 Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem 'A Rose For Gaza' was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition 2014. She has been nominated for a Pushcart and her poems have appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Indie Soleil, Light Journal, Snapdragon and So It Goes Journal. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/ Midas Touch The sorcerers and scientists of past times experimented with their powders dissolved them, fired them up in their laboratories. searching for the glows and gleams from base metal, the Midas touch that would create the riches of gold for them. They never found it. Now, the sorcerers and scientists have discovered how to dig deeper, scrape harder and stand by while we dig and scrape for them. And watch the gold flow, watch it pour like magic making wrinkles and scars suffocating our skin. Dawn Chorus It starts with one. One skylark singing. One Carson warning. Then the robins and blackbirds join in. The early birds, like Carson. Then the wrens and warblers as the daylight warms them. Listen. Can you hear them? The warning calls are warming up as well, strengthening their numbers as the bird song dies away. Listen. Listen. Can you hear them? Listen. Don’t sleep. Don’t wait to hear the silence. On Our Watch If it had been on his watch, he would have seen, he would have given the alarm, would have been heard and catastrophe would have been avoided. She also was alert, but it was not her watch and no one heard her warnings. On their watch we would have heard the warnings. But it happened on our watch and we were sleeping. The People Are Sleeping The houses are sleeping now, lit only by moonlight. The lights are turned off until the dark morning. All are tucked up cosily under soft duvets. Work is finished, homework completed and forgotten, games packed away. All can dreaming sleepy dreams undisturbed till they wake tomorrow and the new day begins to play it’s familiar tune. The houses are sleeping now, lit only by moonlight, smokey still from the storms of dust, almost dark, unrelenting darkness. Lights out for ever. All lying in a bed of rubble. All finished, done, beyond disturbing. All dreams ended. No waking tomorrow. No more tomorrows for them as the new day plays it’s old tune. The people are sleeping still as the coins are tossed, the dice are thrown, the cards shuffled and the game of chance resumed. Secrets Do you have a secret life,
with secret places explored only by yourself? Do you? Tell me about it, let me in. No you can’t, of course you can’t, it’s a secret. Only you can go there. So I must imagine your secret life for myself. May I? Perhaps a house with another family in it. Perhaps a box hidden under the floor containing old love letters or pornographic magazines Am I getting warm? Of course you won’t say. Well, you can’t say. For you are part of my secret life. My imaginings, my dreams and fantasies. And they are part of me. As real to me as the life I expose. but no one can go there. They’re my secrets. What about you? Do you have a secret life? Do you?
0 Comments
|
RSS Feed
