Poetry - Lynn White

Let Me Fly Let me fly. I’ll spread my feathers and wait  for the lift, wait for lift off, wait for the  moment when I am above you all. Let me fly. Some parts may be broken but not all. I raise my wings high and spread my tail I’m buzzing now, expectant so believe in me and I’ll fly away. https://dsmag.in/  

  Ill Wind Blow it away, the ill wind. Don’t let it in. Blow it away, then close up the gaps. But then.. what about the gentle breeze? That should have space to enter. And will we know which one is blowing when we feel the first touch. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Blow it away, the ill wind. Don’t let it in. But if there’s a sweet breath within it that should have space to enter and there’s only one way in. for both. https://dsmag.in/

  My Felt Hat Felt hats have a long history, back even to the Romans. Maybe some were made in Tallinn, fairy tale hats from a fairy tale place. Creativity without bounds. Such hats are made there now and as a hat fanatic, of course I bought one. Once I thought the dye might run in the rain and cause it to lose it’s crowning glory, in woad-like streaks down my face. But it hasn’t happened. I thought it would fail to spring back into it’s bowler shape when squashed. But it hasn’t happened. It’s still a crowning glory, my beautiful felt hat. https://dsmag.in/2024/06/28/lynn-whites-two-poems/

  Partygoer I was all dressed up and ready to go! The spiny snake had seemed a great idea, it fitted my pricklier than a hedgehog mood when I chose it yesterday. I imagined myself slithering   round the drinkers, the canapé eaters and the dancers, snapping at their ankles. I imagined their surprise and how I would laugh! I thought in passing about the Health and Safety issues, all those feet ready to trample me, such negative thoughts,   but they passed slithered away   like snakes in the grass. I decided to practice a bit, found some snacks to nibble and lay prone to work on my slither but somehow I became distracted lying there, so comfy, eating cake, so comforting, and a little drink, so calming when taken with mindless TV. I’m not ready to party now. I shall just lie here dreamily dreaming. https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-challenges/ekphrastic-writing-responses-daphna-kato-curated-by-kate-copeland

  Cinderella In her dreams she would go to the ball. She’d meet her prince. and dance with him unforgettably so unforgettably that he would search for her later, search until his lost love was found again. With a poetic little spell and a wave   of her wand the fairy godmother   made her dream come true. We read it!   We heard it! We know it! Well, we know that the ball gown and transportation were sorted but who the fuck taught her to dance? Cracked ankles.. crushed toes..   bruised feet.. these things might have led to   a different outcome. Maybe the glass slippers were magic and carried her, step perfectly in time with the music. But we should have been told even in a fairy story, especially in a fairy story we should have been told. https://www.jayzohub.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/127/index.html?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR1i02pQ7UOXdhCU8fVjm1oBqzYmC4ucb-KX3D5mgXTvaT6jiXwribGXpc0_aem_AsynrqyzVzTSQ394NOEttg

  Survivors Stories They have much in common those who survived. All are shocked. All are traumatised. All are filled with hatred for the perpetrators. The Israeli survivors went home to homes still intact or rapidly rebuilt to hospitals   ready   to dispense care   when needed to lives ready to be resumed when they were healed. The Gaza survivors have no homes to return to no chance to rebuild the rubble of their dreams. No hospitals ready to dispence care when needed to lives unready   to be resumed. To no food no water no heat. No roads to flee along. No way back only rubble death and hatred. And what then? What follows in the next instalment. https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/06/24/survivors-stories/

  Broken Hold the moon carefully, it’s very fragile so easily broken   by the human touch just like the earth was broken, just like the earth is broken by that same touch. Perhaps the world ends here its tears falling like autumn leaves weeping to its end   with a whimper. https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0D7THXC2L

  River I look into the river and see myself in reflection. Colour fast but unstable, I move helplessly in it’s flow. I am constantly being moved and changed, but left stationary, moved but not moving on   like the fishes and pebbles.   Here I am, disturbed and abstracted, surrounded by this rippling, babbling, watery world,   which leaves me unclear who I am and, more unclear about the solidity of my background and what is happening around me. I look into two worlds which are intermingling, becoming inseparable before my gaze. My own distorted image fades and breaks with the images behind and beyond me in the background of my life. This river is becoming a metaphor for my own confusion. For the displacement and fragmentation I feel inside.   I am in danger of being broken up and washed away. Unable to bring myself together, I remain in pieces, undecided, lacking definition. It is also a metaphor which stretches beyond my person,   into the confusion and fragmentation beyond it’s edges