Off the Wall “Ceci n’est pas de la soupe de tomates” Magritte might have said with irony. But even off the wall straight from the can the same may be said! And language spills out with the contents. “Quelle horreur!” say the gourmets in French. But Warhol was as American as Magritte was Belgian. Irony on irony. Bio: 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 and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/
all artwork sent in by Pasithea Chan for these amazing artists.
“i was a thin sea of blue” by Paula Hayes
didn't you know, love, i was a thin sea of blue waiting for you to come along and fill yourself inside my creases to drink me in between your restless thoughts wade inward i asked you to come closer so i could please you but you ignored my pleas and left like some tug of gravity was waiting for to carry you away where are the gods, now, to bring the waters back up to my lips to give a little salt in return for all i've lost; is that too much to ask? just a little salt to take down even if there is no quenching in hapless mornings there is sky and sea and sun all making for soft horizons pretending these natural elements are some kind of boundary sealing off what was meant to hurt me from where i stand now sucker-punched and drunk in the orange of waves light, all light, radiant and forgotten while two birds, lovers no less, fly by me certain that they are far away from what they once knew and even more certain they have nowhere left to go Bio: Paula Hayes is a poet who lives in Memphis, Tennessee, the same place where rock and roll was birthed and where the ghost of Elvis still hangs around Beale Street. She finds the presence of such a rich musical history in the town she lives in to be right on track with transforming one as a poet into a bard. Alice Checks the Queen by Lynn White in response to Anita Arbidane artwork ‘Your time is up’ said Alice. She knew it didn’t matter how big she was or how small in the end. She knew it didn’t matter in the end whether the queen was red or white, whether time moved backwards or forwards. In the end there was still no stopping it, still no changing it however many time-pieces the Queen owned, however many times she moved the hands on or back on the clock-face. It made no difference. ‘You’re just a pawn on the wheel of time’ said Alice, ‘No wonder you look glum’ Bio: 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 and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/ "October Hardcover" by James Schwartz Shifting season of melancholy, Dark bark decay, Lighting of lamps, In the v a l l e y Against frosted fog, Shorn corn stalks, Lost leaden leaves, Cafe au lait, Notes of nutmeg, Window seat, Victor Hugo hardcover. Bio: James Schwartz is a poet, slam performer and author of various collections including "The Literary Party: Growing Up Gay & Amish in America" (available on Kindle 2011), PUnatic (Writing Knights Press, 2019) & Motor City Mix (Alien Buddha Press 2022). on twitter James can be found under @queeraspoetry for a follow. Art inspired by Clive Gresswell life’s ballet cycle causes me to pause in the twinkling of a romantic pose inherited by nature’s mystique the floral fauna and reddening leaves flutter inside my mind’s eye caught in the season’s harsh mirror light infernal, light eternal rays of the insect fanning down the earth’s delightful eternal gown. Bio: Clive Gresswell is a 64-year-old innovative writer and poet who has appeared in many mags from BlazeVOX to Poetry Wars and Tears in the Fence. He is the author of five poetry books the last two being ‘Strings’ and ‘Atoms’ from erbacce-press (see their website for more details).
