Poetry - Lynn White

A Life Born poor. Lived well. Not dead https://the13alphabet.wordpress.com/…/the-2nd-issue-of-bon…/ Welcome to the Second issue of BONSAI journal (a part of The 13 Alphabet Magazine), an online magazine dedicated to the creative. Featuring creatives in the fields of literature & arts. And to … About This Website THE13ALPHABET.WORDPRESS.COM The 2nd Issue of BONSAI JOURNAL: Read It Here Welcome to the Second issue of BONSAI journal (a part of The 13 Alphabet Magazine), an online magazine dedicated to the creative. Featuring creatives in the fields of literature & arts. And to … Magazine), an online magazine dedicated to the creative. Featuring creatives in the fields of literature & arts. And to …

Aftermath How can it be that someone I don't see, only think about sometimes, but never contact, or try to, leaves such a gap, in their final leaving. My life has not been changed. All is the same. So why the difference now that you're really in the past, when you were already part of my past and not of my future. Nothing has changed for me, not really, not in reality. So why do you occupy my thoughts in a different way. Why does my future feel different now you cannot be part of it, even though you never would be and I knew it. Perhaps because I can no longer dream you there. But why not when you could never be there and I knew it the same then, as I know now. Why is it different, now even to dream? https://uglywriters.com/2018/10/06/aftermath/ UGLYWRITERS.COM Aftermath - The Ugly Writers Aftermath is a melancholic poem by Lynn White. This is her first poem entry for this month's theme Retrospect fo...

It’s Only Make Believe? The little cinema was packed, even if fictional, films about the locality were rare. And later, in the bar there was much discussion. The shots of the sheep blocking the road were appreciated. Well, our sheep were famous for their techniques of blockade. This was no fiction. There was insider knowledge here! It was the mass action that was shown. It brought the occupants out of their cars to wave their arms and shout in angry frustration. But the individual acts of defiance by escapees were not shown. This was considered regrettable. It was felt the film should have acknowledged the action of a single ewe lying nonchalantly chewing on the tarmac while the cars stopped and drivers moved rapidly from “awww cute sheep” to louder and more frantic hooting and then to arm waving and shouting outside, There was no discrimination, after all. Old cars, new cars, large cars, small, the ewe would eyeball them all impassively. Locals just drove ro...

Soul Searching Will I find you shining still among the sharp pinpoint stars gleaming gold and silver? Or shall I search the ocean and find your spirit buried down there amongst the sand and pebbles? Perhaps I should comb the beach raking through it’s silver grains and broken shells. Only your restless soul could have washed up briefly there. You never liked beaches with their sandwiches of sandy bites and the boredom of sun seeking. No you wouldn’t stay there. I wouldn’t find you there. You were always the deep one, so maybe I should look deeper, deep into the blue black night beyond the white milkiness into the sweet soft starlight. There would be a place for your soul to hide and I could join you and rest a while, a long while with you again. https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/…/soul-sear…/ ACADEMYOFTHEHEARTANDMIND.WORDPRESS.COM Soul Searching By Lynn White Will I find you shining still among the sharp...

Nevermore I know what Poe said, but can the raven really call ‘nevermore’. I have heard many a ‘caw’ from the crows and ‘jacks’ from the jackdaws. And I have heard many a raven call, but never a nevermore. ‘Never say never’, maybe says Poe. But ‘naw’, say the crows. ‘Cack’, say the jackdaws. There’s never a never more. https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/2018/10/02/nevermore/ About This Website THEDRABBLE.WORDPRESS.COM Nevermore By Lynn White I know what Poe said, but can the raven really call ‘nevermore.’ I have heard many a ‘caw’ from the crows and ‘cacks’ from the jackdaws. And I have heard many a raven call, but never …

The Grapes The pub on the corner was known as ‘The Grapes’. I used to go there a lifetime ago, with one friend or another. It was my local, my space, my place, friendly and safe. I had no money, just bought a half now and then. I was not a good customer, I remember. The people in there were smiley and friendly. They showed me the special knock, I can still remember. It allowed me in at any time of the day or night without any hassle or hanging about, even though, I was not a good customer. I remember the old woman dressed in a shapeless coat, and always wearing a head scarf. She sat in the corner with her glass of mild or Guinness placed firmly on one of Peter Kavanagh’s special tables. Yes, I remember her. She was a character. I remember that snug with the dark scenes painted on the walls and the shapes of music hanging from the ceilings above the special tables. The old woman was also a fixture, special like the tables. I must have known her. She was a character. The men ...

Barcelona Sandals Standing in the Andorra snow shivering in our Barcelona sandals. Glad of a lift down to Foix as darkness was falling. And the driver knew a hotel, Hotel du Centre. Very grand and full of people looking down long noses. But the driver knew the owner who was a kind man, a nice man. So we shouldn't worry about the cost, he said. A lovely room and in the morning, breakfast! We must eat the owner said. Warm bread and jam. Coffee with hot milk which tasted sour. But I don't like the taste of milk, anyway, so most likely it was sweet. And then the bill. But there was no bill. Save it for the journey, the owner said. A kind man, a nice man, who believed the driver's story, whatever it was. A few years later, we returned to Foix and went to find Hotel du Centre. But it wasn't there. No one knew it. It didn't exist. Did it ever exist? Did any of it happen? Or did we somehow share a memory from our ima...