and fretted as we try to discern which is witch.   I would like to believe Poe but can the raven really call ‘nevermore’. I have heard many a ‘caw’ from the crows and ‘jacks’ from the jackdaws. And I have heard many a raven call, but never a nevermore. ‘Never say never’ says Poe. But ‘naw’, say the crows. ‘Cack’, say the jackdaws. There’s   never a never more. https://books2read.com/evermore-rqp

  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://books2read.com/evermore-rqp

  Once Once I was whole. Complete. Unbroken. Once I breathed air. Once I walked. I spoke, I smiled,   I looked sad. Yes,   once I had feelings. And then, my sadness was selected. Chosen and frozen in it’s beauty. And then, the rest of me decayed, vanished, returned to dust. And now even the effigy is broken, the marble decaying. Only sadness remains. And soon,   even that will join me in the dust. http://pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8735

  J’Accuse It was an accident. You were involved but it was an accident. Acknowledged it would have starved and died, but you fed it lies and watched it grow fatter and fatter. It was you, you, who fattened it up to make the bloated monster of today. https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/2021/11/20/jaccuse/?fbclid=IwAR3B3RRrUdkNmPR_fR28K4OTcvL015V4AnLbIVv2KJ8p266qM1pQE44vGd0

  Winners And Losers There’s always one. Always one ready to cast the first stone. Always one   righteous   enough, confident enough, arrogant enough. And the rest of the pack will follow. It makes no difference   who they follow   which prophet which god, the game’s the same   and it will play out until the stones become a mountain from which her blood flows like a river. Then they will celebrate. They’ve won again. https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-writing-challenges/ekphrastic-prompt-challenge-responses-han-van-meegeren

  Monsters It’s the monsters who come out of the light that are the most fearsome, but those that sneak up from the dark are the ones we fear the most, even though they’re smaller, and often as afraid as we are. That’s why they hide and sneak in the dark places. The ones hiding in the sunlight are the more difficult to see and the most monstrous. They lie in wait blending in and waiting,   waiting to pounce and destroy   destroy us all to destroy all. https://theabyssmag.blogspot.com/2021/11/monsters-by-lynn-white.html

  Her Collection They called it her collection, mementoes from all over the place. I didn’t know where all over the place was but the painted figures were so colourful   I thought it must be very different   to the grey drizzle of this place. They told me they weren’t toys, I was not even to touch them, I could only look   as they stood silently   in line   on their shelves. Sometimes, though when they pleaded with me   through their silence, I gave them a little stroke, I know it pleased them. And once, just once, I took them down, freed them from their cupboard, from the straight lines of shelving and allowed them to touch each other to behave as they once did in their place. That was the only time I heard them speak and the colours poured from their voices all over the place. And now, it’s another time and I’m in a different place   watching them still standing speechless.   Even their colours are muted with dust now but I can hear their v...

  Leap of Faith We make it look easy, dancers always do.   Even out here on the heath performance is all. The rest is hidden behind the scenes usually in the sweaty studio. It took a leap of faith to carry on working alone month after month with no prospect of performance, of audience, of applause of income. But we’re out now out in the sun   jumping for joy leaping with faith ready to go again. https://books2read.com/dream-rqp

  I Remember I remember my father. I don’t need photos to jog my memory, which is just as well since there are none, none of him whole anyway,   just one of his legs in loose grey trousers sitting by me as I planted seeds for my first garden. I remember. Perhaps he didn’t like being photographed, or didn’t think he took a good one, I don’t remember. Perhaps he had blanked himself out, put a sheet over his head metaphorically or even really, or placed his hands over his face. Perhaps he then peeped through his fingers opening and closing them like blinds. I don’t remember. The photo is black and white but I remember life’s colours, the coach trips to the seaside, the walks to the town’s cafes, visits to relatives with gardens before we had one of our own, gardens full of bright flowers   and my father sitting just there   watching while I planted seeds. I remember. https://books2read.com/dream-rqp