Carving

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Carving – a poem of line breaks and missing endings, about loss in the forest in winter and waiting.

 

 

Carving

 

He left a message in the ice

Before he went out

Hunting

Into the blizzard

But I woke too late and missed

My chance

To say

Goodbye.

I told him I loved him,

I’m sure

I

Did.

But enough?

Who knows. He left to hunt

Without me,

Left me snug in bed,

And

I never got to tell

Him I loved him

Again.

Watch the forest

Children,

One day he’ll return,

He went to bring me

Food

When I was small

And

I never got to

Say I loved him

Enough.

We stand out every winter

For a while in evening‘s

Cold,

For he can’t have left

Like this,

Things were so unfinished

He left us

Without

 

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I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

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Post Modern Faerie

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Post Modern Faerie

 

They used to bring

The poets to fairyland

To entertain the folk

As they ran and danced

And hunted,

The bards

Marching tune.

 

They were used

To the outcasts

All too willing

To join

The never ending song

That took worlds

And made them theirs

To see their songs

Made manifest

At last.

 

This new breed,

Taken by the faerie,

As was the custom,

Confused them,

Too much,

Even for chaos,

Unused to

Being asked

Why.

 

This post modern

Faerie

Took the old

Tricks, distorted them

In ways the fey lords

Were not

Ever prepared for.

 

Nobody ever asked why,

before.

Nobody ever raised

An eyebrow,

before,

At the ridiculousness,

Of this whole business.

 

Faerie faded with

The post-modernists.

Iron had held them true,

But skeptical,

self-loathing poets

Finally drove them

Away.

 

This piece is dedicated to the lovely Phoebe Boleyn Vowles-Webb, as a 2017 Christmas present. I wanted to explore the idea of a post-modernist poet or bard being drawn into Faerie like a traditional bard, and how faerie would react to that situation.

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I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

.

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here –

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

 

Saint Osgyth

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Saint Osgyth

 

She would carry her head

Back to holy ground

After they had struck it

From her neck

So rudely.

 

Scorned men are fools

That they chase

Full of pettiness

That they would

Take an abbess

And remove her head

Just for spite.

 

You should have seen their faces,

When she picked her severed head

From the ground, gingerly,

Placed it upon her bloody neck

And made a silly face

That made these monstrous fools

Faint or stumble down,

 

“The devil!” They cried

On this holy woman

They had just killed

Dragged from the abbey

Still in her wimple

And murdered

Cold, in the name of

A spurned husband.

 

“The only devils I see are men”

The dead woman cried,

As she strode away,

Crossing herself

For protection

Although this act,

With a severed head

In hands, Bloody,

Seemed to bother them.

 

She would find her way back,

To the abbey, Eventually.

She had a few more

Misbegotten fools

To frighten first.

 

 

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I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

Caterpillar / Dragon Tails / Snowglobe

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Caterpillar

The

Caterpillar

Has too

Many

Legs

They Wobble

All

Over

The place,

Bumbling along

And eating

Lettuce

Like

They think

A healthy diet

Will make

Them

Beautiful

Or give them

Wings

Or something.

 

 

 

Dragon Tails

 

Dragon tails

Swish like cats’

At play, they’re just

Bigger, and excitable

Dragonlings

Tend to make

A whole lot more mess.

It’s like small fire breathing scaled things

(who are bigger than houses)

Falling all over the place and shooting flames

Are perhaps

A little bit

Of a liability.

 

 

 

Snowglobe

 

The flakes fall,

As light and sharp

As papercuts

Freshly milled,

On our little home in the forest.

We know,

That whilst the snow

Keeps falling,

In our little world,

We are safe, for a while,

From the shaking.

 

 

 

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I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

 

On Waking I Find Myself In An Unknown Place

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On Waking I Find Myself In An Unknown Place

 

Waking to a Cornucopia of colour

I stretch, breathing in new air,

In an unknown city.

