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Rosebush Many offered a hand to set me free. I told them to wear gloves and to beware of the thorns hidden amongst the blooms, ready to penetrate their skin, but no one heeded my warning, they were enchanted by the fragrance, bewitched by the beauty, the pastel pink delicacy of petals pleading to be picked and blind to the thorns ready to pierce ready to strike, thorns as hidden as the worms, the maggoty munchers now metamorphosing into manifestations of new growth, hands ungloved and unmarked elegantly enticing them to join me in the dark unsettling heart. https://www.exquisitedeathezine.com/rosebush-by-lynn-white.html
The Breathing Days In the days when I still breathed air, the days before living took my breath away, the days before I knew my soul was there. I thought about this time, this time of no light, the forever night time with no breath, no air to breathe. Just dust and darkness. And I pondered. Would there be slow decay or fast. Stillness or movement. Now I know. I know everything about the dust and darkness. But I can't tell you. Not now in these days of no breath, no air to speak. Only my soul can speak. Can you hear me? https://www.exquisitedeathezine.com/poetry.html
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.exquisitedeathezine.com/poetry.html
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 ...
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://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2025/02/01/talking-turkey-by-lynn-white/
Only A Rose It was only a rose I gave to you, a pink rose plucked from the bush carefully by my own fair hand. It was only a rose. But I knew you loved roses, loved each one more than the last as you took them smilingly from my own fair hands. The bush grew so many roses and hands. It seemed to know your love of them, those pink roses and my own fair hands plucked to make you a perfect bouquet. https://www.amazon.com/Alien-Buddha-Zine-71-black/dp/B0DTQ7V2V9?fbclid=IwY2xjawIIJxlleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHfONnxA9fcneVjgbrYAgD59-uT8yq1SM_6quZLVERGKqM9Qwy2WLxzlc4g_aem_tJrP4bho06buS57I98rglw
Pie In The Sky Souls would be saved, and little girls re-born as angels, that’s what they taught her in Sunday School when they’d sung ‘In The Sweet Bye and Bye’. She loved the tune, the melody and sang a snatch to her father. “That’s pie in the sky,” her father laughed. He sang the same tune to her but with different words. “Joe Hill wrote these” her father said and she liked those words better she was a child of life after all and didn’t want to wait for death to eat her pie. So she learned them all and sang them on the next Sunday. That was the last time she went to Sunday School. She was a bad influence, they had said. Her father laughed when she told him. She sighed and looked up at the sky. She knew there was no pie there, only on earth for the lucky ones. https://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=10956