Review of 2 of my poems in Cease and Caesura!



https://ceaseandcaesuralit.substack.com/p/contributors-corner-lynn-white?fbclid=IwY2xjawLHeLBleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHj5Upm9pvl075Dnv-cM18cIs4xaeIha27GJchFkX6bmkRVzfDHbh13mm7suw_aem_6-BbU7XQK8yhS7uOBhZFSw


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
     Jacko I saw him flapping around in the grass, one wing at an improbable angle. I chased him, caught him, wrapped him   carefully in my cerise and navy school scarf. Jack, jack, jacko.. Then it was a bus ride to the charity vet who set the broken wing, wrapped it carefully in plaster, a heavy pot. He was subdued on the bus home, but still managed to greet my mother, Jack, jack, jacko. He perked up later after tea and explored the living room placing bits of straw artistically and decorating them with pooh. Which was why   he had to live   at school, home   only for weekends. Jack, jack jacko! But he enjoyed bus journeys now and greeted all the passengers, hopping from shoulder to shoulder, waking them up with a wang from his pot, nibbling an ear here and a nostril there. Most were   charmed, but some   were not. He was close to becoming the only jackdaw to be banned from public transport. Jack, jack, jacko!! And then disaster! the wing ha...
Read more
Image
  Unexpected We didn’t expect the revolution to be televised but this one never leaves our screens and there are more screens now more screens and more screams as they televise genocide as well. We didn’t expect our revolution to be televised we expected we’d make it live bring it into life then live it. We didn’t expect to re-play the revolution we expected it to outlive us to stay alive forever with no re-run and no need for a re-run. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1DIwy12kFAX1KqJp-6Yn9kDc0lnxjBBnG/view?fbclid=IwY2xjawMGq5RleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHuPwnPmJQFb0l6VI6bR7Eh8CUNcGhscsmMYnPHW16LwmNAeJg2aI_P-pdtBW_aem_xp1IOZeKfQpegLi1HOG7tA
Read more
Image
  Photo Opportunity I watched the man crossing the path underneath the cascade of the waterfall. It had been part of the route wine was carried from the high lands, to be sold on the coast. Back in the old days, that was. But the old days weren’t very long ago. He seemed confident as he placed a foot carefully in each of the footholds hacked into the precipitous rock face. He gripped the thick metal hawser attached to the rock with strong metal rings. Gripped it firmly and proceeded slowly one step at a time. I had a camera and I thought that it was a picture he would like to have when he was dry and safe back on terra firma. Then I thought, suppose he falls, falls into the waves, to be smashed against the rocks far below. I didn’t want to have such a picture, a picture of someone’s last moments and I thought, to take it may jinx his journey and even cause him to fall. So I never took the picture. But it made no difference. The man fell anyway. https://coldrambler.blogspot.com/2024...
Read more