Poetry - Lynn White

The Sad Man I take my hat off to him the sad man of the leafy suburbs always smartly dressed dapper old fashioned smart carrying all our problems with all his silent grief on pinstriped shoulders. We all took our hats off to him that sad man, as we played in the streets as we grew older as we changed while he stayed the same still silent still carrying all those problems all that grief that we never understood. https://visualverse.org/submissions/the-sad-man/?fbclid=IwAR3jK1NrOo5hzADeaJWGQOdY2dePYViaEX7aaM8T1bREJwDhtsDS3PwAfs4

The Game What’s the point of it all if life is just a game, a beautiful game, if you’re in luck, but still a game. Still you might get lucky if you play the game. Can you can see it see it for what it is? You must know that it’s a game then you can you play it, or not you can choose to play or not to play to see if your luck is in or not. In any case three strikes and you’re out, out of the game. The Game by Lynn White What’s the point of it all if life is just a game, a beautiful game, if you’re in luck, but still a game....READ MORE

Dead Poets Outside the night was filled with stars, a sky full of dead poets if van Gogh is to be believed. But he was inside now   and all he remembered was the red curtain coming down over his eyes. Red first and then black. So black it turned everything black. They told him that   he had died for a few seconds, or was it a few minutes. Then he was back   looking out   on the starry night. He wondered how long it took for a dead poet to become a star. Was a few seconds, or even a few minutes, sufficient. And now,   now that he was back, was he still shining undead, living up there with all the dead poets. Unless the raising of the curtain put out his light.

Walk In The Park It was to be a long walk over untrodden ground, untrodden by me, that is. My town trilby would do as a sun hat to shield me from the heat. My boots would cope with any mud remaining from the past deluge and I had purchased a map and compass. Just through the park with the river running by and the children splashing about in the shallow water. Then across the field full of daisies and over the stile on to the fells. I could see some tiny figures of well practiced walkers already up there. Maybe I should have set out earlier. Maybe I should have worn my boots in for a little longer, they already felt like they were rubbing holes in my feet. And I was already overheating. Perhaps I should try again tomorrow. I would set out earlier. Perhaps I should abandon my plan and my boots and map and town hat and sit in that patch of shade and show those children how to make daisy chains. Yes, that’s a good idea! https://blognostics.net/…/…/walk-in-the-park-by-lynn-white/ In...

Blow It Away I’m thinking that every grain of sand represents some part  of my life as I lie wet on my towel. I’m thinking that every speck has some meaning, some significance for me. And now I’ve shaken them up to dry them off and I’m watching them float away. Float away likes motes in the sunshine leaving me ready to begin again with a clean towel. https://totaleclipsepittsburgh.weebly.com/ Order a physical copy here:

https://issuu.com/…/do…/scrittura_magazine_issue_16_summer_…

Dragonfly It was so beautiful, gleaming huge and iridescent gold and green and blue and black. With wings that should have been clear, filled with shining rainbows not like this, twisted at strange angles and dulled with sticky silk. Not stuck there waiting to be prepared for some spider’s supper. I held it gently and took it from the web. I carefully removed the sticky silk and saw the rainbows sparkle as they should, saw it’s eyes brighten and gleam with the prospect of freedom. It took a while, this disentanglement, a delicate task to free this fragile creature. And when it was ready, I opened my fingers and let it fly away. It bit me then. No parting kiss, but a bite that left a bruise. Such gratitude! https://uglywriters.com/2019/06/24/dragonfly/