Poetry - Lynn White

Caged It’s pleasant enough  wandering these pathways flanked by the tall rectangular cages,  each protected by a steel door with a security code. Even pleasanter later,  when the cages become  walled enclosures of decorative brick,  surrounding green spaces. Intricate metal gates protect them with a security code. Occasionally a creature may emerge, sometimes with barred teeth and raised claws. But mostly looking sad  and out of condition. Lost inside themselves. Poor things. Lost souls searching. Mostly though, I encounter them outside. Moving purposefully to a destination, not free to take random pathways, like me. Or desperately heading back to their cages, hoping there is no diversion  which may leave them lost. Leave them to encounter the terror of the unforeseen circumstances  that might arise from freedom. Freedom  to be lost. Poor things. Lost sou...

How Will I Know You How will I know you, the man behind the mask. I can recognise you with the mask in place. And sometimes it may slip and reveal .... another layer, another mask, perhaps masquerading as an unguarded comment wearing stage clothes, even if naked. You are in there somewhere. But even though I peel off layer after layer, uncover mystery after mystery I still never find you. First Published in Firewords Quarterly, Issue 6, 2016 http://firewords.co.uk/shop/digital/issue6

                            Through the Glass Alice saw herself in her looking glass and walked through into a topsy turvy world where everything was back to front and inside out. She drifted into a dreamscape of madness and unreality,  without breaking the glass. Uncut by the shards of her mirror  or the place she entered into. She had only to wake to make  things the right way round again. But walking through a clear glass, a transparent window, it would have been different. Her reflection would float  towards a place where everything  seemed the right way round. Where everything made sense and added up sweet with reason. A place without madness, which looked easy to enter and had no sharp edges. Apparently. But this glass forms an invisible barrier to the other side and the life that seduces and entices her. And to get through ...

VEILED Lynn White I wear my hair like a veil covering all. Covering all that is not already covered and needs to be, they insist. But it is not enough. I can still see  when it parts and still be seen. I can still move freely. It is not enough, they insist. I need the mask of the broad, blue blindfold to tether me, they insist. And I wonder, will this be enough? 98 http://visualverse.org/ First published in Visual Verse, July 2016

Miss Pass My first best friend was Susan. We were inseparable. Soon we would be starting school. Starting at the same school. It shouldn't be a problem. But Susan was three months older and this was a problem. She must start earlier and we would be parted. Unthinkable!! Such concern from our parents. But all was well. It wouldn't be a problem. And all thanks to Miss Pass, the headmistress, a wonderful woman who understood the feelings  of small children. We could start together and in the same class. She was a shining example  to teachers everywhere. We knew it as we hung our coats on pegs next to each other in the cloakroom. But a few days later  when we had settled in, disaster struck. We were to be in different classes. Such tears and trauma as we hugged and kissed and said goodbye at our pegs in the cloakroom each morning and afternoon. And all because of Miss Pass, the headmistress, a stupid woman who had no idea about the feel...

Every Breath It's interesting to consider that every breath I take has already been breathed by someone else, another person or creature. Been part of their breath. Perhaps that dog over there,  smelly and hairy,  licking it's own arse. I would prefer not to have  molecules of oxygen from it's breath entering my blood stream,  giving me life. But there's nothing I can do about it. Have to take what comes. Breath the air that's there wherever it's been before. Rebellion is not an option. https://www.ucm.es/…/…/docs/119-2016-07-07-JACLR%204.1.L.pdf

Sweet Heart He’d seen it glint earlier when a shaft of light hit the open box. He kept watch till they left. Back now, still watchful. Turn his head this way, then that.  No cats. No humans. Upturned the box  and seized his prize glinting gold among the dull browns and creams. Carried it off. Then carried it home, a home now fit for his new lover, his sweet heart. But he didn’t unwrap it. Didn’t discover the greater prize lying under the surface glitter. Didn’t find the jewel  of sweetness in the centre. Soon life dulled the surface glitter, screwed it up. And  the sweet heart  melted in the warmth, Melted into sticky goo. Melted away as sweet hearts do. First published in Harbinger Asylum, Literary Review, October, 2015 https://treehousearts.me/