Poetry - Lynn White

  Left Behind Once the trains were full stuffed with commuters sweaty strap-hangers wishing they were somewhere else, anywhere else. Well they got their wish and it wasn’t the pandemic that did it - not that one anyway. No, this was more immediate, Magical even, One minute they were there wishing, next minute.. Poof as if   someone waved a wand. They’ve vanished! Where to? Who can say when there’s no one left   to say no one left to know only the objects are left behind, the ordinary and the incongruous left behind to tell their story. Are you listening? https://visualverse.org/submissions/left-behind-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR026a1PEN3O6RvJrnODK9f5Bx845ZccjNb0g2uQQVSEH4ThALiC4wLEWqk

  The Lizard The lizard loves abandoned places. They make for an exciting life, so many nooks and crannies to seek out for shelter or snacks from the creatures ill-advised to shelter there. There’s compost to scrabble through, rustic brickwork to climb, even a tightrope to practice balance. And the sun shining through it all to be soaked up with joy. Such a haven of perfection! https://spillwords.com/the-lizard/

  Mad Swirl She always preferred to blend in to the background to lose herself in the mad swirl of colours from other peoples lives. It’s how she became   invisible, how she became herself. https://whispersandechoesmag.home.blog/2022/08/05/mad-swirl-lynn-white/

  Little Sister Lost   I woke in the sunshine and salvaged my book from the damp grass. I stretched.. I looked around.. She wasn’t there. I looked behind the stone, then under it. A pretty blue mouse scurried from under, but no little sister. Then I thought  of the rabbit hole under the tree where the scraggy, stripy cat had spat and snarled at us  earlier.   I found the tree and the rabbit hole. Was she down there? It was too small for me to go. I shouted down and scraped and scraped and scraped to make it bigger. A rabbit would do better with it’s big feet. A rabbit, like the one standing behind me with such big strong feet. Help me. Help me.     He sniffed disdainfully and removed one hand  from the pocket of his purple fur jacket to brush the soil I’d splatted on his white velvet breeches. Such big strong feet for digging. Help me. Help me. Help me. He gave me his spade.   I started to dig and dig and dig. Dig till it was big enough for m...

  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://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2022/08/three-poems-by-lynn-white.html https://www.lulu.com/shop/strider-marcus-jones/lothlorien-poetry-journal-volume-15/paperback/product-4p99nv.html?q=LOTHLORIEN+POETRY+JOURNAL&page=1&pageSize=4  

  After Time   “I’m late, I’m late again”, said the White Rabbit staring at his pocket watch with exasperation. He turned the minute hand back a little and perused the new time with satisfaction. He knew the effect would be limited unless he could turn back the hands on all the clocks everywhere, but it made him feel better briefly. He had pondered this issue of time many times. He knew that clocks and watches were irrelevant to it’s passing, which made him feel better   about his manipulation. Philosophically speaking, he knew that he could change the time. He could break the watch and freeze it. Break all the wheels that turned inside. Smash them to smithereens. But even then, even when   broken, he knew the wheels of time keep turning, time after time. https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2022/08/three-poems-by-lynn-white.html  https://www.lulu.com/shop/strider-marcus-jones/lothlorien-poetry-journal-volume-15/paperback/product-4p99nv.html?q=LOTHLORIEN...

  The Sound Of Silence Sometimes the silence speaks   louder than the words, louder than the music as loud as the sounds inside my head. Sometimes the silence shouts and I turn on the radio and open the window and block up my ears to shut it out. Once it was a welcome guest entering as others left. Once it was a time of peace, a quiet time alone, a rare time alone. Now it’s all there is, that deafening silence. https://positivelyup.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/Up-August-2022-Edition.pdf

  Hold The Light Hold the light in your hands let it warm them with the scents of summer let it shine through then let it go. https://whispersandechoesmag.home.blog/2022/08/12/hold-the-light-lynn-white/

  Time Time is healing. Time is stealing. Time congeals if you let it. Even then, even when broken it’s wheels keep turning casting shadows on my skin. https://whispersandechoesmag.home.blog/2022/08/19/time-lynn-white/

  Sister Millicent The teapot was full catering size perfect for the church function where I first met Sister Millicent. She was balancing it on her head. Her eyes were uplifted so were her lips. It was her party trick. I didn’t know nuns did such things. https://sparksofcalliope.com/2022/08/16/two-poems-by-lynn-white/

  The Purple Boat The purple boat sank. There was no explanation. Our father made us three, blue, green and purple, from sheets of coloured paper, blue, green and purple. We thought they were hats at first and ran around holding them on our too large heads. But he said they were boats and showed us how to sail them, pushing them from the side with long twigs   until they made a small bright flotilla, blue, green and purple, in the glass clear water. And then the purple boat sank leaving only the blue and the green. A sad flotilla, of blue and green in the glass clear water. There was no explanation. But I think, most likely, it was spied by some creature below, who,   loving the colour purple, grasped it   and took it below to make it her own. But I don’t know. Now   I have found that life is often like that. https://sparksofcalliope.com/2022/08/16/two-poems-by-lynn-white/

  What Else Should I Say I unscrambled my thoughts to text you my love. It’s the most I can do   in this strange distanced year when there is   so little new   to tell you. It’s inadequate but what else should I say when it’s your touch I long for, your strokes and caresses and they’re as un-textable as you are untouchable. So what else should I say only that   you’re still the one, it’s still you   I’m looking for, Babe. https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0B7GBMCBL?geniuslink=true

  An Upward Glance Is that heaven in her eyes that I can see, a morsel of paradise captured in an upward glance or is she searching in exasperation, hoping to find something better in the dark mists of time. https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/2022/08/13/an-upward-glance/?fbclid=IwAR3qMagPXVY84NP4x152GxL5EimHTx5bP_FLUAlxG53x1fcZnBf8etOAFLU

 The Hedgerow Fairies Where have they gone, the hedgerow fairies in their harebell hats? I used to see them sitting under their leafy roofs stitching their summer dresses of poppy and mallow petals with long silk threads catching the summer sunlight as the smiling spiders spun. I miss them so, the hedgerow fairies in their harebell hats. I used to see them collecting armfuls of meadow sweet to stuff their nighttime mattresses, making doorways in their new toadstool homes with sharp stones. Maybe they’ve gone underground to escape the passing cars and tractors. Maybe they only come out at night now and stitch and stuff under the moonlight. I don’t know. But I miss them so, the hedgerow fairies in their harebell h ats. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B8VLH1H2

  Fairy Queen She wanted to be queen of the fairies and live on the top of the tree displacing the star. That should belong in the sky, she thought. So she picked it up and threw it   away, watched it float upwards to join the other stars. And then it snowed starlike snowflakes which engulfed her even on the top of the tree. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B8VLH1H2