Four Poems by Lynn White

 

Angels Wings

 

I am pondering the nature of 

angels wings.

Fluttery things.

Gossamer 

like powdery moths

or butterflies, 

fluttering by.

Or, feathered like a bird's.

Made to hover and soar.

To glide on the thermals,

higher and higher,

heavenwards.

 

Not tight skin and bone

like bat's 

or scaly like dragon's.

Prehistoric.

Long before the birds 

and the flutterbies.

But, after than the angels,

later than those fluttery things.

 

So did the feathers come first

and fall to earth

becoming scales

on the way down.

How far did they fall

before they left heaven 

and hit the ground flying

to metamorphose

and make a scaly shell

of skin ready to burst

and open dustily. 

Powdered.

Clothed.

Scaled like moths

in clouds

of dust

 

Not so different then

in the scales of things,

those powdered creatures

those fluttery things,

those angels wings.

 

 

Metamorphosis 

 

It should be the dragon that breathes fire,

that’s him there above the horse,

but he’s quiet and calm 

in tune with the sweet music

quite breathless just now

while in flight

clearly 

still

in metamorphosis.

It’s the horse that looks dangerous,

his breath steaming

about to catch

fire

no doubt 

about it

they will surely change places

when their metamorphosis 

is completed

and the music stops.

 

First published in Mehfil, June 2020

 

 

In the Clouds

 

I’ve seen a dragon in the clouds

and a humming bird

and a tea table

set for tea.

Some say they’ve seen Christ

or Mohamed,

or fairy kings and queens.

They have all stayed a while,

my shapes in the cloud.

None have left.

Not until now.

Now, 

when I saw the man 

with his tufts of hair

growing haphazardly

here and there.

With his open red mouth already blooded.

With the sunlight shining through his eyes.

I have never seen such colours in the clouds.

And now 

he seems to be leaving,

not blown away,

but stepping out

looking

hungrily towards me.

 

First published in Gateway Review, 2018 

 

 

Voice Of An Angel

 

Once I thought love

would be enough

to fly us away

spinning 

past planets and stars

reaching up to them

breaking through 

the atmosphere

to grasp that moment

and put it in a glass,

our own shining orb

that would stay forever

gleaming and shimmering

and singing at my touch

with the pure notes of

the voice of an angel

breaking through 

the atmosphere,

your voice

a voice so pure

it will never shatter

the glass.

 

It’s lustre has faded now

but it will stay forever

a still shining sphere

in my memories 

and dreams.

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 has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Consequence Journal, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Gyroscope Review, Blue Pepper, Arachne Press and So It Goes. 

 https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/