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, best of the Net 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: and

A Not So Still Life

What a strange tableau,
a still life 
in a dream.
The birds flew over
and looked down on it,
but there was no place for them 
to hang out,
to roost, 
to dream.
So they didn’t care about the dust motes
escaping into the sunlight
floating like fairy dust
getting themselves organised
to follow their dream.
Did they escape
from the jar?
the bull is wondering 
if they were ever inside
and the birds don’t care as usual,
hardly notice her dog emerging 
from the mist to inspect them. 
Unmistakably her dog
just more amorphous than usual.
It doesn’t look inclined to chase the motes
or stick its head inside the loop they’re making.
But the birds don’t care as usual.

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

An Ordinary Moon

It’s an ordinary moon. 
Not special
like a harvest moon 
or a blood moon
or a pink moon in April.
It’s not even full.
It doesn’t have to be.
The tides still obey it
and when it shines 
through the clouds
it lights me up.
Is that ordinary
that mystic moonlight?

First published in Praxis, August 2020

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