Poetry - Lynn White

  Seeding The bomb blew up the water melon. It exploded shredding its pink flesh and scattering its seeds. The bombs blew up the water melons. They exploded shredding their pink flesh and scattering their seeds. Bombs and more bombs scattering seeds  to make more water melons. https://moleculetinylitmag.art.blog/?fbclid=IwY2xjawNwOlVleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHo-nAD3J6kt6gtJ0UAvrgdF3z_X7gaI29HPnUDwATM1u9hlQHzEgVQGkHD9__aem_7Gfi731e81l0Cc_o85-Q1g

  The Earth Is Broken Hold the moon carefully, it’s very fragile so easily broken   by the human touch, so easily broken just like the earth was broken, just like the earth is broken. https://publicreverie.com/the-earth-is-broken-and-with-open-eyes-two-poems-by-lynn-white/

  With Open Eyes I have my eyes open now and I can see the sky   framed by debris, by rocks, by wire, by dereliction. Framed   by sharpness and impenetrable barriers. I want to see it clear, like I remember when my eyes were closed clear and unblemished creamy white and pink and blue. I want want to see it framed by trees, I want to see the rocks become flowers   again. I want to go back to where the birds are singing breaking up the sky with flight. Does it still exist, this place? I don’t think so. Will it ever exist again? I must believe so. https://publicreverie.com/the-earth-is-broken-and-with-open-eyes-two-poems-by-lynn-white/

  Death of Empathy When empathy died the soldiers could dance in the streets they’d cracked wearing the underwear of the women whose homes they had destroyed. And dance they did with pride. When empathy was dead   the soldiers could take children’s toys from the rubble of their bombed homes and repurpose them as tank trophies mascots to be flaunted with pride while the street cracked under the weight. When they had killed empathy   the soldiers could shoot babies in the head or gut - they chose, and someone’s daughter 200 times,   or 300 - they could choose. And they filmed it with pride from the street’s rubble and cracks. When empathy was murdered the soldiers could capture children and imprison them in cages, one metre square, or whatever they chose until they told them   what they did not know and then laugh with pride in the smooth Israeli streets. When empathy was dead and buried deep down below the streets’ cracks and only silence could be heard Israel wa...

  Terrorism It has been said that terrorism is the war of the poor. And war is the terrorism of the rich soldiers are state terrorists. The dead and maimed can’t tell the difference. Perhaps the only difference is the scale of destruction   and wealth from those owners   of the means of destruction. So does that make workers soldiers of terrorists and culpable   either way. Soldiers versus terrorist. Terrorists versus soldiers. Who will win their wars. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FWX74KXF?fbclid=IwY2xjawNsxHNleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHpl76NCic-Cvom8qC1WeVkq3-eloolTHvEUqW17DjDbS7UC_td9feCqK-Cjd_aem_yH9uFIp4eFYCHplarK5-1w

  Jack It was a turnip long before it became a pumpkin, pumpkins weren’t grown here back then and, after our little party together I surely needed protection to keep the devil at bay. It had seemed a good idea to invite him for a drink and a good opportunity to part him from his cash. I thought robbing the devil would keep me in drinks all my life! But I was a fool, a mean and stingy fool now forbidden from both heaven and hell. And hell would have been kinder to me than this eternal wandering, my way lit only with a devilish lantern glowing grotesquely with my fool’s fire. So spare a kind thought for me on Halloween and let me close my eyes and sleep. https://spillwords.com/jack-by-lynn-white/

 All That Glitter It glitters like gold. But is it gold or base metal being worked on by an alchemist.. undergoing transformation, perhaps with a touch of magic, with an elixir of immortality, an illusion. Or perhaps base oil transformed to sparkly plastic glitter with all too real immortality. Glittering, littering with everlasting life, all that glitter. https://latinosenglishedition.wordpress.com/2025/10/08/featuring-lynn-whites-poetry-editor-francisco-bravo-cabrera/comment-page-1/#comment-3373

  Afterfall   The colours   of fall are filling the air reds, yellows, golds and silvers swirling and falling in the splendour of fall. But this season of colour   and fruitfulness is also the season   of mists and monochrome of grey skies, of damp,   decay and death. Joy and apprehension together in harmony usually. And usually   nature   has kept to the script, repeated the pattern of millennia but now she’s ripping it up and letting it fall with the leaves. And soon, one day soon I think   only the grey will appear and only the grey will remain to portend a bleak wintery   future. https://latinosenglishedition.wordpress.com/2025/10/08/featuring-lynn-whites-poetry-editor-francisco-bravo-cabrera/comment-page-1/#comment-3373