Green Dragon & Other Poetry by Lynn White

Adorably Horror Series – Lynn White

Green Dragon

Does the ghost believe what he’s seeing

as the green dragon floats by

breathing rainbows

from flower filled puffs of breath.

Would you believe it?

Would I

believe it?

After all,

this is not the usual sort of dragon

whose fire filled breaths register alarm.

But alarm registers, nevertheless,

as this is not the usual sort of dragon

and none of us are sure

what will happen next.

First published in Visual Verse, 2016


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


Poet:

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. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Light Journal and So It Goes.

Follow:

Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com 

and 

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

Two Frogs & Other Poems by Lynn White

It’s the Little Things

A little cheer may come to you by reading these sweet poems by Lynn White! Follow these stories of frogs, a turtle, and a chicken!


Two Frogs

I loved the pond near my auntie’s.

Just a short walk from the village.

I could get right up close

and peer into the water.

That was how I saw the frogs.

They were not easy to catch but

I managed it eventually, one at a time.

I kissed each carefully

to make sure they were real frogs,

didn’t want one of those prince things.

Then I put them in my shoe and placed

my other shoe on top

so that they couldn’t jump out.

I walked back barefoot

over the rough ground

and the village street.

I discovered that my mother and auntie

were afraid of frogs.

Perhaps they would have preferred princes.

They didn’t like the barefoot walk either.

My dirty feet would show them up,

they said.

My uncle said they were good for the garden

and I would not be allowed to take them on the bus

when I went home.

So I watched them leapfrog through his garden.

I hoped they’d be happy there.

He told me they were,

but I never saw them again.

First published in Scrittura, September 2018


Brenda’s Turtle

When I was a child,

Brenda’s turtle walked

into the hot, hot embers.

No one knew why.

So badly burned

we thought him ready

for an easeful, sleepy death.

“No, no” said the vet,

“very resilient, turtles,

could live to be a hundred.”

I would like to tell you

that he made the hundred,

but he’s not quite there yet,

though he still seems happy enough.

First published in Vox Poetic, May 2017


Rosamunde

“Happy Easter!” you said.

I’m trying to smile

as I thank you.

“She’s called Rosamunde”, you said,

a pretty name for a pretty chicken.

I try to smile as I thank you.

for Easter eggs to come.

I wonder if I should show you my new garden,

but perhaps now is not the best of times.

I wonder what Rosamunde will make

of it’s neat patchwork of flowers

and it’s spotless deck.

I try to smile

as I thank you

for Rosamunde

your generous gift

of Easter eggs to come.

First published by Nine Muses Press, March 2020


Poet:

 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. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Light Journal and So It Goes.

Follow:

Find Lynn at: 

https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com 

and 

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

Above It All and Other Poems by Lynn White

Still Shining

A Ponder Savant regular, Lynn White, has impeccable poems to shower over us on this lovely Friday! If you haven’t seen her work before, now is a great time to rectify that and see what you’ve been missing!


Above It All

Sometimes

I need to be out of the fray,

above the drama

and the darkness,

look down on it all,

be part of the scarlet sky

and the jagged skyline.

Sometimes

I will climb so high

that I’ll have no way back,

no wish to go back

only to stay

above it all.

First published in Visual Verse, April 2018


Joining The Dots

She saw the night sky as a join the dots puzzle.

She was an expert

far better than the adults

who could never work them out.

They told her that these formed a plough

and those a bear, well two bears,

Great and Little.

She couldn’t see it.

They were quite wrong

she knew

the stars

were glittering cairns

pin point sharp

marking the pathway to the moon,

to Venus,

to the sun

and beyond.

You just had to join the dots

and follow the paths

to find your way

to paradise.

First published in Scrittura, Summer 2019


Only Dream Harder

If you dream hard enough

you’ll find castles in the air,

or build them.

If you dream hard enough

you’ll find secret cities

under the waves

ruled over by a fishy king

with his beady eye on you

as you walk on by.

If you dream hard enough

you’ll find unicorns

and ride them across the desert

to discover lost oases hidden there

amongst ancient cities

once in ruins

now recast

in shimmering perfection

by harsh sunlight.

If you dreamer harder

you’ll rise above the waves of sand

which threaten to engulf you,

float in the sunlight

instead of being buried

head first.

It’s all possible

if you only dream harder.

First published in Event Horizon, Issue 6, November 2018


Artist:

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. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Light Journal and So It Goes.

Follow This Artist:

https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com 

and 

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

Jacko/Mr Taylor/This Is Not an Egg – Poetry by Lynn White

A Dash of Whimsy Series –

I invite you to take the morning to explore these poems of Lynn White and get lost in her stories. They might just have you leave with a smile!


Jacko

I saw him flapping around in the grass,

one wing at an improbable angle.

I chased him,

caught him,

wrapped him

carefully

in my cerise and navy school scarf.

Jack, jack, jacko..

