Never Never Land

 

—Poetry by Lynn White, 

Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales

—Illustrations Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

NEVER NEVER LAND

My sister has gone to Never Never Land
It’s where all the lost children go,
those who don’t find their way home
and those who fade away and die
like the wild flowers I pick for the house.
My mother says
they stay children for ever
and can play all day long.
My sister was allowed to take her trike with her
even though it was all smashed up.
My mother says
the magic people there will fix it.
It sounds like fun there
but my mother says
she will never let me go,
not even if I find a magic carpet
to carry me up into the sky.
Perhaps she thinks I’m getting too old go there.
She says that the children there will grow wings
and become angels,
I think angels are a bit like fairies,
and when my sister gets her wings
she will fly back home
so we can be together again.
My mother says, no, never,
but I don’t know.



(prev. pub. in Ekphrastic Review, September 2019)


 

 

 

 

 

GAME ON


Even as a child she could play
a mean game of dominoes
sometimes it was just against her mother,
sometimes other members of the family as well,
or her friends and their mothers.
Games were always sedate,
well mannered, even tempered
dominoes carefully placed on the table
with a gentle click clack.

She usually won.

Later she discovered that the pub game
was quite different.
Every move was contested.
Dominoes were slammed down noisily
with a bounce
which disturbed
those already placed
and led to heated debate
about where they had been
and where they should be now.
And there was always an audience
which joined in as well
shouting advice
and abuse,
whichever was deemed appropriate.
Excitement mounted as the beer flowed.

And she won again.


(prev. pub. in Scrittura, October 2020)

 

 

 

 

WATERFALL


They put a fence by the waterfall
all along the high bank near the path.
It was ugly,
an eyesore
but it was supposed to make it safer
stop people climbing up the rocks at its side
and jumping in
though no one could remember an accident.
It didn’t work.
The children went under.
The adults went over.
It was more dangerous
as the approach was much narrower now
and slippery from the increased footfall
on the restricted area.
But at least
there was no accident
it was just ugly
an eyesore
until
someone took a saw to it
and threw the bits
into the water
to float away
down river.
They built it higher then
a bigger eyesore
and difficult for children
to climb over.
But they still do.
After all, they've been doing it for centuries.
It’s probably in their genes
and no one can remember an accident.


(prev. pub. in Praxis Magazine, December 2018)

 

 

 

 

PLAYTIME

Imagine a sitting room peopled with dolls
an attic space filled with toy trains and cars
adult places filled with children’s playthings
passive playthings
out of their time
and moved on
into a time
when even the box
with its wrappings
and writings
fails to excite us
creating
no spark,
no glamour,
only needy memories
in passing
as time
moves
on.


(prev. pub. in My Woven Poetry, Entrapped, June 2021)

 

 

 

 

I AM A CHILD

I am a child of the revolution
created by the wake of
fascism and imperialism,
that sought to construct
a more just society.

I am a child numbed by poverty,
stultified by working class conformity,
of a mother who wanted better for me,
but also wanted to keep me the same.

I am a child of these contradictions
who became a rebel
in the cultural revolution
of the rock and roll generation.
Who was liberated by student life,
by control of fertility,
by other places,
by the music and art
all parents hated.

I am still that child.
This is what made me.
This is what shaped me and
became part of my present,
became part of my future.

Sometimes I have tried to escape it.
Sometimes I still do.



(prev. pub. by Ealain, My Heritage, May 2015)

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Childhood is a short season.

—Helen Hayes

___________________

Good day to poets everywhere, and a big thank-you to Lynn White in South Wales for sending us her fine poetry today!

Today from 4-6pm, there will be an Ekphrastic Poetry Reading with Bethanie Humphreys, Heather Judy, Lynn Belzer, Rick Rayburn, Susan Flynn, Kate Ashe and Connie Gutowsky. 1115 E Street, Sacramento, CA. HOWEVER—the weather may have caused either or both of these to be cancelled, so I would call first...

This evening, 6pm, Woolman Sierra Friends Center presents Rooja Mohassessy in Nevada City. Then at 7:30pm, Kim Shuck and Molly Fisk read online—stay cozy in your home and listen to their fine poetry! Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Peter Pan and Wendy
—Illus. by Robert Ingpen













 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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