Existential Ponders – Lynn White

I was Always Afraid Of Rabbits

“I was always afraid of rabbits”

said the purple dragon.

I knew it to be true.

I’d known him for a long time,

long before I became a witch

and took to the water

to watch over him.

It’s the white ones he fears most

and they are mostly white ones

down here.

He won’t eat them.

He used to eat fish

but now he is afraid to eat them

now he’s seen them eating the rabbits.

They’ve eaten the fur off this one,

but he believes it was white

and believing is seeing

after all.

The fish have eaten everything

except for the head and eyes

the most fearsome parts

for the purple dragon.

It’s found him now,

he pushes it away in panic

but it won’t go,

it won’t go.

It’s covering his face,

taking it over 

and getting ready

for the rest.

It won’t go,

not unless I can grasp it,

and hold it

peel it off

take it away,

then bewitch them both.

First published in With Painted Words, October 2018


Off With His Hair

“Off with his hair!” Cried the Red Queen.

“I don’t think that’s quite right,” said Alice.

“It should surely be, off with his head”.

The Red Queen’s frown deepened.

She didn’t make mistakes.

It was a well known fact.

Never the less…

She shouted to Jack 

who was reclining lazily as usual.

“Which is correct, hair or head?”

“Well, you are quite right, of course

as everyone knows.

But consider..

As all strength flows from hair to head,

Cutting off his hair may make it unnecessary

to cut off his head

even though all around are losing theirs.”

“Of course”, cried the Red Queen.

“Off with his hair!”

“They’re as mad as hatters” thought Alice.

But she didn’t say so,

Just in case an unfortunate judgement was made.

One couldn’t be too careful in a mad world.

First published in Blognostics, April/May 2019


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?

First published in Fragments of Chiaroscuro, Summer 2016


Artist:

Lynn White

https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com 

https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

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