LYNN WHITE - POEMS

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/

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​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?