Images Am I fat, am I thin which mirror will show me the shape I’m in. Which mirror will show me the rolls of fat, the bony ribs which mirror will show me me, if I exist outside their gaze. https://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=9471
Posts
The Last Leaf It’s been raining again, the clouds breaking, fracturing, letting it all pour out. And as I watch it drip my heart is bleeding like the rain from the last leaf. https://whispersandechoesmag.home.blog/2022/10/31/the-last-leaf-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR0KkSsa4gWYw1Z3jxiz6BoJWE9uJB9e6K9y70katdHA8QITG3P7NoEWT58
Clock Wise They were traditional retirement gifts after a long working life. I never understood. Perhaps the first time it was given in irony, an employer with a quirky sense of humour, but then it caught on and became traditional. I remember the one given to my father. It was brown all brown with cream numbers and fingers. It sat dismally on our mantelpiece ticking away morosely long after his death. As I child I used the glass as a mirror, a smiling face, a funny face, or a gurning face. My faces livened it up a bit but I left it behind when mother died. https://bluepepper.blogspot.com/2022/10/new-poetry-by-lynn-white.html
Talking Turkey There is a rumour going around as rumours do in this community. It is said that a celebration is being planned by humans. Specifically by those humans who feed and pet us. It is being said that we will be invited to join them, that we will be a part, an important part of the celebration. So now we are waiting wondering what role we shall play, wondering if we will get drunk, wondering if we will enjoy it all as much as our humans will enjoy our presence. https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/2022/10/30/talking-turkey/?fbclid=IwAR0JXfqGv34CtSSJPfzE610FnZYpieQ-HH0CJo8ugcgDzAKXp_KOlkbbZAs
Gulliver's Wife It is not commonly known that Gulliver had a wife but she accompanied him on all his journeys and Lilliput was her favourite place. Swift never wrote about her. Perhaps he found her just to daring, even though she was careful to be on her best behaviour and hide her painted nails in public places. When alone she didn’t care. She wiggled them with joy each time she took a bath. Only the Lilliputian sea creatures were invited to join her. She loved to watch them as they played in the water. Which came first, she wondered, the mermaid or the seal. She tried to work it out. They told her it didn’t matter, was of no importance. Having fun was what mattered, wiggling and jiggling in the water, size didn’t matter either. She could only agree. https://jayzohub.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/112/poems/gullivers_wife.html
A Question Of Identity On her 90th birthday she looked in the mirror and tried to identify the face looking back. She felt the same as ever but the face, that was the mystery how could she connect the two, how she felt and how she looked. Perhaps a mystic would tell her that the face had been through the fire of life, but so had everything that made up her identity, or more accurately, her multiple identities, different ones for every occupation, every relationship and every situation. The ones foisted on her by parents were soon rejected and replaced by the ones she made up for herself, different identities but always the same person, easily recognised but not in that mirror but something to celebrate. https://bourgeononline.com/2022/10/two-poems-by-lynn-white/
Cracking Open Concrete and clay glass ensconced in metal frames, paint on board, gas in pits, once it meant something once it had a purpose. It’s over now purposeless cracked empty waiting for a future hoping that soon something will make it’s way through the cracks as time passes. So now look carefully, see already something is emerging finding its way making a new beginning after the end. https://bourgeononline.com/2022/10/two-poems-by-lynn-white/
Apocalypse Now The bodies are piling up again as past becomes present again. victims and survivors of another Day of the Dead united by innocence, by grief by failure, failure to protect, failure to police, the failure of lawmakers, the elected and electors. All of them failed. All of them opened the boxes and let the witches fly out, the evil ones, not the healing ones so now we cry out, we victims who survived. You failed us failed us failed us. Even the dead whisper an echo that only the deaf will hear. https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-lynn-white-11/
Holiday Even Death needs to take a break sometime. Needs to sit on the beach in the sun with his scythe hidden, so as not to frighten the swimmers. Well, everything about Death has to be hidden. There can be no exposure beyond a few inches of face and hands, hardly more than a woman in a burka. Yes, everything has to be hidden, so as not to frighten the swimmers ready for when the holiday is over. https://www.darkfictionfactory.com/post/guess-poet-lynn-white https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCfW3Ln89AVMmhbhHnQEWDJg
Aftermath How can it be that someone I don't see, only think about sometimes, but never contact, or try to, leaves such a gap, in their final leaving. My life has not been changed. All is the same. So why the difference now that you're really in the past, when you were already part of my past and not of my future. Nothing has changed for me, not really, not in reality. So why do you occupy my thoughts in a different way. Why does my future feel different now you cannot be part of it, even though you never would be and I knew it. Perhaps because I can no longer dream you there. But why not when you could never be there and I knew it the same then, as I know now. Why is it different, now even to dream? https://ephemeralelegies.com/2022/10/24/aftermath-by-lynn-white/
Breathless In this new society of masks and miasmas we are being suffocated with pillows of power and prejudice, hardly hidden, in the institutions we were told would protect us all. Some of us believed it. But the old masks are off now, forced off the face by lies. All they hid is exposed. We know it now. So we put on our mask carefully to protect ourselves. Before we show them. We know now that we are all George Floyd potentially later or sooner. And we know we are all his killers potentially later or sooner unless we look behind the masks. https://www.pluvialitmag.com/ https://www.yumpu.com/en/document/read/67333043/pluvia-issue-iv
https://www.amazon.co.uk/submerged-Nightingale-Sparrow-Literary-Magazine/dp/B0BJH5CRW6/ref=sr_1_4?adgrpid=1186373944872781&hvadid=74148575403474&hvbmt=bp&hvdev=c&hvlocphy=188&hvnetw=o&hvqmt=p&hvtargid=kwd-74148506402045%3Aloc-188&hydadcr=22584_2171560&keywords=nightingale+and+sparrow&qid=1666362217&qu=eyJxc2MiOiIwLjAwIiwicXNhIjoiMC4wMCIsInFzcCI6IjAuMDAifQ%3D%3D&sr=8-4
Heart’s Desire She said, I was her heart’s desire sometimes I think she meant it. I think sometimes I felt it too. But now I feel empty of desire I feel only strangeness holding her heart in my hand. I feel it pulsating with life. I feel the blood flowing like tears, while she lies still, so still, empty. Emptied of desire, like me. Only wonder. Only I wonder what will happen next. https://uglywriters.com/2022/10/17/hearts-desire/?fbclid=IwAR0tpDdCQEpH5Tzf-XR5nAoLAQtlj98nwDnvysTWF2gck2rH_RUg113TBBQ