FOUR FEATHERS PRESS ONLINE EDITION: BODY PARTS Send up to three poems on the subject of or just using either the words body and/or part totaling up to 150 lines in length in the body of an email message or attached in a Word file to donkingfishercampbell@gmail.com by 11:59 PM PST on January 19th. No PDF's please. Color artwork is also desired. Please send in JPG form. No late submissions accepted. Poets and artists published in Four Feathers Press Online Edition: Body Parts will be published online and will be invited to read at the Saturday Afternoon Poetry Zoom meeting on Saturday, January 20th between 3 and 5 pm PST.

Wednesday, January 17, 2024

Lynn White

It’s My Body


It’s my body to imagine,

to construct and shape,

in or out of fashion.

Or so I like to think.


But others 

have different 

imaginings, 

different visions, 

different versions 

of me and my body.

I have to consider these,

to determine my own reality,

have to decide how to engage 

these multiple images

and their projections

to reveal myself to myself,

if I can see them, that is.

For sometimes they are invisible,

as sometimes I am,

existing only in imaginations.


But, it is still my body,

to decide whose versions 

it engages with,

who it entertains.

And who enters

into this conversation.



First published in BLYNKT, Issue 3 2017




Mirror Image


The mirror was old,

not antique

just old.

Perhaps that was the reason

it didn’t seem quite right,

didn’t seem to reflect

me as I expected.

I looked harder.


I could see my surroundings

reflected as I thought they were,

the curtains and the colours,

the lamp standing naked

all present and correct.

But I wasn’t there.


I am here.

I know I am

and I’m looking

into the old mirror

where I should see myself

reflected

but I can’t.


I think it has swallowed me,

body and soul.



First published in Praxis, November 2020




We’re All Doomed


“We’re all doomed”, he said.

Well, so we are!

From the moment of our birth,

no, before then

some don’t make it that far,

expelled by the body

to parts

unknown.


As I child 

I thought

that living

with such knowledge

should be hellish,

impossible to live with

happily.


If I were god,

it would be

my little joke.

Forget Satan 

and his fiery furnace,

the nonsense of an underworld,

the craziness of constant rebirth.

Life is hell.


I explained my theory

at Sunday School

when aged nine

and three-quarters.

It didn’t go down well.

But it still seems to me

that god is the creator

of the first conspiracy theories

and humans still don’t get it.


So he still has the last laugh

after all!


First published in Assignment, December 2022


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