David White
@flankmire.bsky.social
Slightly more interesting than cardboard. Photographer, scribbler of words and a lapsed filmmaker.
The whale in me
Wants to take on the harpoon.
Wants to take on the harpoon.
November 3, 2025 at 10:24 AM
The whale in me
Wants to take on the harpoon.
Wants to take on the harpoon.
Amazingly I have been prevented from walking through first class on a train in order to get to a seat. I didn’t want to sit in first class merely wander through it. Apparently not for the likes of me and my working class feet.
October 24, 2025 at 9:28 AM
Amazingly I have been prevented from walking through first class on a train in order to get to a seat. I didn’t want to sit in first class merely wander through it. Apparently not for the likes of me and my working class feet.
I want you to know that the thread that keeps me here is old, fraying & tangled.
I am contemplating a replacement. A new spool needs ordering.
A new colour needs picking out. I need it to catch the morning light & stretch to a distance yet to be reached.
Not much to ask of the life I have left.
I am contemplating a replacement. A new spool needs ordering.
A new colour needs picking out. I need it to catch the morning light & stretch to a distance yet to be reached.
Not much to ask of the life I have left.
July 27, 2025 at 11:06 PM
I want you to know that the thread that keeps me here is old, fraying & tangled.
I am contemplating a replacement. A new spool needs ordering.
A new colour needs picking out. I need it to catch the morning light & stretch to a distance yet to be reached.
Not much to ask of the life I have left.
I am contemplating a replacement. A new spool needs ordering.
A new colour needs picking out. I need it to catch the morning light & stretch to a distance yet to be reached.
Not much to ask of the life I have left.
There is a tired voice in my head questioning reality.
It is small, at the back of the brain, whispering its doubt.
It’s there. It has always been there.
Maturation with a doubting imagination posing as reality is like throwing dreams into the wind.
It is small, at the back of the brain, whispering its doubt.
It’s there. It has always been there.
Maturation with a doubting imagination posing as reality is like throwing dreams into the wind.
July 23, 2025 at 2:01 AM
There is a tired voice in my head questioning reality.
It is small, at the back of the brain, whispering its doubt.
It’s there. It has always been there.
Maturation with a doubting imagination posing as reality is like throwing dreams into the wind.
It is small, at the back of the brain, whispering its doubt.
It’s there. It has always been there.
Maturation with a doubting imagination posing as reality is like throwing dreams into the wind.
I have a playlist of sixty songs that mean a lot to me…Good Vibrations and Heroes and Villains are on it. Thanks for the music that lingers and makes the heart and soul better Mr.Wilson.
June 12, 2025 at 1:17 PM
I have a playlist of sixty songs that mean a lot to me…Good Vibrations and Heroes and Villains are on it. Thanks for the music that lingers and makes the heart and soul better Mr.Wilson.
Jacque Tati’s Playtime is a brilliant piece of cinema. I love every frame.
May 30, 2025 at 10:39 PM
Jacque Tati’s Playtime is a brilliant piece of cinema. I love every frame.
Even supposed safer spaces can be filled with the same scheming scamming scum. Be careful out there in social media land.
May 26, 2025 at 8:32 PM
Even supposed safer spaces can be filled with the same scheming scamming scum. Be careful out there in social media land.
The wave take my feet.
Sand swirled.
Seagulls gulled.
Ice cream vendors dream of restaurant flair.
I am drowning by the pier and amusements.
Life doesn’t flash past my eyes. A confused crab does.
Light on the epiphany which is a shame. Thought I was more interesting than that.
#Poetry
Sand swirled.
Seagulls gulled.
Ice cream vendors dream of restaurant flair.
I am drowning by the pier and amusements.
Life doesn’t flash past my eyes. A confused crab does.
Light on the epiphany which is a shame. Thought I was more interesting than that.
#Poetry
May 14, 2025 at 12:14 AM
The wave take my feet.
Sand swirled.
Seagulls gulled.
Ice cream vendors dream of restaurant flair.
I am drowning by the pier and amusements.
Life doesn’t flash past my eyes. A confused crab does.
Light on the epiphany which is a shame. Thought I was more interesting than that.
#Poetry
Sand swirled.
Seagulls gulled.
