Written In Black And White The Devil It Is Odyssey In The Afternoon

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Written In Black And White

Lynn White

Mondays were washdays. They had decreed it long ago, written it down in black and white, and They must be obeyed still everyone knew it. Thus every Monday the women dressed in black and left their neat white houses and carried their white bundles of grubby grey washing to the river to scrub and scrub to make it white again. No colours were allowed. They had decreed it long ago, written it down in black and white to be obeyed for ever. So the clean washing was wrapped in white bundles and tightly bound, bound for home with the black clad women just as They had decreed in black and white. No one knew why but all obeyed. It was the way things were written in black and white. Every Monday in black and white.

The Devil It Is

Lynn White

Play me a tune a little light music to soothe my soul, to bring me cheer in these troubled times. Play it louder louder play louder all of you together.

Summon the angels.

Don’t let the devil seduce me don’t let him take me don’t let him carry my soul away.

Odyssey In The Afternoon

Lynn White

I remember that day of the voyage from the moment the dawn rose out of the golden globe and stretched out pink fingered roses into the blue of the morning, without knowing what was to come after, in the afternoon when the wind took us to a strange land.

But I embraced its strangeness and its indolent contented people who showed me the lotus and smiled as I bit into the delight of its flowers and fruits, savoured it’s dreamy sensations with no need to wonder what would to come after, there were only afternoons, forever afternoons. But the moment when I woke, shook myself awake, I dragged us all away out of fear of forgetting, forgetting where I’d come from, forgetting where I should go and before I forgot to leave that place with it’s sopheristic days of perpetual afternoon.

And in the evening as night fell to envelop me stretching out its grey blanket and touching me with black, I wondered if I would I even remember sniffing the fragrance of the flowers and tasting fruit alive with the sleepy sensations of the days of afternoons.

I have already forgotten to wonder what came after.

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, Peach Velvet, Light Journal and So It Goes. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com

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