Poetry - Lynn White

Candles 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 has become a profitable industry. The more deaths, the more candles. Will there be anyone left to light a candle for me? http://tuckmagazine.com/2017/08/02/poetry-947/ http://tuckmagazine.com/2017/08/02/poetry-947/ Tuck Magazine 2017 Online Political, Lit, Human Rights and Arts magazine TUCKMAGAZINE.COM | BY  TUCK MAGAZINE

Orange Light Orange is at the cheerful end of the spectrum. It should spill out it’s zest so I can live and love in a golden shower, taste exotic fruit, engulfed in an ecstasy of orange light, be part of a story with a happy ending, full of sunshine. Bright gleaming reds and yellows are not far away. Orange is their combination, inevitably. Yellow and red. Cowardly, acidic and dangerous when parted from each other. Colours have different moods when separated. As we do. So this palette can hide more than it reveals. And now it forms a mask on the face of black despair, a bright new dawn that breaks the surface, but one which is not wanted, not desired. A flash of lightening breaking up the continuum of my horizon. There’s a cloud of bright dust swirling in a stormy sky, with darkness following blocking out the sun, destroying the light Rain like tears must follow as the light disperses and the golden sun is cracked open to reveal it’s inner stone. This bright cloak of oran...

Through The Glass Darkly The windows are all aglow. A cacophony of colour giving glimpses of other peoples’ lives. Snapshots into different worlds. Shapes still and moving. A little exposure sometimes a mystery revealed. Stories to be told from different imaginings. A cacophony of colour, until the lights go out. http://www.riverpoetsjournal.com/SpecialEditions-Anthologies.html

Skull The skull lies desolate on the bare mountain side. Just lies there among the rocks.  Lies still with a few accompanying bones. Each day it decays as wind and rain weather it and destroys its form and substance so that it wastes away and fades into the landscape and decays. If it had come to rest lower down the mountain it would have sunk into the boggy peat moss and risen with hair and hide intact with, the cause of death discernible, with its last meal of grass or rabbit still there inside its stomach. Preserved by nature. Preserved or wasted. It all depends on where you fall. http://www.poetsinnigeria.org.ng/…/across-the-oceans-ii-is…/ http://www.poetsinnigeria.org.ng/index.php/across-the-oceans-ii-issue-7/ ACROSS THE OCEANS II (ISSUE 7) ACROSS THE OCEANS II (ISSUE 7) Three Poems by Lynn White CANDLES How many candles must I light to commemorate all the dead souls, all the lives wasted in wars without end. So many that candle makin… POETSINNIGERI...

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 feelings of small children and should never have been...

The Lighthouse I was a little crazy to buy the old lighthouse. I knew it at the time. But I wanted to be somewhere, somewhere where I could shine, shine it’s lamps out into the vastness, shine like a beaming beacon. And it was so high. It matched my mood and then some. Higher than high. Higher than high. There was no housewarming. No one came. There was no one to come. So, only I could relish the exposure. Only I could walk round the top of the tower and look over the edge into the dark deep depths. Only I could see the swimmer, a mermaid, surely? waving. Or was she beckoning as she approached the mooring. Only I could come spiraling down. Come down from the heights to open the door, to run down the steps to the mooring. And then the lamps went out. https://blackpoppyreview.blogspot.co.uk/ https://blackpoppyreview.blogspot.com/

When The Mist Clears One day I’ll see through the mist. One day I’ll be back to find you again and uncover what I let slip away when I became lost in the fog and the maze of back streets and tall buildings. One day I’ll stop searching and meet the mist with a smile and watch it fade away. One day I’ll greet the sun again as the mist clears one day at a time. http://voxpoetica.com/prompts/ prompts Here's your prompt! Submit poem responses to: voxpoeticasubmissions@gmail.com. And if you have a photo or piece of artwork you took that you'd like us to consider as a Prompts image, send… VOXPOETICA.COM