Featured Poet - Lynn White

SCREWED UP

He bottled up his worries,

his fears,

and sealed them in

securely.

Put them inside a bottle firmly

corked.

Then he thought, suppose they grew

agitated

and, expanding with the heat

produced

forced the cork free from the bottle,

releasing all

those fears and anxieties to reoccupy

his being.

It was another worry

for him

to ponder and fret about.

He knew

a screw top bottle would have

been better,

would have kept them confined

more securely.

Too late

now though, to have that thought

done is done.

The best ideas are, always

too late.

Past has always passed.

And then,

another thought came to him,

so timely.

Maybe he could he transfer them,

move them

to the bottle with the screw

fastening

and screw them up tight

without

letting them out of the bottle.

Without

letting them escape.

Without

giving them

freedom,

freedom

to invade

his soul,

his dreams,

his being

his reason

for being.

Such a risk

though.

Such a worry.

RIVER

I look into the river and see myself in reflection.

Colour fast but unstable, I move helplessly in its flow.

I am constantly being moved and changed,

but left stationary, moved but not moving on 

like the fishes and pebbles. 

Here I am, disturbed and abstracted,

surrounded by this rippling, babbling, watery world, 

which leaves me unclear who I am and,

more unclear about the solidity of my background

and what is happening around me.

I look into two worlds which are intermingling,

becoming inseparable before my gaze.

My own distorted image fades and breaks

with the images behind and beyond me

in the background of my life.

This river is becoming a metaphor for my own confusion.

For the displacement and fragmentation I feel inside. 

I am in danger of being broken up and washed away.

Unable to bring myself together, I remain in pieces,

undecided, lacking definition.

It is also a metaphor which stretches beyond my person, 

into the confusion and fragmentation beyond it’s edges,

into the reality outside, which is pressing in on me. 

It excludes any coming together, any resolution as

it embraces me in its ripples and sounds.

Such sweet, watery sounds, cooly relaxing my spirit.

Shutting out the incoherent babbling outside.

But still, even as I put my hands over my broken ears,

I know it will find a way inside and overwhelm me,

in any case.

ANXIOUS

I am dancing

in the sunlight,

the bright, bright light.

I know the cloud is there

but I can forget it, till I stop.

And then..

There it is,

even bigger 

and blacker

than before.

Darker than 

ever.

It doesn’t like me dancing,

doesn’t like the laughter

or the sunshine.

Brightness breaks it,

shatters it into a grey mist.

But still it won’t leave me.

The brighter the sunlight,

the louder the laughter,

the greater my fear

that it will form again

and suck me into it’s

darkness.

MY DETACHED MEMORY

I think of it as a detached memory

floating free

engulfing me when I least expect it

and then

leaving

again

without a trace.

I can’t recall it.

Not for sure.

But clearly

it remembers me.

MORE THAN SURVIVE

It may not look that way

but I've done more than survive

my time in this city.

It may not look that way

but I’ve done more than survive

in the time since I left in disgrace.

Now I'm ready to come back

to make a success after failure

to find a new way

through the old streets

to make my way afresh.

And I will.