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

 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

 Trick Or Treat

They’re spilling like jewels 

from the child proof jar,

multicoloured,

sugar coated,

‘Eat Me’

treats.

Or are they tricks?

Try them

and you’ll find out 

soon enough,

just suck them,

and you’ll see.

https://www.darkfictionfactory.com/post/guess-poet-lynn-white

 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/

 Fall

I’m waiting for the season

which falls each year

as the lost leaves

turn golden

then brown

with decay.

Waiting

for the last

raindrop

to fall.

https://whispersandechoesmag.home.blog/2022/10/24/fall-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR1w2qGcRZC5DfOGBAXU7XmSm0GYfx4kqRcUAkRsqCAvn1vF0IcMpwjlkag

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