Hubbub surrounds everything

In bizz-buzz conversation,

Language unknown,

Lurching upwards I stand

To newborn fate,

Another day, another place.

 

Not noticing me yet, I decide (or I must, soon)

Whether I want

To dance in the reflections

Of these unusual lights,

Embrace my new home

Or hide from them,

In case they hurt

My travel-scarred form.

 

I lie here, an unknown thing,

Alien to them,

Curious and enthralled,

Wondering at a sky I do not recognise.

I think I would like

To move myself,

Like they do,

Dance alongside them,

In hope that their cruel eyes

Are only reflections of the sea

As it brings us back to shore.

 

 

————————————-

I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

Instructions For Successful Teleportation

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Instructions For Successful Teleportation

 

Firstly, do not ask questions.

You are here, you must concentrate.

 

Second. You cannot worry about the future.

It will be what it will be.

 

Third. Do not think of where you have been.

Where you have come from has no impact,

You cannot afford to leave part of yourself behind.

This could prove fatal.

 

Fourth. The journey is immaterial.

As are you, during this process.

Relax.

 

Fifth. Concentrate on your destination,

This is absolutely crucial,

At this juncture you cannot afford to lose control.

 

Sixth. Think not about the consequences.

Overthinking can distract,

Causing some particles to

Wander.

 

Seventh. You will still be you, in the end.

Whether a version of you died,

And a new one was formed during this process,

You are still the version of you that must continue.

 

Eighth. There may be points

Where you don’t feel entirely yourself,

This is normal, the system sometimes glitches

All time spent as a small lump of amorphous goo

Is simply a part of the process.

 

Ninth. All meetings along the way are best forgotten,

Anyone you meet whilst temporarily non existent

Cannot be trusted fully.

 

Tenth, At this stage you will hopefully have arrived

If all things have gone according to plan.

 

There will be some potential complications,

Refer to Appendix D-A Page 4.2.

 

 

 

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I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

 

The Holly King

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The Holly King

 

As the season’s getting colder,

There’s a madness that comes down,

From an ancient murdered king,

Whose corpse rotted

On the holly bough,

He was pierced right through the heart,

Atop his oaken throne,

Then left hanged on a tree.

 

The Holly King,

His crown of leaves

Stained crimson,

As he breathed his last,

He swore a dreadful curse of sorts,

To find his way back to the earth.

 

The Holly King, he found them all

One by One by One,

These traitors who had murdered him

His spirit found them as they slept,

Took their minds, and led them hence.

 

They all ended like him,

Their bodies, naked,

On the bough,

On their heads a holly trim,

Their hearts pierced

Blood melding with the snow.

 

They call the madness of the Holly King

A curse for traitors all,

That they will dance naked,

Out into the cold,

Singing of their crimes,

With nothing but a Holly Crown,

Nestled upon their heads,

To their deaths they dance and smile,

‘Til they are merry dead.

 

 

 

 

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I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)

https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:

paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

Trick Bird 

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Trick Bird – which is a Loki Poem, written for a night of Norse-inspired poetry a while ago. The Feather-dress which grants flight appears in several myths, and belongs to Freya, Loki borrows it in Thrymskvitha despite being a shape-changer himself.

 

Trick Bird

I wear my feather dress

Flying across the mountains

I am free,

No longer constrained,

No longer outcast,

This never belonged in her hands,

This was always mine,

Arrogant, foolish, petty sods,

They never knew what they had,

When they had me.
I wrap my feathers around me,

Let them change me,

As I shift they become

Part of me,

Runes glistening

On feathery scythes,

I let it guide me,

Across the eddies of the storm,

As changeable as myself,

I find kin in magicked things.
I am not the old man’s son,

No friend to chaos’ fire lord,

When I fly I am not a liar,

I am simply gale-borne,

Riding the ever-changing ripples

Of the sky,

I could almost sleep,

I could almost trust,

But a traitor sleeps with one eye open,

And I am that,

Treated with scorn.
I am not a traitor to myself,

I would burn first.

