Poetry - Lynn White

  Actors In Search Of A Play In every performance on the World Stage their are those   landing the leads. Then there’s the rest - the main players the coming up the soon to be forgotten   or remembered, the speakers   and walk-ons, the has-beens, the also rans propositioning the Producer desperate to find a play, desperate to find a place in any cast. All metaphors for a state, once a great player, puffed up with muscular might, and a starring role in every play, invading, colonising, great at genocide but now faded and fragile, self-starved and skeletal, once mighty muscles wasted, infra-structure broken and decayed deluded and overspent mighty only in mind   a washed up actor pleading for a play pleading for a place somewhere in the cast. https://newversenews.blogspot.com/2026/09/actors-in-search-of-play.html

  The Sound of Silence Silence is complicated. It can be comfortable and companionable   like the silence between us now. We see others though, where silence rests heavily, as they seek speech to bridge the gap  of discomfort, which lies uneasily between them. We will not allow this silence space, Worse is the fear of a future silence, a cold space,  where we have nothing to say to each other. A silence where we are still together, but distant, remote, without feeling, drifting into our private spheres,  that we do not want to share. No touching warmth, but a place where we are unable to excite each other even with conversation. We know dangerous silences too, seething with an anger that pours from our closeness and expresses itself, tightly wound, as it passes through us. We communicate this only too effectively and may break ourselves, before this silent storm. Speech could not help us anyway, its violent words threaten only to separate us, to blow away the ve...

  Back Then He was so exciting back then such a dresser, quiff falling over face, cigarette hanging from lips cool, cool, so cool  back then. And he found me exciting he found me cool, I was the envy of my friends  back then. And now, where are they now  that boy and girl from back then. Not here though  still sharing space but remote disconnected from each other with uncool clothes and uncool hairstyles dreaming of what they had dreaming of what they lost dreaming of how they were back then. //4fpremote.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwY2xjawUbPuhwZG9mAWV4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkEDIyMjAzOTE3ODgyMDA4OTIAAR7ra5dLKN_P0Azp2gEyzAGjhIs9bWwOLcSyJtiqEJWnpDMNB-OeHqklwi1TPQ_aem_EtgGSpGLJegAEapW7bxTRA

  Surprise Me Sometimes evolution surprises me. Walking upright on two legs but not tall enough  to pick apples from the tree and quite the wrong shape to nibble those strawberries without back-breaking pain seems unlikely natural development. But prediction is difficult. In the 1950s I read an article that predicted humans would evolve to grow an arm extra long arm to expiate the need to leave the sofa to turn on the tv or to turn it off. Technology put paid to that one It seemed remote then unsurprising later with a click of the remote. Three arms would be useful though, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened but three legs,  who needs them? That would surprise me. //4fpremote.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwY2xjawUbPuhwZG9mAWV4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkEDIyMjAzOTE3ODgyMDA4OTIAAR7ra5dLKN_P0Azp2gEyzAGjhIs9bWwOLcSyJtiqEJWnpDMNB-OeHqklwi1TPQ_aem_EtgGSpGLJegAEapW7bxTRA

  The Sound Of Silence Sometimes the silence speaks   louder than the words, louder than the music as loud as the sounds inside my head. Sometimes the silence shouts and I turn on the radio and open the window and block up my ears to shut it out. Once it was a welcome guest entering as others left. Once it was a time of peace, a quiet time alone, a rare time alone. Now it’s all there is, that deafening silence. https://poeticphilosophy.com/2026/08/30/loud-silence-september-2026/

The Ditch She lies dead. Dead as ditchwater her blood leached out in a perfect ribbon bright to the end her end bright but dead. Dead as ditchwater. https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-challenges/fred-ingrams-ekphrastic-responses-curated-by-kate-copeland

  Shadow Puppets I still see you in the shadows. It’s where you’ve always been  casting shadows over my life playing your part in its theatre while staying hidden  to project an image which makes me feel as manipulated  as you surely are behind that screen. It will take courage  to draw back the blind to let me see your features, let me see who you are and who you can be when you’re free, when we both are free. So step forward. Step out of the shadows  and on to the stage to greet me. When I see your smile we’ll rewrite our parts free of the puppet master and out of the shadows. https://www.ozymandeus.com/writing/glanypwll3/shadow-puppets

  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.amazon.com/dp/B0HK6BL9HV

  Longing The years have passed but still she yearns for the child   that once grew in her body. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HK6BL9HV

  A Class Act Post war Britain laid out for you. Straight streets, curving crescents, row upon row planning perfection public and private space, orderly amenities everything within a walk all catered for everyone housed. And there was class, working, of course and all were working. Those were the days of full employment and garden estates before   climate change before twenty minute cities. A class act. https://masticadorestaiwan.wordpress.com/2026/09/17/a-class-act-by-lynn-white/