Lynn White | Poems
This is no picnic.
There will be no picnic
not for these bears.
Not all bears are cuddly
Some will conspire
to take it all,
all the gold
Goldilocks knew it.
She ran away.
He was a hermit living in a cave with his cats.
He had a long strong thread made of catgut.
The vultures had eaten the meat.
He didn’t eat cat.
He sat all day each day
playing cat’s cradle and all that jazz
until one day they’d had enough.
So they ate him up and played rock and roll
clapping their wings in time
as good as any drummers could be.
A lesser man would have been turned to stone
by such a look,
certainly worthy of a Gorgon,
but I survived it
with my family,
though I still look uneasily
at stone statues.
Was it the skill of the unknown carvers,
or was it just a look that did the trick?
I wonder how long my protection will last,
I’ll never know for sure.
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. 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.
Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com