Page 45 - June 2021 Litterateur
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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
                                                                and  a  Rhysling  Award.  Her  poetry  has  appeared  in  many
                                                                publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories,

                                                                Gyroscope Review and So It Goes.


                                                                          Lynn White, UK








                      A Face In The Crowd                                               Close Your Eyes



                  Once I could be seen,                                         I’ve closed my eyes
                  was known by my face,                                         just like you asked.
                  my dress, my demeanor                                         What now?
                  recognizable in a crowd.                                      What happens next?

                  Now I have disappeared.                                       You promised me treats
                  Even if larger than life,                                     when I opened them.
                  even if upside down                                           You promised me wonders.

                  I would still be invisible.                                   You promised me the earth,
                  A few wrinkles is all it took                                 the grass and the rivers,
                  to fade away                                                  the sun and the sky.
                  to become                                                     But if you can’t manage that
                  less                                                          the moon will do.

                  than a face
                  in the crowd.
                  To become no one.

                                                              Revelation

                                                                                        Saying hello to
                                     Springtime.                                        old branches

                                     The time of freshness.                             fallen
                                     New shoots.                                        tree trunks
                                     Rebirth.                                           leaning

                                     Saying goodbye                                     ash late in leaf,
                                     to the deadness of winter                          but only so far
                                     of creaking browns and greys.                      it’s dead ends
                                     A time when it is difficult to discern             visible
                                     the living from the dead.
                                                                                        now
                                                                                        showing up
                                     Springtime.                                        against the green.
                                     The time of revelation.


                                                                                        Springtime
                                                                                        when the dead of winter
                                                                                        remain
                   Litterateur                                                          and the sick old growth



                           REDEFINING WORLD                                             cannot greet the new.               45
                        EDITED BY SHAJIL ANTHRU                                         We only see it now.
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