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

United We Fall

The bodies are piling up 
again 
as past becomes present
again.
victims and survivors

united
by innocence,
by grief
by failure,

failure 
to protect,
failure
to police,
the failure
of lawmakers,
the elected 
and electors.
All of them failed. 

And now we cry out,
we victims 
who survived
you failed us
failed us
failed us.

Even the dead whisper an echo
that only the deaf will hear.

Talking Book

If my book could speak
I wonder
what it would say to me.
I don’t mean about
the words inside,
I’m reading them 
for myself,
but about it’s life outside
those written words,
its independent life,
its thoughts and dreams,
its own imaginings
that fill its days and nights.
What a conversation we would have!

Sepia

The evening light was sepia
when I looked upwards
like an old photograph
and slightly misty
like an old photograph
of undeveloped technique.
But that was looking upwards.
Down below the sepia darkened
turning brown as primeval mud
in a frightful ancient swamp.
Not a place to sit and contemplate the sepia
of the fading light
with the foreground blackening,
becoming yet more dense
in the fading light
becoming a place to hurry through
not a place to sit and contemplate
the changes
of the fading light.