Organic Matter

  The Map If I could draw a map of me, For you, the blues, the evergreens, The reds, the rage, the what has been, The winding rivers rapids deep, Plumbing depths through tangled reeds, Reveal the inner parts of me, For you, the truths, The whispered words, Through waterfalls   The crash  The roar;   They went unheard But fell down deep to ocean’s floor, The crash  The roar The nevermore. But, Livid lava vivid Bubbles up to scarlet skies The anger deeply crimson Cutting paths through wounded pride I hide wild unharnessed places Uncaressed by man’s cruel hand Uninhabitable spaces Deep within my hinterland. This map of me you helped to draw, That crash That roar I felt it raw Your crash,  Your roar, My earth laid scorched; I kept the score, Then locked that door. No crash, No roar, Not evermore . Written by Mel White 2026

Poetry.  I'll admit, it was nowhere near to even being close to being on my radar: "Poetry????! Oh no-no-no-no-no-no-no. Definitely Not. For. Me." .....That's something other - far more creative - folk partake in. That's highbrow stuff for God's sake; dense and impenetrable. In a nutshell: Poetry? No. Long story short: I allowed myself to be recruited to a local poetry group. A simple moment of madness, that probably has turned out to be one of the sanest things I've ever done. True, my sanity is questionable at best but still.. I'm sure as this blog grows I will elaborate a tad on my life, me; how I became me; how this blog came to be here; where these words have come from.....I leave that as a (hopefully) enticing cliffhanger..  A bit about the group: We meet monthly. Each month we choose a "prompt" - a word or phrase to use as inspiration for a poem. Each month we also each pick one word. The aim is to create a short (the shorter the bet...

On the theme of "no filter", a slightly different offering... No (coffee) Filters My alarm clock gracefully arcs through the air, And lands with the grace of a brick to the head, I’m still here in bed, ‘Cause my battery’s dead. Still cursing my luck crawling out of my pit, Trawling the floor for a clean pair of knicks, But of course, there’s none there, So I grab the old pair. A frenzy of hunting, a half clean cream blouse, Found in a heap with some semi-clean trousers, Bra nestled beneath, Great. Now for my teeth.. Skipping the brush toothpaste flies overhead, Frozen, I follow its stripy descent, I can’t look away -though still hope it’s not true- But yes, my cream blouse now sports red white and blue. Raising my eyes to the heavens I pray, Caffeine will help me to get through this day, In my newly hued blouse (fetching red white and blue), I fish for the coffee, fresh ground from Peru. Optimistically thinking wit...

                                                                     No Filter You may think they have no filter, -And that's where danger lies- But it's a purposeful agenda, That drives these great divides, Expertly crafted  Multi-drafted Precision engineered, They bury facts and choke out truths, To play upon your fears. They use the media for their spin, As they're casting you a line, You take the bait, swallow it in, But it's venom dressed as wine... Or perhaps a pint of ale or beer? Whatever poison suits For they'll feed you what you want to hear, 'Til their toxic tales take root. Locked and loaded rhetoric, They weaponise your pain, Reductionist revisionists, They call for "pure, cold rage", This charismatic call to arms, You passively accept, Mind filled up with made up harms, No room to self-reflect. ...