Then it was a bus ride to the charity vet

who set the broken wing,

wrapped it

carefully

in plaster,

a heavy pot.

He was subdued on the bus home,

but still managed to greet my mother,

Jack, jack, jacko.

He perked up later after tea

and explored the living room

placing bits of straw artistically

and decorating them with pooh.

Which was why

he had to live

at school,

home

only for weekends.

Jack, jack jacko!

But he enjoyed bus journeys now

and greeted all the passengers,

hopping from shoulder to shoulder,

waking them up with a wang from his pot,

nibbling an ear here and a nostril there.

Most were

charmed,

but some

were not.

He was close to becoming

the only jackdaw to be banned

from public transport.

Jack, jack, jacko!!

And then disaster!

the wing had not healed.

There was decay

and gangrene

amputation

and the trimming

of his lovely long feathers

to balance him.

No more hopping

from shoulder to shoulder,

well, maybe later

with practice!

But no more

prospects of a wild life

for Jacko

Jack, jack, jacko…

And no more home with me

said my mum as the school holidays

loomed threateningly.

Jack, jack, jacko…..

But nearby the vet,

a budgie had died

and it’s owner,

bereaved,

had a need and

it was love at first sight

for both her and Jacko.

Jack, jack, jacko!!

There were photos

in the press.

He was famous!

A local hero!

Jack, jack, jacko!!!

First published in Scarlet Leaf Review, May 2016


Mr Taylor

Probably a polar bear was not a good choice

for my first attempt at whittling.

A hamster would have been simpler

and avoided the multiple leg fractures..

“Don’t worry girl, no problem”, Mr Taylor said,

when I showed it to him.

“Leave it to me.

Bit o plastic wood,

That’ll soon sort it”

and it did.

The tail was more challenging.

But all was not lost, just the tail,

and I managed to convince the Examiner

that polar bears don’t have tails.

Maybe they don’t.

I’m no expert.

I progressed slowly, and probably

a rocking elephant was not the best choice

for my Final Piece.

There was a lot to cut out,

a lot of curvy bits.

The huge electric saw bench

loomed ominously in the corner.

“Don’t you go near that, girl”

cried Mr Taylor if I glanced in it’s direction.

“Here, give it here,

Leave it to me.

There you are.

Now just a bit o plastic wood…”

And then disaster!

Someone stole the rockers.

Who the fuck would steal my rockers?

They never rocked very well,

but even so, they were better than nothing.

And Mr Taylor was hard pressed

to make new ones

in time for the exam,

even with multiple,

“No problem, don’t worry, girl”s,

I was concerned.

But in the end

we both passed.

First published in Algebra of Owls, November 2016


This Is Not An Egg

The egg box was so sculptural with it’s peaks and troughs

like a metaphor, a mirror of life in textured paper,

I thought a giant version could easily become

an acclaimed art installation

and I thought I could make it.

And then I remembered the glasses

left behind in a museum of modern art

by error or intent,

real glasses,

not the “ne sont pas les lunettes”

Magrittean sort,

I could feel some guerrilla art hatching inside me.

I fetched the pot egg from under the broody hen

and pondered the possibilities on the way to the gallery.

There, I placed the egg box on a table,

sneaked it in

between the other exhibits

then I placed the Magrittean egg inside.

Just the one egg seemed most fitting

especially since one was all I had.

I had already written the title card.

Such a work deserved two titles

one above and one below the artist’s name,

my name, of course.

First came: “THIS IS NOT AN EGG”

and underneath:

“THIS IS NOT AN EXHIBIT”

It was perfectly placed

and looked magnificently subversively ironic.

I think Magritte would be proud of my effort.

And now I must wait

to see if anyone notices.

First published in SurVision Issue 5, June 2019


Artist:

 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. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Light Journal and So It Goes.

Follow This Artist:  

https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com 

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

Lynn White – Love Starts With You

Washed Away

Cool cleansing water running over me,

washing away my sins, my impurities,

Cleaning me up, getting rid of the villainy

and lack of chastity.

Absolving me.

But who’s to say they should be washed away

like the scruffiness of childhood innocence.

Who should judge these scents and tastes and sweats 

of a life cleanly and clearly remembered.

What sins, what villainy?

I wished they could remain unwashed and pure 

retaining their essence within my reach.

Hanging about me in my lived in face.

A testament to my life, an affirmation.

It didn’t take much water to remove them.

But I was already clean.

I can remember.

First published in Snapdragon “Your Wild And Precious Life”, September 2015


Survivor

I am not sure how I did it,

how I survived

a lucky chance

maybe,

but here I am

still 

standing

straight

against the wind,

the hot, hot wind

which has turned the soil

into rippling sand

the rippling sand 

of the unwashed desert.

I am not sure how I did it

and I am not sure how long

I can stay here

standing 

alone

in the rippling sand

of the unwashed desert.

First published in The Beautiful Space, August 2019


Check Out This Artist:

Lynn White

https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com 

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