—Poetry by Lynn White,
Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
—Photos by Katy Brown, Davis, CA
DEAD LETTER DROP
Once the words sprang off the pages
like the green shoots of spring
eager to be greeted
eager to be read.
That was before
the winter chill
froze them
into remnants.
Tattered pages,
empty envelopes
and empty words
as worn and shrivelled
as our love became.
Dead.
Or almost dead.
But I cannot quite let them go,
cannot quite let us go
so I’ll bundle them up
tie a ribbon round them
for old times sake
and hide them away
in the winter branches.
And I’ll try to forget
and try not to forget.
And perhaps come spring
they’ll rise from the dead
like the new shoots on the tree
and burst into life again.
It’s worth a chance.
(prev. pub. in Silver Apples, 2020)
Once the words sprang off the pages
like the green shoots of spring
eager to be greeted
eager to be read.
That was before
the winter chill
froze them
into remnants.
Tattered pages,
empty envelopes
and empty words
as worn and shrivelled
as our love became.
Dead.
Or almost dead.
But I cannot quite let them go,
cannot quite let us go
so I’ll bundle them up
tie a ribbon round them
for old times sake
and hide them away
in the winter branches.
And I’ll try to forget
and try not to forget.
And perhaps come spring
they’ll rise from the dead
like the new shoots on the tree
and burst into life again.
It’s worth a chance.
(prev. pub. in Silver Apples, 2020)
THE SHATTERED GLASS
The glass has been shattered.
Safely shattered,
with no sharp shards.
With no damage to anyone,
seemingly.
But someone is missing.
Only her absence is revealed
in the shattered glass.
Perhaps she is broken,
shattered
like the glass,
but not safely.
If only the shattered glass
could reveal her
presence.
If only
the cracks would heal.
(prev. pub. in Blognostics, 2018)
VEILED
I wear my hair
like a veil
covering all.
Covering all that
is not already covered
and needs to be,
they insist.
But it is not enough.
I can still see
when it parts
and still be seen.
I can still move
freely.
It is not enough,
they insist.
I need the mask
of the broad, blue
blindfold
to tether me,
they insist.
And I wonder,
will this be enough?
(prev. pub. in Visual Verse, July 2016)
WHEN THE DUST SETTLES
One day I’ll see through the mist
when the bombs cease
and the dust settles.
That day I’ll be back
to find you again
and uncover what slipped away
when we became lost in the fog
and the rubble
and the maze
that was once back streets
and tall buildings.
One day I’ll stop searching
and watch the mist fade away
as the dust settles
and the sun breaks out
and the lost and broken begin to heal
and start to return
and reclaim
and rebuild
what they lost.
One day I’ll greet you again
as the mist clears
and the dust settles,
one day at a time.
(prev. pub. in Inquietudes, Issue 2 ‘Heimat’, 2018)
_________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
IT’S BEHIND YOU
—Lynn White
Sometimes you just can’t see it
however closely you look,
a case of the wood hiding the trees
with the elephant there in the room.
For safety's sake you need to take a wider view
three hundred and sixty degrees
if there’s no audience to shout it out.
Get ready to run.
(prev. pub. in Visual Verse, April 2021)
_________________________
Today the Kitchen is graced with Lynn White, who 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, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Consequence Magazine, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Gyroscope Review and So It Goes. Find Lynn at
lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/.
Welcome to our growing contingent of Welsh poets, Lynn, and don’t be a stranger! Someday we’ll tackle those sophisticated Welsh poetry forms of yours!
__________________________
—Medusa
Welcome to our growing contingent of Welsh poets, Lynn, and don’t be a stranger! Someday we’ll tackle those sophisticated Welsh poetry forms of yours!
__________________________
—Medusa
—Photo by Katy Brown
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
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work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
