Poetry - Lynn White

  Crusade They slaughtered them in the name of God their god, though any god would do and now their masks weep tears of blood it drips from their eyes,  like it dripped from their swords in red ruby like splashes as the bleeding began again, then black  like coal as decay started and the masks begin to crack, to distort and disintegrate, to flake away, to disappear as all masks will in the end until only  the tears  remain. https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2024/12/lynn-white.html

  The Taste of War Peace is more  than the absence of war though that would be a start. But the dissolving of boundaries constructed by humans to cordon off one from the other must follow so there is no need to shout across the divide in our different languages. Only then can we whisper and hug our way to peace. What we have now still tastes like war to me. https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2024/12/lynn-white.html

  It’s Dark Now There was a time when ‘it’s not dark yet” seemed apposite, suitably pessimistic for that time but with a ray of hope.  But now night is falling fast. In the wake of the Nazi holocaust no one offered excuses for them no exceptions were made. International organisations were set up to ensure that international laws were upheld. War criminals would be prosecuted without exception and states committing genocide would be sanctioned. But that was then. Now an exception is made for one state that has broken international law for decades without sanction and has committed plausible genocide, it’s leaders now identified as war criminals. Now, as darkness falls, even with unanimity between all  international organisations and all aid agencies, it is those organisations and those agencies who are vilified, demonised, denounced and threatened not the state accused,  not the perpetrators. They are excused. The most powerful of nations  are on their side ...

  Seed Shells  The first seeds were sown a long time ago. When these small seed shells burst open they were scattered locally. They grew patchily at first, in Palestine, in Israel, in Lebanon and throughout the Arab world. There were only little streams to irrigate and fertilise them, so they often failed to thrive. But that was then.  Now the shells have grown bigger and the seeds have flown further. Further and further. And the streams have grown wider and longer. And more nutritious.  When the seed shells have burst in this century, they found ground that was even more fertile. So more and more has come under cultivation, irrigated and fertilised now from rivers,  rivers of blood. So well irrigated, so well nurtured and tended that the patches of brown soil became rare indeed. But there were some. Later seeds spread wider over Gaza. As larger seed shells broke and splintered they found and colonised new areas  outside the brown patches where it was now e...

  Our Street This was us our street before the bombs fell and turned it to rubble and ashes and turned us to dust and ashes. This is us our street where the lights shine brightly and the Liquor Store is open for party goers, where the buildings stand neatly in line, where tomorrows are as predictable as todays still. This is the US where the bombs don’t fall. https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2024/12/lynn-white.html

  Apples Are Not The Only Fruit Apples are not the only fruit but they come in a wider colour range than oranges and without the dark side that came with Winterson. All’s well in the world of apples conspiring daily to keep the doctor away. https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2024/11/driving-in-cloud.html

  Hair First came the flowers, then the song then many songs of hope of   love   of peace. Harmonies of living becoming intertwined with hair. Then came the spikes, the streaks and shaves of grungy aggression despair and fear of what lies outside in the wild with the snakes, out there in the wild. And now we’re here in the wilderness and there’s a medley of coloured words the dark and bright pasts intertwined in the words and in her hair. https://medium.com/thestripesmag/hair-by-lynn-white-unbound-2c910b5d0005

  Round And Round Round and round,  go the gaudy horses  trotting cantering  round and round the small sawdust ring with the Ring Master in control holding his whip close making sure the show goes on. Round and round they go, with a bareback rider  glamorous smiling swaying on a rump, but the smiles are fading now  and the once bright horses  drab and disheveled now hoping for the clowns to give them a break they’re staggering  lurching round and round  their treadmill. Round and round. Round and round. Just one more revolution and they'll be ready. Ready to bite the hands that refused to feed them. Round and round. Round and round. Only one more revolution, to sharpen up the teeth.  Round and round, just one more revolution. What a circus https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2024/11/send-in-o-never-mind.html