Longing The years have passed but still she yearns for the child that once grew in her body. https://www.lulu.com/shop/arden/the-pocket-poet/paperback/product-v82vk45.html?page=1&pageSize=4
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Apples Are Not The Only Fruit Apples are not the only fruit once forbidden but no more. And they come in a wider colour range than oranges without the dark side that came with Winterson. Now, even in Paradise all is well in the world of apples conspiring daily to keep the doctor away, just take a bite to begin. https://www.lulu.com/shop/arden/the-pocket-poet/paperback/product-v82vk45.html?page=1&pageSize=4
Art Exhibition The egg box was so sculptural, a mirror of life in textured paper, almost a work of art. And then I remembered the glasses left behind in a museum of modern art by error or intent, real glasses, not the “ne sont pas les lunettes” Magrittean sort, I could feel some guerrilla art hatching as I ate a white chocolate egg and resisted the other. I made my way to the Art Gallery and placed the egg box on a table, between the other exhibits and opened it to show the Magrittean egg inside. Just the one egg seemed most fitting especially since I’d eaten the rest. I had already written the title card. But such a work deserved two titles one above and one below the artist’s name, my name, of course. First came: “THIS IS NOT AN EGG” and underneath: “THIS IS NOT AN EXHIBIT” It was perfectly placed and looked magnificently subversively ironic. I think Magritte would be proud of my effort. And now I must wait to see if anyone notices. https://cactifur.com/2026/09/02/lynn-white-ar...
The Death of Empathy When empathy died the soldiers could dance in the underwear of the women whose homes they had destroyed. And dance they did with pride. You can see it in the films they made. When empathy was dead the soldiers could steal children’s toys from the rubble of their bombed homes and repurpose them as tank trophies mascots to be flaunted with pride. You can see it in the films they made. 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 though there were fewer films now ‘enjoy yourselves but don’t film’, they had been ordered and most followed orders. When empathy was dead and buried and only silence could still be heard, Israel was supreme, a supreme being, godlike in its power. Human rights were dead, humans would follow any of them even all when empathy was no more no one watched the films. https://www.abilitymaine.org/bs20...
Some Of Them Are Brave Everyone knew it was happening the unheard story the tens of thousands dead, the millions displaced, the decades of rubble, the destroyed schools. hospitals, universities everyone knew. Everyone knew it was happening the unheard story even though the journalists were dead or expelled and banned everyone knew. Everyone knew it was happening the unheard story of the hundreds or thousands, or tens of thousands who had disappeared uncharged with any crime or misdemeanour everyone knew. Then three Israeli workers blew their whistles loud and everyone heard what everyone knew. https://samanthaterrell.weebly.com/shine-poetry-series/sept-1-lynn-white
Colonel America Calling The dove sat carefully on Liberty lining her nest with down. A few feathers fell free a few loose feathers fluttering down to feather the nests below. She cooed sweetly but her new chick said ‘coo-ark’ mimicking her, then ‘quark, then ’yawp’ as it grew stronger, she saw her cuckooed dove hatchling was a mocking bird, calling in New-Speak straining to be understood, straining for more space, more gas, more gold, more like a colonising colonel, whose eagle’s eye preys south then north. East then West are following next if we don’t clip his wings. https://samanthaterrell.weebly.com/shine-poetry-series/sept-1-lynn-white
Midsummer Madness I saw a rabbit in the clouds it was eating something, but what was it? Didn’t look like a carrot, more like an ice cream cone, well it was a hot day. Perhaps it was no rabbit but a hare with a touch of midsummer madness. Later it re arranged itself and became a cat, quite definitely cat, a Cheshire Cat no doubt about it hoping to join Hare and Alice at the tea party. And who knows, if the White Rabbit is on time maybe he’ll bring ice cream for all. Anything can happen on a midsummer afternoon. https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2026/09/01/alice-poems-by-lynn-white/
Certain And Impossible Events Age is surely a certainty, or so Alice had thought after all birthdays are hardly impossible events arriving each year on the same day, as they certainly do. But the Red Queen assured her that certainty was unnecessary when it came to determining age. You are just as old as you feel and seeing was believing anyway. So Alice reconsidered her hypothesis. The older one gets the more difficult it is to know for certain, she thought. How can one judge the wrinkles under make-up or Botox. It was impossible to be certain. Really, she decided as she looked through her looking glass, age should become one of the six impossible things to believe before breakfast. https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2026/09/01/alice-poems-by-lynn-white/
A Question of Place ‘Who the fuck is Alice?’ said the March Hare inhaling hard. ‘She’s rather large’ said Dormouse coughing as the smoke ring engulfed him. ‘I find her quite intimidating, actually, not the little girl I expected. Really, I hope Hattie doesn’t invite her to the party. I don’t think she would quite fit in.’ ‘You’ll sleep through it anyway’, said the White Rabbit consulting his watch. ‘It’s time. We should go.’ The March Hare lit another cigarette. ‘We should all change places if she’s there’ said Dormouse. The March Hare blew out more smoke rings. ‘Who the fuck cares if she fits in or not, in a mad world no one has a place. Hatter knows that. He’ll be asking her questions. He knows the place of madness.’ ‘All in good time’, said the White Rabbit consulting his watch. ‘He’ll ask her who she is’. ‘There’s no answer to that’ said Dormouse. ‘No one knows who they are’. March Hare lit a cigarette. ‘If she can’t answer Hatter’s question...