Sunday, June 30, 2024


 —Poetry by Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog,
North Wales
—Visuals Courtesy of Public Domain

I sometimes have a Gorey moment
wondering what could have been
if the hanging chads
hadn’t hung,
or if Gore had hung up
his gentleman’s suit
and cried “Fraud”
as loudly as Trump was to do.

No hate to fuel 9/11,
no war in Iraq,
the end
of history
would be nigh
as Fukuyama predicated,
existing divisions becoming
and no new ones

With more Gore less blood
would be spilled.
There would be no Bushfires burning
the sun would be shining
but without its intensity,
the storms would be still
and the world would be stable.

It was hanging by a thread
and we missed it,
missed the chance
to grasp those chads

(prev. pub. in New Verse News, 12/12/23)


Every day I grieve
for the missed opportunities
in this country,
the man we could have had as leader
now speaking on a smaller stage
now reaching a smaller audience
with a message of peace and reconciliation,
of investment in society not weapons.

Everyday I grieve
for the missed opportunities
in that other county
where the man they could have had as leader
now speaks on a smaller stage,
now reaches a smaller audience
with a message of peace and reconciliation,
of investment in society not weapons.

Everyday I grieve
for the missed opportunities
to build a better world
where human rights are respected
wherever humans live,
where violence is deplored
whoever the perpetrators.
Where international law is upheld
so those who break it face justice
whoever they are,
wherever they are.
Where there is nowhere to hide
for those who break it
Where there are no smoke screens
of meaningless words
but only exposure.

Every day I grieve for a world
where only the Corbyns and the Sanders

may rest in peace.


We built their cages.
We gilded them.
We listened to their croaks,
no one could call it song,
hear, hear, hear hear,
call to order.
Order, order,
keep them in order.
Keep them stuffed
with food and drink,
we did that too,
keep them fed and watered.
No not watered
they won’t drink water
that would be out
of order.
Order, order.
Watch them
flapping their paper wings
to order.
Order order.
We should give them orders.
We pay the pipers,
they should sing for us
but they can only croak,
hear hear, hear hear,
for themselves.
We don’t have to listen.

(prev. pub. by Culture Matters, The Fish Rots 
From The Head Anthology, February 2022)



The search goes on to find it
that golden transformation
that makes base into precious
and spins a thread of gold.
Yes, there’s a new alchemist
on the block
and he has it to a T
faking gold
to make gold
sneaking forth
to guide and gild
your path
of gold-

(prev. pub. in Masticadores USA, June 2024)

He’s the last man standing.

And whether comedian
or statesman
performance is all
for the last man standing.
Standing in the rubble of the city.
Standing on the bodies of the dead heroes,
those lions led by donkeys once again.
No more laughter,
no more tears,
the final curtain
came down on them.
Hollow victory
or glorious defeat
it’s all the same to them.

But the last man still stands,
the star of the show

(prev. pub. in Topical Poetry, 3/27/22)


Today’s LittleNip:

—Lynn White

It’s truly the time of our lives,
the age of the besuited bureaucrat
the middle-class white male
middling this and middling that
geographically limited,
culturally limited,
intellectually bereft
darling of the establishment
and so a man for our times.

Rest in Peace Another Party
to join the rest who tried
to change our times.

(prev. pub. in Topical Poetry, June 2023)


Many thanks to Lynn White and her timely election poems today! I don’t talk much about politics in the Kitchen, trying not to spoil the food, but ’tis the season to screw ourselves in many parts of the world, and Lynn is just the gal to write about it. Although she may be Welsh/British, it seems like these problems are universal. (Love the sly mention of illustrator Edward Gorey! Gorey moment, indeed.) Thanks again, Lynn!




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