Poetry - Lynn White

  Faces of The Sun The sun has many faces, sometimes covered, sometimes not, but she always smiles, a little lop-sided smile,   a wide welcoming one, a beam of complete happiness,   there’s always a smile. So I shall   cover the wall   with her faces, with her smiles and the sun will smile at us each night we spend together. Yes, even in the night we shall see her smile. https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic/ekphrastic-writing-responses-mithila-paintings

                                                 Nothing Changes                A sequel to ‘The Adventures Of Anwen’, yet to be written Her answer to my “how are you?” would never be the list of aches and pains I might hear from many. Nor would it be the trite “fine” I would hear from many more. No, It was always “just the same”. “How’s things” would bring a similar response with “nothing changes here” in addition. She tells me there is no one she can converse with, no one who’s interested in what’s going on in the world, that anything she says is met by looks of stoney incomprehension and no one laughs at her jokes. “A new one came last week”, she says, “much younger, so I had hopes. Then she got out her Bible and I was back to no hope again.” She narrates the detail of her recent encounters with the assorted meat eaters, ...

  Self Contained There used to be a man who would sit here on this bench every day gazing at the view. He was always alone. He would stretch out his arms   across the back of the bench so that he filled it, completed it. Though he was always alone there never seemed space for anyone else he seemed complete in his aloneness whole. So there were no conversations, or even “good mornings”. He didn’t seem to need them. So we all passed by. And now we can sit there with the view, with his view and wonder where he is. And wonder if he is still alone. And wonder if he is lonely. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RH7MLY9/ref=cm_sw_r_wa_awdb_imm_t1_57t7FbQJ4BXPT

  The Breathing Days In the days when I still breathed air, the days before   living took my breath away, the days before   I knew my soul was there. I thought about this time, this time of no light, the forever night time with no breath, no air   to breathe. Just dust and darkness. And I pondered. Would there be slow decay   or fast. Stillness or movement. Now I know. I know everything about the dust and darkness. But I can't tell you. Not now in these days   of no breath,   no air to speak. Only my soul can speak. Can you hear me? http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_December2020.pdf

  Breakthrough It’s a long and desolate road. I think it’s always been so. Such a desolate road to travel before the brightness ahead, the light after desolation when the sun is freed from it’s winter shackles. Such a desolate road to travel waiting, hoping, searching for the brightness, the light after desolation when the sun breaks through to nurture and feed  the earth again. https://lawrencehouse.ca/breakthrough/

  The Circus of My Dreams In the circus of my dreams the unicorns are are prancing, rearing up, flashing their rain-bowed hooves, pointing with their golden horns, with their unique golden horns. Then, ridden by Leprechauns,   they’re dancing round and round the circle of the ring. Kicking up the gold dust ground   from their droppings into shimmering sawdust. In the circus of my dreams there is a rainbow. A rainbow that has painted   their hooves with it’s light as they climbed their way up and slid their way down to the crock of gold at the end. Time for the little people to dismount and mould the gold into hearts of love. Time for the unicorns to use the gold to nurture and replenish their golden horns, their unique golden horns. http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8257

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08R2CFDQ2