Poetry - Lynn White

  Hospital Poems First they banned flowers. Unhygienic, you see. Unsafe. With their smells and susceptibility to spillages so people brought poems  to hospitals. Then there was a pandemic. And people were banned. No visiting allowed Unhygienic, you see. Unsafe with their smells and susceptibility to carry infection so robots brought the poems to hospitals. Now things have moved on, progress, you see. Now robots write the poems they bring to hospitals. Soon people won’t notice  the difference. Soon people won’t remember the difference. https://4fpflower.blogspot.com/2026/05/lynn-white.html

  Hair First came the flowers, then the songs, of hope of  love  of peace, harmonies of living becoming intertwined with hair. Then came the spikes, the streaks and shaves of grungy aggression despair and fear of what lies outside with the snakes in the wilderness. And now we’re here in that wilderness and there’s a medley of coloured words the dark and bright pasts intertwined in the words and in our hair. https://4fpflower.blogspot.com/2026/05/lynn-white.html

  The Paradox Of Flowers There is a paradox held fast in the language of flowers, enclosed in their unchanging impermanency and it alarms me as it gives me hope. Only plastic flowers last forever but even the wildest blooms are locked up for life prisoners of their genes held tight with no remission no control of their destiny unremitting repetition  following the seasonal ebb and flow. Such is the paradox  of permanence  and impermanence locked up in the language of flowers. https://4fpflower.blogspot.com/2026/05/lynn-white.html

  Will You Wear An Earring Will you wear an earring   for me clasp it to your flesh never mind the bruise never mind the pain. Will you wear this earring and give me a lip-sticky kiss. Will you wear my earring make a little hole   in your skin in your ear pierce it then   carefully thread it through and give me a lip-sticky kiss then let me see the writings   and pictures on your skin. Will you wear this earring   or will you keep you keep your skin pristine clear as a baby’s   unpierced unbruised unblemished aged like fine wine naturally. https://zenjenbrown.com/free-e-book-download

  A Blue Whale Look at them all   swimming round me taunting me   waving their legs at me   tickling me pinching me and swimming away constantly taunting me. No wonder I’m depressed. What a wheeze to make me the largest creature on the planet   need to eat one of the smallest. Well Joker, I’m not laughing. Forty million krill a day I need to eat according to Wiki. Yes, I keep up. I’m well informed but it doesn’t help me doesn’t make me feel better. To add to the insult I was given a tiny mouth, too small for the job. See, I’m hardly a basking shark swimming round all day with my mouth open so they can swim straight in. No, it’s open and close open and close till my jaw aches. No wonder I’m blue. https://shopbooksdirect.com/product/blue-from-the-red-penguin-collection/

    Ruby Oh Ruby Ruby, oh Ruby, black skin, white dress clear as the white and black in a black and white photograph. Ruby, oh Ruby, born to build bridges and grown to cement them into society. Ruby, oh Ruby, standing back to watch their bridges burn behind them. Ruby, oh Ruby, growing up a triumph, growing old triumphant. https://www.redrosethorns.com/post/ruby-oh-ruby

  Whispers In The Wind I sit here waiting for.. I don’t know  what I’m waiting for but it’s peaceful here amongst the trees letting the wind whisper  through me. https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2026/05/13/weather-and-time-poetry-by-lynn-white/

  Ill Wind Blow it away, the ill wind. Don’t let it in. Blow it away, then close up the gaps. But then.. what about the gentle breeze? That should have space to enter. And will we know which one is blowing when we feel the first touch. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Blow it away, the ill wind. Don’t let it in. But if there’s a sweet breath within it that should have space to enter and there’s only one way in. for both. https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2026/05/13/weather-and-time-poetry-by-lynn-white/

  Times Passed As each day ends I tick it off on my calendar. Finished! Done! Gone! Lost! But some will remain intact to be pictured  sometimes even heard almost re-lived as my memories. If only  I could choose  the ones to remember, open a window and look through, revisit those days and throw away the rest. Watch them leave forgotten, lost, gone really gone! But I can ’ t. They’re self selecting, those memories of passed days ebbing and flowing outside my control. https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2026/05/13/weather-and-time-poetry-by-lynn-white/