Ice cream vendors dream of restaurant flair.
I am drowning by the pier and amusements.
Life doesn’t flash past my eyes. A confused crab does.
Light on the epiphany which is a shame. Thought I was more interesting than that.
#Poetry
You talked the most
but I hold my own.
Conversation confuses me and I lapsed into contradiction.
It’s a thing I do when I get nervous. You make me nervous.
Not for nothing words used to come easy but then again I had something to say.
Now nervous oratory just sounds crapulent to me.
#Poetry
but I hold my own.
Conversation confuses me and I lapsed into contradiction.
It’s a thing I do when I get nervous. You make me nervous.
Not for nothing words used to come easy but then again I had something to say.
Now nervous oratory just sounds crapulent to me.
#Poetry
May 14, 2025 at 12:06 AM
You talked the most
but I hold my own.
Conversation confuses me and I lapsed into contradiction.
It’s a thing I do when I get nervous. You make me nervous.
Not for nothing words used to come easy but then again I had something to say.
Now nervous oratory just sounds crapulent to me.
#Poetry
but I hold my own.
Conversation confuses me and I lapsed into contradiction.
It’s a thing I do when I get nervous. You make me nervous.
Not for nothing words used to come easy but then again I had something to say.
Now nervous oratory just sounds crapulent to me.
#Poetry
There is a treasure map rattling around in that chest of yours, she said.
X marks the spot. I have shovels. Should I dig? Or has it been plundered already?
A gold plated heart and a doubloon and some change soul. It’s enough to buy a pirate ship someday.
#Poetry
X marks the spot. I have shovels. Should I dig? Or has it been plundered already?
A gold plated heart and a doubloon and some change soul. It’s enough to buy a pirate ship someday.
#Poetry
May 13, 2025 at 11:57 PM
There is a treasure map rattling around in that chest of yours, she said.
X marks the spot. I have shovels. Should I dig? Or has it been plundered already?
A gold plated heart and a doubloon and some change soul. It’s enough to buy a pirate ship someday.
#Poetry
X marks the spot. I have shovels. Should I dig? Or has it been plundered already?
A gold plated heart and a doubloon and some change soul. It’s enough to buy a pirate ship someday.
#Poetry
I am ready to look up and see blue in the grey.
I am ready to lace up my boots of adventure and go wandering for more than a day.
I am ready to close my cupboard of uncertainty and open my chest of draws of destiny.
I am ready to eat my fish and chip supper of analogy - but no mushy peas.
#Poetry
I am ready to lace up my boots of adventure and go wandering for more than a day.
I am ready to close my cupboard of uncertainty and open my chest of draws of destiny.
I am ready to eat my fish and chip supper of analogy - but no mushy peas.
#Poetry
May 13, 2025 at 11:56 AM
I am ready to look up and see blue in the grey.
I am ready to lace up my boots of adventure and go wandering for more than a day.
I am ready to close my cupboard of uncertainty and open my chest of draws of destiny.
I am ready to eat my fish and chip supper of analogy - but no mushy peas.
#Poetry
I am ready to lace up my boots of adventure and go wandering for more than a day.
I am ready to close my cupboard of uncertainty and open my chest of draws of destiny.
I am ready to eat my fish and chip supper of analogy - but no mushy peas.
#Poetry
If I left a pen on your writing table would you use it?
I could provide words in tiny packets if it helps.
Would that pen be of use to you?
Or would the temptation to incriminate yourself be too much for tiny packet words.
I am curious. I have fresh pens standing by.
RSVP. At least try.
#Poetry
I could provide words in tiny packets if it helps.
Would that pen be of use to you?
Or would the temptation to incriminate yourself be too much for tiny packet words.
I am curious. I have fresh pens standing by.
RSVP. At least try.
#Poetry
May 13, 2025 at 2:01 AM
If I left a pen on your writing table would you use it?
I could provide words in tiny packets if it helps.
Would that pen be of use to you?
Or would the temptation to incriminate yourself be too much for tiny packet words.
I am curious. I have fresh pens standing by.
RSVP. At least try.
#Poetry
I could provide words in tiny packets if it helps.
Would that pen be of use to you?
Or would the temptation to incriminate yourself be too much for tiny packet words.
I am curious. I have fresh pens standing by.
