Poetry - Lynn White

  The Hunger of War They’re piling up or splayed out on streets body after body civilians unarmed or ill advisedly armed in haste and heroism their meat is needed to feed the hunger. It’s piling up the rubble of lives in flames fed by weapons and more weapons the tears of the displaced are not enough to douse them so they leave, when they can, a low priority as there’s no meat on them the women, children and elderly. But the meaty men must stay to fight like soldiers to the death and be spat out with screaming shells and fear. And their screams die with them as victory comes closer it is said day after day it is said as the leaders scream “no surrender” victory will be theirs when the hunger is sated. More weapons more bodies more lives in flames to feed the insatiable hunger of war. https://feversofthemind.com/2022/04/29/hard-rain-poetry-online-anthology-inspired-by-bob-dylan-poems-by-lynn-white/ https://feversofthemind.com/2022/06/23/hard-rain-poetry-forever-dylan-anthol...

  Nightmare The sun is standing still for them Standing still for the streams of dreamers. Dreamers streaming down the roads to somewhere else. 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. https://feversofthemind.com/2022/04/29/hard-rain-poetry-online-anthology-inspired-by-bob-dylan-poems-by-lynn-white/ https://feversofthemind.com/2022/06/23/hard-rain-poetry-forever-dylan-anthology-available-today/

  Help Me Over Help me. Help me over. Help me cross. I can see the sky framed by debris, by rocks, by wire, by dereliction. Framed by sharpness and impenetrable barriers. I want to see it clear, clear and unblemished creamy white and pink and blue. Help me see it. Help me over. Help me cross. I want want to see it framed by trees, I want to see the rocks become flowers again. Help me. Help me over. Help me cross to the place where the birds are singing breaking up the sky with flight. Does it still exist, this place? I must think so. Help me find it. Help me. Help me over. Help me cross https://feversofthemind.com/2022/06/23/hard-rain-poetry-forever-dylan-anthology-available-today/ https://feversofthemind.com/2022/04/29/hard-rain-poetry-online-anthology-inspired-by-bob-dylan-poems-by-lynn-white/

  It’s Behind You Sometimes you just can’t see it however closely you look, a case of the wood hiding the trees with the elephant there in the room.   For safety's sake you need to take a wider view three hundred and sixty degrees if there’s no audience to shout it out. Get ready to run. https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/04/as-mist-clears.html?fbclid=IwAR0Zk-I9KXJRCq7fmsIl3LCuQ7AYMxkeUh1M7pw5mL7mmofqXllIMkknv5k

  When The Dust Settles One day I’ll see through the mist when the bombs cease and the dust settles. That day I’ll be back   to find you again and uncover what slipped away when we became lost in the fog and the rubble and the maze that was once back streets   and tall buildings. One day I’ll stop searching and watch the mist fade away as the dust settles and the sun breaks out and the lost and broken begin to heal and start to return and reclaim and rebuild what they lost. One day I’ll greet you again as the mist clears and the dust settles, one day at a time. https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/04/as-mist-clears.html?fbclid=IwAR0Zk-I9KXJRCq7fmsIl3LCuQ7AYMxkeUh1M7pw5mL7mmofqXllIMkknv5k

  Veiled I wear my hair like a veil covering all. Covering all that is not already covered and needs to be, they insist. But it is not enough. I can still see   when it parts and still be seen. I can still move freely. It is not enough, they insist. I need the mask of the broad, blue blindfold to tether me, they insist. And I wonder, will this be enough? https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/04/as-mist-clears.html?fbclid=IwAR0Zk-I9KXJRCq7fmsIl3LCuQ7AYMxkeUh1M7pw5mL7mmofqXllIMkknv5k

  The Shattered Glass The glass has been shattered. Safely shattered, with no sharp shards. With no damage to anyone, seemingly. But someone is missing. Only her absence is revealed in the shattered glass. Perhaps she is broken, shattered   like the glass, but not safely. If only the shattered glass could reveal her presence. If only the cracks would heal. https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/04/as-mist-clears.html?fbclid=IwAR0Zk-I9KXJRCq7fmsIl3LCuQ7AYMxkeUh1M7pw5mL7mmofqXllIMkknv5k

