Shrouded
They’re following me,
like black vultures circling.
They’re shrouded in winter’s mist
almost as dark as the shrouds
they wear to cover themselves,
to cloak themselves for their journey.
Shrouds like dusty abayas
once black, now
uniformly grey,
shapeless,
bloodless,
formless,
lifeless
grey.
Only their mouths still red
like vultures feasting
on death
mouths
stained by this final feast.
The feast of what was left
of the harvest.
And now there will be
nothing,
nothing any more.
Nothing.
Entertainment
One tank drew the crowd
down in the museum’s aquarium.
It was not the tank with pike
gawping threateningly,
teeth bared ready
for an audience.
No,
though there was a monstrous pike in it,
swimming with its mouth wide open,
in wonder at its strange environment.
Well,
it’s not often that a pike gets to swim
in a drawing room
furnished from times past.
It was a crowd puller,
though still not enough
to satisfy such an audience
the pike reflected
as it considered the strangeness
of its un-fish-like companion:
the young girl costume-dressed
to match the drawing room,
standing there dreamlike—
or maybe drugged—
steadying herself
with the chair.
Perhaps earlier she was seated
when the water was lower.
But now she has to stand.
The water is already
up to her waist
and rising slowly.
The audience gets larger,
their eyes bulging fishlike
as they gawp at the spectacle.
It’s almost supper-time.
So it goes.
Off With His Hair
“Off with his hair!” Cried the Red Queen.
“I don’t think that’s quite right,” said
Alice.
“It should surely be, off with his head”.
The Red Queen’s frown deepened.
She didn’t make mistakes.
It was a well known fact.
Never the less…
She shouted to Jack
who was reclining lazily as usual.
“Which is correct, hair or head?”
“Well, you are quite right, of course
as everyone knows.
But consider..
As all strength flows from hair to head,
Cutting off his hair may make it unnecessary
to cut off his head
even though all around are losing theirs.”
“Of course”, cried the Red Queen.
“Off with his hair!”
“They’re as mad as hatters” thought Alice.
But she didn’t say so,
Just in case an unfortunate judgement was
made.
One couldn’t be too careful in a mad
world.
First published in Blognostics, April/May 2019
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. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Gyroscope Review and So It Goes. Find Lynn at:
https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/
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