Lynn White

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 and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. 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. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

Dead Poets

Outside the night was filled with stars,
a sky full of dead poets
if van Gogh is to be believed.
But he was inside now
and all he remembered
was the red curtain
coming down over his eyes.
Red first and then black.
So black it turned everything black.
They told him that
he had died
for a few seconds,
or was it a few minutes.
Then he was back
looking out
on the starry night.
He wondered how long it took
for a dead poet to become a star.
Was a few seconds,
or even a few minutes,
sufficient.
And now,
now that he was back,
was he still shining
undead, living
up there with all the dead poets.
Unless the raising of the curtain
put out his light.

Tulips

Gleaming globes of gold,
and scarlet
and pink,
the brightness of their colours
masking the shadows within
and the blackness at their heart.
Too soon their coloured shapes
will fly away like birds of paradise
glistening in the sunlight,
petals of paradise.
But these are transient beauties
already in their death throes
as they soar,
ready
for the dusk to dull their colour.
Ready
to decay,
to become dust,
while their black hearts
grow fat on what lies beneath,
like the black crows that feast
on the bright flesh of below them.
Surviving
to live another day.
Surviving
to make seed
for another year.
 
 
First published in Event Horizon, Issue 2, December 2017

Transient

Snowflakes lit by sunbeams
blowing gently,
fragile as shadows
making rainbows in the sun.
Smiling in the soft light.
So soft.
So soft.
Catch them quickly in your hair
to melt them
while the sun
is still shining and smiling.
For only as long as it falls,
can the snow renew them
when they melt away.

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