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-anthology-available-today/

 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