Poetry - Lynn White

  Remnants It’s later than you think or maybe sooner they’re all that are left now the letters waiting  ready to be formed into words must try to sort themselves  into words that will never be spoken. And the words already written the manuscript  unread ready for a reader  who will never find them never read them. And the colours  of paint and paper fabric clay ready  to be put together reformed into a beauty never to be seen or even imagined. And the worn clothes still warm almost almost warm already worn stuffed into black bags ready  to be worn again. All that remains now it’s later than you think or maybe sooner. Too late for them anyway. https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2025/11/30/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-14/2/

  The Circle Game I was running round in circles, or that’s how it felt, going nowhere from no beginning to no end just round and round in colour splattered circles a palette I picked up from living  on the edge of this mad, mad world. And I have to live on the edge. In the middle there are huge holes hovering, waiting, ready to suck me in. I must take care not to deviate, not to fall through the circle into the great white hole  where the running will stop and everything will end in madness. https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2025/11/30/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-14/2/

  Glitterati See how they shine, hair sprayed and polished, lips glossed, sequinned gowns shimmering like sapphire stardust to march their sparkling eyes. But I wonder, if you peel them  like the ripe fruit they seem, will you find lusciousness inside or only dry flesh and a dusty kernel, no stars or sapphires, only dust that’s lost its glitter. That’s when you’ll know it was all just art. https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2025/11/30/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-14/2/

  I’ll Climb Alone I’m strong enough now to climb alone. I won’t allow the creepers and crawlers and climbers to hold me back, to inch into me like ivy covering a wall. I’ll climb alone. Go straight up the bleached white staircase  shining through  the undergrowth showing me the way up and over. Quickly now before it encroaches, before it overwhelms me. Up and over. I know I can do it. I’m strong enough now. https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2025/11/30/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-14/2/

  Circles Of Light I’d walked down the street many times and not noticed them in both day and night time. I’d driven down many times and not noticed them in both day and night time Such innocuous road markings seen so often they become unseen. But tonight I saw the street from above and saw how the trees lights lit up the markings in orange and blue circles moonstruck like an art installation painting circles of light and making the ordinary into extraordinary. https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2025/11/30/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-14/2/

Earwigs My neighbour was sweeping up. “Beware of earwigs,” she said. “they go in through your ear, crawl round your brain and tickle you to death” Her name was Rosie. She cleaned trains for a living. No earwig survived where she swept. Fortunately not many travelled by train. https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2025/11/super-sized-series_02134395086.html

  On Our Bikes We only had two bikes between the five of us. Mine was a very grand drop handle barred affair given by our next door neighbours’ daughter when she finally left home. Roger’s was an old ‘sit up and beg’ with a bit of rust and brakes that (unknown to his mother) did not work. Our parents supported us on our faltering two wheels, first in our back yards, then in the street, where we taught the rest. Then we were off!   On the road! Brakes or no brakes, it wasn’t a problem! Just made the hills more or less exciting and there was little traffic. All the roads on our estate were allowed, only the bottom road, the main road bordering the countryside,   was forbidden and we obeyed. We didn’t ride there. Then a catastrophe struck. It was a perfect storm. The combination of the steep hill,   the junction with the bottom road, the bike with no brakes,   traveling unavoidably, at full speed,   and a car passing along the bottom road at that precise momen...

  The Neighbours Fish The neighbours had asked her to feed their fish. They were going on a short holiday. It sounded straightforward, should have been straightforward. “But I overfed it,” she said, “and it burst open, exploded all over the place.” She looked glum. “But that wasn’t the worst of it. Next thing is the dog’s eaten it. And that wasn’t the end of it, next thing is he started to be sick, just puked it up all over their carpet.” She looked glum. “The carpet’s wrecked,” she said. https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2025/11/super-sized-series_02134395086.html