Poetry - Lynn White

New Growth The trees are bare now revealing all in the winter light. Or so it seems. But they can still hide secrets, unexpected traces of their secret lives, and the seeds of more to come. And every tree is different. Some are firmly rooted even when the ice melts and the ground softens in the winter sun. Others have wider horizons and are making their plans accordingly. Getting ready to branch out. Every tree is different. Some can act as a womb for an embryonic form waiting to develop. Perhaps a parasite in search of a new host. Or a new growth. Different, reluctant to form branches to match it’s parent. Maybe it never will be a match, but always an alien form. With an unknown future hidden. And then, maybe the new will branch out from the belly of another alien form and leave it’s roots behind as it makes tracks in the snow, searching searching. We must wait and see. Every tree is different. http://blognostics.net/…/20…/04/21/new-growth-by-lynn-white/ New Gro...

To My Old Friend Who Knows How It Is What ever happened my old friend? You know right from wrong. You know, you saw with your eyes open. You knew oppression, abuse of power, state terror, apartheid. You knew. You know. We boycotted, we campaigned, we did what we could. Then I would have shared anything with you. Now I wouldn’t even share my space, wouldn’t stay in the same room as you. What ever happened to you my old friend? Rediscovering your jewishness shouldn’t mean giving up your humanity, negating your history, seeing with your eyes tight shut but you know you know. What ever happened my old friend? You know. https://inquietudeslitjournal.weebly.com/issues.html Issues We've enjoyed this creative process, and hope you enjoy the beauty that has arisen from it! INQUIETUDESLITJOURNAL.WEEBLY.COM

Where Lies Reality In my sweet dreams I can float and swim like a fish. Can extract air from the water, as they do. And breathe it out in pretty chains of bubbles. But in my dark dreams, the nightmarish ones, this is just a pretence. The only air is within me and the bubbles lost to me which soon will cease as I continue to float upwards. Can reality lie in my dreams? https://uglywriters.com/2018/04/26/where-lies-reality/

Look Me In The Eye Here we are face to face. Perhaps angry. Perhaps sad. Perhaps you will look me in the eye. I will meet your gaze, but you still won’t find me. The mask is firmly in place and you’ll only see what I choose, the response I want to show you, the planned or the superficial pose, the pretence of me. If you look me in the eye I will never know what you see. Your mask is firmly in place to show me what you want me to see and no more. So how can we begin to see each other any more. htps://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/2018/03/08/honorable-mentions-of-the-contest/ Honorable mentions of the Contest Here are some really good works that I wanted to include as well. It is kind of a long list but they are all really good. By Meekha S Dreams Come to me tonight Scarlet dreams Violet skies Silvery p… ACADEMYOFTHEHEARTANDMIND.WORDPRESS.COM

It’s a Worry He bottled up his worries, his fears, and sealed them in securely. Put them inside a bottle firmly corked. Then he thought, suppose they grew agitated and, expanding with the heat produced forced the cork free from the bottle, releasing all those fears and anxieties to reoccupy his being. It was another worry for him to ponder and fret about. He knew a screw top bottle would have been better, would have kept them confined more securely. Too late now though, to have that thought done is done. The best ideas are, always too late. Past has always passed. And then, another thought came to him, so timely. Maybe he could he transfer them, move them to the bottle with the screw fastening and screw them up tight without letting them out of the bottle. Without letting them escape. Without giving them freedom, freedom to invade his soul, his dreams, his being his reason for being. Such a risk though. Such a worry. https://www.weaselpress.com/mentalillness ...

The Village of Twee I am just arrived in the village of Twee with its little front gardens carefully wild, with its thatch nicely polished, its flowers dust free. I wonder who tends them in the village of Twee. Who shampoos the pinks who waters the pots, who sweeps up the leaves and prunes all the phlox. There’s no humans to see in the village of Twee, just cars with their robots, red, white and pink. They wave as they drive through with shopping piled high singing ‘tra lah lah, welcome and fiddle di di. There’s a welcome for all in the village of Twee.’ They park right outside, with the pavements long gone to give wider roads for motoring robots. So how did it happen, this robotic coup. There must be a story or legend to tell to explain the strange culture I came across there. Well, pavements weren't needed with no humans to walk and that’s how it started if truth it be told. And it’s ‘tra lah lah, welcome and fiddle di di’ as the robots drive smiling through the village of ...

Apoc-Elipse They were observant so they saw that the night was already black, unbroken by pinpoint stars. Black even before the moon swallowed up the sun leaving only a ring of white light for breakfast with nothing to come after but dark days. They could hardly believe it but they knew that only black days could follow such an apocalyptic event, an event that would eclipse all others. That would be a prelude to a world without light a world without life, an apocalypse. http://voxpoetica.com/prompts/