Heels & Caged Minds by Pasithea Chan
You don’t have to wear my heels to know how it feels- to walk in my shoes and be unable to choose. Yet you choose to keep your distance and use- all that I see to maroon me in your desolate sea. I look into your eyes and feel them slice through my heart as you take me apart. I give you my back, but you keep track of all that I despise spicing them with lies. You wear your ambitions like a hat cutting through clouds as you tread my grounds. I collide into you trying to get to you only to realize I’ve lost you not to you. You’ve lost all expression as I have no intention- to change your opinion or seek your affirmation. I’ve made my decision; you are not my redemption. Thank you for your manipulation and oppression. I now follow my passion not your obsession. In your eyes, my kind wear heels to experience your passion as a privilege of being conquered. Today, I wear heels to remind myself how it feels to be happy tipping over your entitled kind. It is my right to live a free life with a free mind free of caged mentalities and cagey personalities. A Poetry Showcase with Pasithea Chan (September 2022) Clouded Vision by Lynn White I knew you were there, out here somewhere. I tried to find you but my vision clouded. With my head in the clouds I could only dream. Now I know I must let you go free. Free with the birds. Poetry Showcase from Lynn White
Keeping Mum At nine years old she’d never had a chance to know her father. Not to know about his life, his personality, or his dreams, Only that he loved her and had been frail and ill all her life. “She never even asks how her father is”, said her mother’s friend disapprovingly. Her mother must have told her that. “They won’t tell me, so there’s no point in asking”, she thought. No! I think she said! They wouldn’t tell her why he was in hospital. They wouldn’t tell her why he died, not at nine years old, not until years later when they were all dead and more voices could speak. Motherly Love I have spent a lifetime trying to break away, trying to break out, trying to find myself. Always on the edge, always on the outside, not quite a part, of it, not quite a beatnik, or a mod, hippy, or punk. I was early to realise that what she wanted me to be was what she had wanted for herself, about her, not me. I wanted to escape such love. I thought I could escape. I thought I had escaped. And I did, surely I did escape some of it. But not all. Not enough. So even now I feel tethered. After all this time of leaving her behind, I remain unsure of my own. First published in Yellow Chair Review, June 2016 My Sister Maud I had a sister once. Her name was Maud. I never knew her, never even knew of her. No one said. Not our father, or his son, not my mother, no one. No one spoke. All were mute for Maud. She never grew old, never even grew up. And her little life became engulfed in silence. My father cried when she died, I know it now more than eighty years later I know it. When there’s no one living who knew her. When there is no one left to tell me her favourite games, her hopes, her dreams. All are gone. I know it now. I even have a photograph so that I can see her, picture her as she was. And I won’t forget her, won’t forget that I had a sister once. Her name was Maud. First published in Blue Heron Review, Summer 2018
Bio: 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 and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. 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, Light Journal and So It Goes. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/
We were such special people then, the two of us, flying high above the rest like the arrogant angels we saw playing way above the clouds. We could almost touch them with our arms outstretched, as we danced our way through a cinemascope of endless possibilities. But other people were unimpressed. They had no wish to touch the angels, or reach the stars, even if they could. They looked down towards us, not up, fulfilled and sacred to each other, with a specialness unknown to us. We did not hear the soundtrack of their voices. Did not see the fractures of their dreams, or of ours to come. But now we have become the rest and know that we were not so special then. But just practicing for a life that would elude us as dreams remained dreams in cinemascope. Dreams which became decayed imaginings growing dusty with time and fading, as ordinariness reclaimed us and the angels let us fall. First published by Amomancies, Issue 5, Americana A Not So Still Life What a strange tableau, a still life still living in a dream. The birds flew over and looked down on it, but there was no place for them to hang out, to roost, to dream. So they didn’t care about the dust motes escaping into the sunlight floating like fairy dust getting themselves organised to follow their dream. Did they escape from the jar? Perhaps. Though the bull is wondering if they were ever inside and the birds don’t care as usual, hardly notice her dog emerging from the mist to inspect them. Unmistakably her dog just more amorphous than usual. It doesn’t look inclined to chase the motes or stick its head inside the loop they’re making. But the birds don’t care as usual. Only Dream Harder If you dream hard enough you’ll find castles in the air, or build them. If you dream hard enough you’ll find secret cities under the waves ruled over by a fishy king with his beady eye on you as you walk on by. If you dream hard enough you’ll find unicorns and ride them across the desert to discover lost oases hidden there amongst ancient cities once in ruins now recast in shimmering perfection by harsh sunlight. If you dreamer harder you’ll rise above the waves of sand which threaten to engulf you, float in the sunlight instead of being buried head first. It’s all possible if you only dream harder. First published in Event Horizon, Issue 6, November 2018 Dreaming 'To sleep perchance to dream'. That’s what he said. Sounds so gentle, but there’s a rub, a rough edge to this sleepy escape that would see me float away sending me spinning, out of control tumbling, raging, spiralling, crashing to an indeterminate end. So perhaps it’s daytime dreaming that has the edge to smoothly move me from one place to another. In wakeful dreams I can determine the beginning, at least, and invite the participants. Sometimes they may act out an old story with a predictable end. Sometimes I can write a new story and then bring it to life. First published in Flight of the Dragonfly, September 2021 Dream Catchers These hairy, feathery, stringy things are supposed to catch my dreams, but I don’t believe it. I’ve hung them above my bed and inspected them carefully in the morning but I’ve never found a dream caught in them, Not even a tiny dreamlet. No, they’re just a trick, a deception, to make me feel I can capture them and relive them when I want to. But I can’t. No one can ever go back to a dream. First published in Poetry Breakfast, April 21, 2016 Bio: 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 and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. 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, Light Journal and So It Goes. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/