Poetry - Lynn White

  Balancing Act Give me a sign a totem to let me know if I’m welcome here. Or if I’m like rubbish piled up obsolete rotting but still calling   itself Art. Tell me. Make it clear. Tell me what you feel. Confess. Confession is such a balancing act between life and Art. https://visualverse.org/submissions/balancing-act-2/

  Sandcastles She’s standing on the beach with a small suitcase. It’s unclear if the suitcase is full   or empty. Once she packed it full   of her dreams,   but it’s unclear if any remain. She thinks now that they were built on sand, sandcastles on the beach to be carried away on a storm tide, or washed up   and buried   in the sand. All that is clear is the emptiness   of a long horizon. http://scars.tv/cgi-bin/framesmain.pl?writers

  Beauty Parlour Step inside my parlour, my pampering parlour and you will be remade,  reborn, stroked  and smoothed, petted and prodded, cosseted and curled, given the attention you deserve as well as a new face and shiny new hair. In Pampers Parlour we’ll recreate you reboot your confidence and give you a new chemistry as we gloss your hair and lips. As we shape your face with new shadows and glows. As we apply layer upon layer of chemical shit topped by nose retching fragrances. You won’t know yourself when   you step outside   dolled up to perfection, protected in your new mask. And what then? Will you go home   and comb it all out and wash it all off, preferring,   after all,   the person, with the old skin and fresh air colour to the new robotic doll. The pampers product is   designed to be disposable,   after all. Or will you keep it   as long as you can.. Try not to move your new face. Try not to upset your new hair. Place a...

Mr Taylor Probably a polar bear was not a good choice for my first attempt at whittling. A hamster would have been simpler and avoided the multiple leg fractures.. “Don’t worry girl, no problem”, Mr Taylor said, when I showed it to him. “Leave it to me. Bit o plastic wood, That’ll soon sort it” and it did. The tail was more challenging. But all was not lost, just the tail, and I managed to convince the Examiner that polar bears don’t have tails. Maybe they don’t. I’m no expert. I progressed slowly, and probably a rocking elephant was not the best choice for my Final Piece. There was a lot to cut out, a lot of curvy bits. The huge electric saw bench loomed ominously in the corner. “Don’t you go near that, girl” cried Mr Taylor if I glanced in it’s direction. “Here, give it here, Leave it to me. There you are. Now just a bit o plastic wood...” And then disaster! Someone stole the rockers. Who the fuck would steal my rockers? They never rocked very well, but even so, they were better than...

  For Nina Stand up and be counted frolic in the grass tell it like it is with no half measures dance  naked if you want to sing live as you wish to be remembered. https://www.jerryjazzmusician.com/a-collection-of-jazz-poetry-summer-2023-edition/

 All That Glitter It glitters like gold. But is it gold or base metal being worked on by an alchemist.. undergoing transformation, perhaps with a touch of magic, with an elixir of immortality, an illusion. Or perhaps base oil transformed to sparkly plastic glitter with all too real immortality. Glittering, littering with everlasting life, all that glitter. https://www.amazon.com/Harbinger-Asylum-Farewell-Dustin-Pickering/dp/B0CFZ9FJ9X/ref=sr_1_fkmr2_2?crid=24B0P7FHDH6X&keywords=harbinger+asylum+farewell+color&qid=1692542292&sprefix=%2Caps%2C97&sr=8-2-fkmr2

  Lest We Forget We think you can see us, you know who we are   behind our masks Not everything is hidden. We are not hidden. We are out   in the open in plain sight even if masked. So join us for a snack, a glass of wine, a coffee. Enjoy! Take a sip with us lest we forget what to do when we go outside. Step back in time one taste at a time, one sip at a time. Remember   the first time   is always challenging and won’t ever be forgotten. Remember! As we will remember the ones behind the masks and the ones in hiding, the ones we know are there but cannot see. We know who you are. No one is forgotten. Nothing is forgotten. That’s our promise one sip at a time. https://www.amazon.com/Harbinger-Asylum-Farewell-Dustin-Pickering/dp/B0CFZ9FJ9X/ref=sr_1_fkmr2_2?crid=24B0P7FHDH6X&keywords=harbinger+asylum+farewell+color&qid=1692542292&sprefix=%2Caps%2C97&sr=8-2-fkmr2

  Wishing And Hoping The pool was clear and deep. The children peered over the age to see the coins glistening on the bottom. They wondered what wishes had been made and if any had come true but no one could know. No one would tell them their wish as they waited to watch the coin fall into the cascade down into the wild white spume and then into the clear pool below where it would stay glistening for ever feeling only the force of water. All those secret wishes revealing nothing lying there hoping. https://www.amazon.com/International-Youth-August-2023-Anthology/dp/B0CDN7R556?ref_=ast_author_dp

  Where Lies Reality In my sweet dreams I can float and swim like a fish.  Can extract air from the water, as they do. And breathe it out in pretty chains of bubbles. But in my dark dreams, the nightmarish ones, this is just a pretence. The only air is within me  and the bubbles lost to me which soon will cease as I continue to float upwards. Can reality lie in my dreams? https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2023/08/holding-fast-to-dreams.html

  Green Dreams I am dreaming, I think  I’m dreaming as I try to separate the layers of real and unreal, peel them away like the crinkled leaves of a cabbage. I’m peeling off the dark green leaves first. What lies hidden beneath looks  much the same as the outside, a little less battered, more crinkly, a little paler with some yellow languishing in the green, but fundamentally the same. Now for the next layer. There’s a drop of water  shining full of light and something darker, more solid, khaki green and brown, the leavings of some hidden creature. Another layer reveals the holes and then,  the sleepy caterpillar in his cabbage camouflage, his dietary disguise, dreaming  of eating his greens. He’s without his pipe,  without his crown. So, unsure of  his identity,  much less mine, I continue my peeling layer after layer until I get to the heart of it, the pale, pale green centre of naive youth. Perhaps  I will soon understand  where ...