Poetry - Lynn White

  We’re All Doomed “We’re all doomed”, he said. Well, so we are! From the moment of our birth, no, before then some don’t make it that far, expelled by the body to parts unknown. As I child  I thought that living with such knowledge should be hellish, impossible to live with happily. If I were god, it would be my little joke. Forget Satan  and his fiery furnace, the nonsense of an underworld, the craziness of constant rebirth. Life is hell. I explained my theory at Sunday School when aged nine and three-quarters. It didn’t go down well. But it still seems to me that god is the creator of the first conspiracy theories and humans still don’t get it. So he still has the last laugh after all! https://ephemeralelegies.com/2024/09/16/were-all-doomed-by-lynn-white/

  Grenfell - Graveyard of Dreams The blackened carcass remained, still standing where all else had fallen. A jagged tower,   the bare bones   of dreams standing   still. Still as the dreams that were lost, stopped in their tracks. Standing still the graveyard of the lost, the lost   dreams and dreamers. https://dissidentvoice.org/2024/09/grenfell-graveyard-of-dreams/

    Sparked He looked down at her. Eyes deliberately   downcast. lips not expecting to be met. So it was a surprise when she kissed him. His eyebrows twitched with the charge, There was a spark. The spark. The spark that lay in a devil’s kiss. The spark that would ignite the fire which would consume him. https://www.disturbtheuniversemagazine.com/2024/09/sparked-by-lynn-white.html

Lost Opportunities Every day I grieve for the missed opportunities in this country, the man we could have had as leader now speaking on a smaller stage now reaching a smaller audience with a message of peace and reconciliation, of investment in society not weapons. Everyday I grieve   for the missed opportunities in that other county where the man they could have had as leader now speaks on a smaller stage, now reaches a smaller audience with a message of peace and reconciliation, of investment in society not weapons. Everyday I grieve for the missed opportunities to build a better world where human rights are respected wherever humans live, where violence is deplored whoever the perpetrators. Where international law is upheld so those who break it face justice whoever they are, wherever they are. Where there is nowhere to hide for those who break it Where there are no smoke screens   of meaningless words but only exposure. Every day I grieve for a world where only the Corbyns and the

  After The End The sideboard was full of magazines. Not whole magazines but pages torn from them. Pages of recipes. Meals never eaten. Exotic desserts never attempted. Guests never invited or entertained. At least the furniture had been used, had had many years of use. The clothes had been worn, the pictures admired and enjoyed. But the recipes were the saddest thing. So many of them for so many people who never came. https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2024/09/14/after-the-end-by-lynn-white-all-about-my-mother-series/

 https://www.littlefishmag.com/copy-of-whitnee-coy

  Two Faced It’s seems I have two faces, one is my full face   revealing all apparently, the other a profile one sided partial. But they’re the same face, different views but the same face, just the one face. But still I have two faces one dark and one light, two different faces revealing all of lives interventions hiding in there. I think it’s the same for you a face full of revelation or one side at a time hiding in the dark and the light. https://words-empiremagazine.blogspot.com/2024/09/about-face-poetry-by-lynne-white.html

  About Face In those streets of men and boys, in that country   for men and boys, he felt like a man with no face, his face space occupied by a swirling mist of confusion. So he had to wait,   as they all waited, for it to settle down to see what emerged if anything did. Sometimes   he wished for a blank space that he could fill himself with a Magritte apple or even a woman un-blanked and visible. Sometimes he wished he could wear the same face every day, wake up with it in place and know it would stay, know what he would be, what he could be every day. https://words-empiremagazine.blogspot.com/2024/09/about-face-poetry-by-lynne-white.html

  Buried Treasure It was full of old glass bottles, vases, broken plates and jugs all remnants from long ago, an old village landfill full of rubbish now part of my garden. I’m slowly emptying it of its treasure, once unwanted items washed clean   till they gleam like shining jewels the old glass perfect   in its imperfection distorting vision enhancing it with mystery. They stand proudly now with the light shining through. Their light. Carrying the past into the present that old glass   dug up from my garden. https://poetrywivenhoe.org/2024/09/day-650-buried-treasure-white/