RSVP. At least try.
#Poetry
Adrift on a sofa.
It’s that late kind of early when the night wants to stay being night but the day is looking over its shoulder.
Judging it. Wanting more fairy lights and caffeine to dodge day dreams.
It is okay because tired is a concept made of wet crepe paper in the brain.
Adrift.
#Poetry
It’s that late kind of early when the night wants to stay being night but the day is looking over its shoulder.
Judging it. Wanting more fairy lights and caffeine to dodge day dreams.
It is okay because tired is a concept made of wet crepe paper in the brain.
Adrift.
#Poetry
May 13, 2025 at 1:56 AM
Adrift on a sofa.
It’s that late kind of early when the night wants to stay being night but the day is looking over its shoulder.
Judging it. Wanting more fairy lights and caffeine to dodge day dreams.
It is okay because tired is a concept made of wet crepe paper in the brain.
Adrift.
#Poetry
It’s that late kind of early when the night wants to stay being night but the day is looking over its shoulder.
Judging it. Wanting more fairy lights and caffeine to dodge day dreams.
It is okay because tired is a concept made of wet crepe paper in the brain.
Adrift.
#Poetry
Pillow cases chase pillows across the bed.
They are cotton crocodiles wanting lunch.
The duvet is a mountaineer’s worst nightmare. There is nowhere to fix their carabiner.
You sleep too soundly for your dreams to breathe.
They are dried watercolours, parched and panting for brush strokes.
#poetry
They are cotton crocodiles wanting lunch.
The duvet is a mountaineer’s worst nightmare. There is nowhere to fix their carabiner.
You sleep too soundly for your dreams to breathe.
They are dried watercolours, parched and panting for brush strokes.
#poetry
May 10, 2025 at 4:53 PM
Pillow cases chase pillows across the bed.
They are cotton crocodiles wanting lunch.
The duvet is a mountaineer’s worst nightmare. There is nowhere to fix their carabiner.
You sleep too soundly for your dreams to breathe.
They are dried watercolours, parched and panting for brush strokes.
#poetry
They are cotton crocodiles wanting lunch.
The duvet is a mountaineer’s worst nightmare. There is nowhere to fix their carabiner.
You sleep too soundly for your dreams to breathe.
They are dried watercolours, parched and panting for brush strokes.
#poetry
I am going to lay here in the semi-dark of a Saturday afternoon.
Bone tired.
Work caught up with me. I am a statistic this weekend. A quiet burn out.
I am crying at everything.
I wish I could be gentle with myself. Old DNA prevents me. My issues as a dusty coffee table book.
#poem
Bone tired.
Work caught up with me. I am a statistic this weekend. A quiet burn out.
I am crying at everything.
I wish I could be gentle with myself. Old DNA prevents me. My issues as a dusty coffee table book.
#poem
May 10, 2025 at 3:20 PM
I am going to lay here in the semi-dark of a Saturday afternoon.
Bone tired.
Work caught up with me. I am a statistic this weekend. A quiet burn out.
I am crying at everything.
I wish I could be gentle with myself. Old DNA prevents me. My issues as a dusty coffee table book.
#poem
Bone tired.
Work caught up with me. I am a statistic this weekend. A quiet burn out.
I am crying at everything.
I wish I could be gentle with myself. Old DNA prevents me. My issues as a dusty coffee table book.
#poem
It is messy. Always has been messy and as age takes me and lowers me into the dirt it will continue to be messy until they are playing me my favourite song out of the church.
Then the ghost of me might be quiet.
Then again probably not.
Heckles in the afterlife are a given.
#vss365 #poetry #poem
Then the ghost of me might be quiet.
Then again probably not.
Heckles in the afterlife are a given.
#vss365 #poetry #poem
April 30, 2025 at 4:09 PM
Leaving all the broken toys in the box I am going to go look for how to repair them at all costs.
From teaching myself the rules to mechanics and glue I am going to take a fresh perspective on a day bright and blue.
From teaching myself the rules to mechanics and glue I am going to take a fresh perspective on a day bright and blue.
April 30, 2025 at 3:22 PM
Leaving all the broken toys in the box I am going to go look for how to repair them at all costs.
