Poetry - Lynn White

Holiday Even Death needs to take a break sometime. Needs to sit on the beach in the sun with his scythe hidden, so as not to frighten the swimmers. Well, everything about Death has to be hidden. There can be no exposure beyond a few inches of face and hands, hardly more than a woman in a burka. Yes, everything has to be hidden, so as not to frighten the swimmers ready for when the holiday is over. http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_December2018.pdf

Where Equivalence  Goes To Die We soon found out that Native Americans were the bad guys. We watched the Hollywood portrayals of the cowardly braves deserving of death and the brave, honest settlers who rightly prevailed. If propaganda is successful it won’t even be recognised. And successful it was for a long time. That is not to say that all ‘indians’ were good people, that they never committed atrocities or preached hatred and abuse. But the power was so disproportionate that they could be no  equivalence . The scales were already tipping over. To pretend balance was possible would be a distortion. Then there were the Nazi’s. No one now thinks that their arguments of superiority, of paranoia and racism should find an open ear. But ears were open then. Wide open. And eyes were closed to enslavement, starvation and death. That is not to say that all Jews, Slavs and gypsies were good people, that they never committed atrocities or preached hatred and abuse. But the...

Entertainment As usual, it was one tank that drew the crowd down in the museum’s aquarium. It was not the tank with pike gawping threateningly, their teeth barred in anticipation and hope of attracting an audience. No, though there was a monstrous pike in it, swimming with i’s mouth wide open. But it’s mouth was open wide in wonder, in wonder at its strange environment. Well, it’s not often that a pike gets to swim in a drawing room furnished from times past. It’s eyes bulged with the strangeness of it all. But it was a crowd puller, though still not enough to satisfy such an audience, the pike reflected, as it considered the strangeness of it’s very un-fishlike companion, the young girl costume dressed to match the drawing room, standing there dreamlike or maybe drugged, steadying herself with the chair. Perhaps earlier she was seated, when the water was lower. but now she has to stand. The water is already up to her waist and rising slowly. The audience gets larger, thei...

To Those Who Dream The sun no longer shines for them, for the streams of dreamers dreaming of the road to somewhere else. From somewhere that has become nowhere. Dreaming of escape. Dreaming of a future, any future. Dreaming of better things to come. Dreaming of the life they once had. Dreaming of normality, whatever that means. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. Dreaming of returning when the sun comes up again, if ever it does. http://www.praxismagonline.com/dream-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR1bTsRCrMDSKbsccM0uPeEXuh8XcQusSiGcM3nUgPfO63nQoWaogIPqdW8

The Chase Table chatter. Laughter, quirky smiles. And then our glances held, suddenly. Moments passed. She spread her hands, arms outstretched. A helpless gesture of excuse me, what can I do? So up to me. Too complicated. But. I want to know more. Look this way again. I want to know you. So, look. Look this way. But no, no luck. Talking now, head turned away. Then, smiles all round. Mouth upturned, eyes dead, leave taking smiles. Walking away. Turn! Turn! No turn. No backward glance. Not for me, it seems.. But I know.. so turn, turn. No turn. So clumsy. Chair upturned. Excuse me. Apologies. Due haste. Well, never a gain without a chase, I know. UGLYWRITERS.COM The Chase - The Ugly Writers The Chase is written by Lynn White and shared with The Ugly Writers for the theme All-Original for the month of January.

True Colours I’m strong enough now to stand alone, to be seen for what I am. I won’t allow the creepers and crawlers and climbers to inch into me like the clematis covers the wall and masks it’s shape and colours. I’ll stand revealed, unmasked, reflecting my true colours, my special shape. I’m strong enough now. https://pilcrowdagger.com/shop PILCROWDAGGER.COM Shop! Visit the post for more. Remove

Perfectly Imperfect It started when we stood hopefully, with our thumbs outstretched by an English roadside. We were heading towards Italy and Yugoslavia without maps or money, or sense of direction. And we made it to Italy. and swam off the rocks, with a man we’d met in a cafe, because he said we could. And we swam and swam until two policemen came, (one very stern and one very twinkly), and said we couldn’t. Nor could we leave the rocks without clothes on, or with clothes clinging to our still wet bodies, or lie on the rocks until we were dry, in case we disconcerted the traffic or populace. This being the main street in Trieste. And we made it to Pec and lived in a house ‘typique du Turque’ with a water pump in the garden and a toilet, also ‘Typique du Turque’, which made us very ill indeed. But the parties were good and the conversations interesting, Even though no one spoke English. And we learned to speak some Albanian, which was always handy. And we survived to sit t...