Poetry - Lynn White

  All That Is Solid There’s an ill wind blowing, gale force at least laden with ice and snow a real blizzard, so keep your head down, head for home, don’t let it in close up the gaps and wait. Wait until the storm passes leaving all eerily quiet. Wait for the sun to return bringing rainbows. and the breeze to grow gentle with a sweet breath and a warmth to break the ice with colour. Wait for the delicate flowers to show through the shattered soil, melting the frozen silence. Make a space then, an opening for a warmth, that will shatter the ice. Yes, even the solid will melt away and make it all worthwhile. https://spillwords.com/all-that-is-solid/

  Leap of Faith We make it look easy, dancers always do.   Even out here on the heath performance is all. The rest is hidden behind the scenes usually in the sweaty studio. It took a leap of faith to carry on working alone month after month with no prospect of performance, of audience, of applause of income. But we’re out now out in the sun   jumping for joy leaping with faith ready to go again. https://feedthehol.blogspot.com/2026/04/leap-of-faith-by-lynn-white.html

  Message Understood He rescued it from the ocean, just a note enveloped in glass as fragile as the love that once enveloped him. He could make no reply, knew there could be none, that it was all washed up and all that was left remnants ready to float away in an ocean of tears, But he won’t let them go. Before, he’d felt as lost and pointless as the pages of an unread book as hollow as the coconut shells scattered there around the deck empty broken bereft. Soon the shells will be floating to join the ship again. But he has left they have left, him and the boy, he could only take one, though he tried for more. They walked away. A...

  Now I Am Bald Now I am bald and a fashionista by default, as it was never my fashion before and no one followed me but now,   heads are shaved as if following in my footsteps, following my trail   of discarded hair now lost   with my identity.   Now I am bald, my head as naked as my fears fears I can’t lose,   fears unattached while my hair is un-attachable, filling the teeth of my comb, and lying on my pillow in tufts of terror. Chemo does that - forces me to hunger for my loss forces me to follow or face my fate bewigged   Now I am bald. https://maatsfeather.digital/Lynn-White

  Valuables Once I had so many. Now they’ve metamorphosed but still I will carry them with care, those precious things filling my head, once dreams,   now memories. https://maatsfeather.digital/Lynn-White

  It’s Behind You Sometimes you just can’t see it however closely you look, a case of the wood hiding the trees with the elephant there in the room.   For safety's sake you need to take a wider view three hundred and sixty degrees if there’s no audience to shout it out. Get ready to run. https://stickfigurepoetry.com/issue-21/#behind-white

  Figure of Speech “Mad world, mad kings, mad composition,” said Shakespeare’s King John speaking anaphorically. Who could disagree in those times or in these or in most times in between. It takes an abstraction   to show it clearly,   to figure it out. A figure to illustrate it perfectly. A figure that sums it up   A figure that says it all. https://poetrywivenhoe.org/2026/04/day-1234-figure-of-speech-white/

  Wasted How many candles must I light to commemorate all the dead souls, all the lives wasted in wars without end. So many that candle making   became a profitable industry, its candles even surviving death. I have never lit such a candle. My time wasted has been   in protests for peace, in dreams of peace. My voice has been wasted in words of peace in poems of peace. And now I wonder   if there be anyone left to waste a candle for me. https://www.ivoreview.com/issues/issue-three-confession/

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  Immortality They tried them all, the amulets and potions of their time and place. Some worked for a time but death overcame them in the end  and proclaimed their ungodlike mortality. They were buried like treasure with their treasures  from this life readied for the next, living on only in memories which faded like funeral flowers. It was not enough. So portraits were painted  on the bindings of mummies or the wooden lids of coffins, stone effigies were carved  on tombstones, but only  for the rich and already godlike. It’s democratised now. Ceramic portraits carefully incorporated into gravestones, likenesses to be viewed  down the centuries, glimpses of a life passed, a brush with immortality. https://inalove.world/2026/03/18/immortality/

  Time And Place What did he do that little boy when he Resisted the Occupation, for that was the charge against him. If he killed, it seems it was a soldier out of place illegally placed in that place. But sometimes in some places illegal becomes legal and resistance is criminal. Sometimes in those places, to exist is crime enough for some,  those whose childhood is stolen whose youth is stolen whose land is stolen like that boy in that place where power not law defines legality. https://inalove.world/2026/02/18/time-and-place/