From teaching myself the rules to mechanics and glue I am going to take a fresh perspective on a day bright and blue.
From teaching myself the rules to mechanics and glue I am going to take a fresh perspective on a day bright and blue.
I have been standing still now for a year.
In corners, at the edges and especially in plain sight.
I blend with all types of furniture, fixtures and fittings.
Shaking my world like a stuck snow globe I go looking for my winter of discontent and find no reasons in my seasons.
#vss365 #poetry #poem
In corners, at the edges and especially in plain sight.
I blend with all types of furniture, fixtures and fittings.
Shaking my world like a stuck snow globe I go looking for my winter of discontent and find no reasons in my seasons.
#vss365 #poetry #poem
April 30, 2025 at 5:55 AM
I lost you whilst I traced your tattoos for your history.
I lost you when the conversation moved from the abstract to the mundane, somewhere in between & back again.
I lost you whilst I was dying by the bedside of that one last wish.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #wordsketch
I lost you when the conversation moved from the abstract to the mundane, somewhere in between & back again.
I lost you whilst I was dying by the bedside of that one last wish.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #wordsketch
April 26, 2025 at 6:33 PM
I lost you whilst I traced your tattoos for your history.
I lost you when the conversation moved from the abstract to the mundane, somewhere in between & back again.
I lost you whilst I was dying by the bedside of that one last wish.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #wordsketch
I lost you when the conversation moved from the abstract to the mundane, somewhere in between & back again.
I lost you whilst I was dying by the bedside of that one last wish.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #wordsketch
Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer does not believe politicians supporting all sections of society are politicians supporting all sections of society, my official spokesman has said. Mainly because he doesn’t have a backbone…or humanity it seems. #shameonStamer
April 22, 2025 at 10:37 PM
Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer does not believe politicians supporting all sections of society are politicians supporting all sections of society, my official spokesman has said. Mainly because he doesn’t have a backbone…or humanity it seems. #shameonStamer
You are you
You are not your biology
No one is
You can’t be defind by others
Dress it up as they might
You are your heart
You are your soul
I love that about you
Thank you for being alive & with me in this world
You being you
Makes it so much better
#poem #poetry #micropoem #transpeoplerights
You are not your biology
No one is
You can’t be defind by others
Dress it up as they might
You are your heart
You are your soul
I love that about you
Thank you for being alive & with me in this world
You being you
Makes it so much better
#poem #poetry #micropoem #transpeoplerights
April 17, 2025 at 8:24 PM
You are you
You are not your biology
No one is
You can’t be defind by others
Dress it up as they might
You are your heart
You are your soul
I love that about you
Thank you for being alive & with me in this world
You being you
Makes it so much better
#poem #poetry #micropoem #transpeoplerights
You are not your biology
No one is
You can’t be defind by others
Dress it up as they might
You are your heart
You are your soul
I love that about you
Thank you for being alive & with me in this world
You being you
Makes it so much better
#poem #poetry #micropoem #transpeoplerights
A photograph of him in clothes
made from leftover words.
A typical writer’s choice of attire
flowing in an unseen thought.
He knows what it means to be
fixated by lost horizons
and half scribbled love notes
kept in his pockets for throwing at others.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #scribbles
made from leftover words.
A typical writer’s choice of attire
flowing in an unseen thought.
He knows what it means to be
fixated by lost horizons
and half scribbled love notes
kept in his pockets for throwing at others.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #scribbles
April 16, 2025 at 10:06 PM
A photograph of him in clothes
made from leftover words.
A typical writer’s choice of attire
flowing in an unseen thought.
He knows what it means to be
fixated by lost horizons
and half scribbled love notes
kept in his pockets for throwing at others.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #scribbles
made from leftover words.
A typical writer’s choice of attire
flowing in an unseen thought.
He knows what it means to be
fixated by lost horizons
and half scribbled love notes
kept in his pockets for throwing at others.
#poem #poetry #micropoem #scribbles
Twiggy Sunshine
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#urbanphotography #bwphotography #blackandwhitephotography
#urbanstreetphotogallery #urbanphotography_city #urbanphotographers
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#urbanphotography #bwphotography #blackandwhitephotography
#urbanstreetphotogallery #urbanphotography_city #urbanphotographers
April 9, 2025 at 4:47 PM