  Dead Letter Drop Once the words sprang off the pages like the green shoots of spring eager to be greeted eager to be read. That was before  the winter chill froze them into remnants. Tattered pages, empty envelopes  and empty words as worn and shrivelled as our love became. Dead. Or almost dead. But I cannot quite let them go, cannot quite let us go so I’ll bundle them up tie a ribbon round them for old times sake and hide them away  in the winter branches. And I’ll try to forget and try not to forget. And perhaps come spring they’ll rise from the dead like the new shoots on the tree  and burst into life again. It’s worth a chance. https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/04/as-mist-clears.html?fbclid=IwAR0Zk- I9KXJRCq7fmsIl3LCuQ7AYMxkeUh1M7pw5mL7mmofqXllIMkknv5k

  The Hunger Of War They’re piling up or splayed out on streets body after body civilians unarmed or ill advisedly armed   in haste and heroism their meat is needed to feed the hunger. It’s piling up the rubble of lives in flames fed   by weapons and more weapons the tears of the displaced   are not enough to douse them so they leave, when they can, a low priority as there’s no meat on them   the women, children and elderly. But the meaty men must stay to fight like soldiers to the death and be spat out with screaming shells and fear. And their screams die with them   as victory comes closer it is said day after day it is said as the leaders scream “no surrender” victory will be theirs when the hunger is sated. More weapons more bodies more lives in flames   to feed the insatiable hunger of war. https://www.topicalpoetry.com/the-hunger-of-war/

  Never Again Never again the holocaust of Jews, of Slavs,   of dissenters, of the mixed   or mismatched ethnicity. Gassed starved  beaten enslaved dying. Never again the swarms of refugees  left behind fleeing dying pleading  to be let in anywhere dying unwanted. Never again. That’s what they said then. https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/24th-annual-yom-hashoah-holocaust-remembrance-day-poetry-issue/

  In Flames Gather round! Gather round the hearth it’s a cosy place if the fire is burning and we’ll keep it burning never fear the flames. Gather round to watch them flaring   back to life leaping and lapping from the once cooling embers, watch the shapes and shades flickering dancing alight alive, a living fire. Gather round, 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 the cold we’ll keep it burning the home fire screaming crackling   dancing flaming living aflame with new life. Gather round. https://mienmagazine.wixsite.com/mienliterarymagazine/in-flames

  Masquerade We create so many masks   so many masks to hide behind, to hide our faces to hide ourselves. We may make new ones in wood or plastic, stone or papier-mâché, create new faces or paint our faces like a mask, make ourselves up, put ourselves on show and symbolise who we are or want to be at that time We’ll only show part of ourselves that part that we wish to reveal   at that time. Or we may a fashion a dreamlike self, of how we would like to be seen at that time. We make ourselves up as we shape the faces of our masquerade like magic. https://mienmagazine.wixsite.com/mienliterarymagazine/works

  The Dying Of The Light The red mist came over him a bright dangerous anger engulfing all of him ready to explode and splinter into sharp shards slicing everything touched. When the explosion subsided and settled into surliness the red faded   into monochrome and the only colours left were the greys, but the anger still whirled   and churned and screamed inside and out as it choked the colours and the bright white with darkness heavy as diamond hard granite impenetrable immovable weighing him down dragging him deeper   into the black hole with the dying of the light. https://mienmagazine.wixsite.com/mienliterarymagazine https://mienmagazine.wixsite.com/mienliterarymagazine/the-dying-of-the-light

  Round And Round Round and round,   go the gaudy horses   trotting cantering   round and round the small sawdust ring with the Ring Master in control holding his whip close making sure the show goes on. Round and round they go, with a bareback rider   glamorous smiling swaying on a rump, but the smiles are fading now   and the once bright horses   drab and disheveled   are staggering   lurching round and round   their treadmill. Round and round. Round and round. Just one more revolution and they'll be ready. Ready to bite the hands that refused to feed them. https://www.californiastatepoetrysociety.com/2022/02/contents-of-california-quarterly-48-no.html Round and round. Round and round. Only one more revolution, to sharpen up the teeth.   Round and round, just one more revolution. What a circus