 

They never wanted me,

The wind does not care,

So I soar,

Invisible, at last,

Until I find myself

Drawn back to Earth

To play another game.

 

 

 

————————————-
I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!

If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)
https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .

If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:
paypal.me/henrythorpe

Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/

Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops

Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

Steam

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Steam

 

” You know what sucks? Being a waiter on a ghost train. No, not one of those fairground rides or anything like that. Very funny. Destined for comedy you are, dear.

I mean one of those big orient express style jobbies – I was working my school holidays on it, this great holiday experience, see the world and make some cash doing it kind of thing. It was the pits. Seriously, i’d worked table service before but this was something else. What is it about service work that inspires the worst in people? I don’t even mean just the punters either. Some of the folk I worked with were just the *worst* arseholes that I had ever had the pleasure of sharing very cramped sleeping quarters with. Do you know where the staff get shoved on sleeper cars? There’s a reason they chose their staff small and skinny, and it’s not all aesthetic, bunks the size of bookshelves to cram us all in at night.

I’m surrounded by aristocratic arseholes, worker-ant waiters who barely acknowledged me, and worse, actors. So, obviously, i’m having an absolutely wonderful time, wondering why I didn’t just stay home with my family for the summer. (yes, it’s that bad). When the train only decides to go on a little adventure by itself, down the wrong track and straight off a bridge that hadn’t been there for about sixty years. Not sure why they left the rails there, lazy engineering I guess. Or how we managed to go down the wrong way at all. Drunk driver or something? Who knows? At this stage I’m even prepared to think it was all some sort of spooky bloody coincidence, ugh.

Not everybody died? I think? I don’t remember that bit so well, some things are a bit.. Fuzzy? I had just gotten off shift as well, bloody typical, closed my eyes for 5 minutes and got woken up by all this screaming and rattling. I mean, it was a bloody murder mystery train but even I thought that was a bit much, really. I just remember thinking it was bloody typical. Then, all fading to black, un-utterably clichéd if you ask me, but that’s how it was. I’d expected some drama, a reaper man or some revelation that at least someone had the right idea. I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m still as bloody clueless as I was when I was one of you lot.

 

 As it was, I woke up, semi-incorporeal, in my bunk, to find the train running, but everything was a bit translucent. This was made even better by being woken up by a towering ghost waiter demanding to know why I was up late for my shift.

That’s how we got here, I suppose. Minus a few – I don’t know who or what decides that some people get to become ghosts and some don’t? I didn’t believe in anything when I was alive, this was something else. I wasn’t really given much choice in the matter, even though it was utterly and ridiculously stupid. It was as if all the worst personalities were destined to spend our afterlives together – them, and me. I can’t be as bad as them… can I? I’m travelling the world in the ghost of a forsaken ghost train, and they’re still re-enacting the camped up trash they were before it all ended. I’d spent the whole time longing for an escape, then when one finally presents itself, gloomy although that sounds, it only goes and traps me here forever. It’s just my stinking luck.

I’m not sure if i’m the only one who’s still just myself, of if the others are just that weird.
If actual full size trains could be ghosts, everyone would believe, right? But it’s true. It’s beyond cliched, throwing itself down the tracks of the ridiculous at full speed, but it’s real. We go everywhere, stop at platforms (of the real and ethereal variety). We seem to sometimes be more… corporeal? Than other times. It’s hard to tell, really. I think i’m losing things from when I was alive, as the nights go on.

I can get out, for times like this, every now and then. When the train stops for a little while, i can come into the city for a bit, go off on my own. I don’t know if it has to refuel or anything, or even how often we stop, but we do, and I slink away to see the sights. I can come out and meet people, like you, make myself feel a bit alive, human, again, I suppose.

When I first found i could do it I used to go to the sort of places I liked when I was alive, the student haunts and places full of people my age. Or, I suppose, my age when I died? That got depressing fast, trust me. It got pretty sad, this sea of youth, changing faces, styles, and i’m just watching, it’s a bit weird. So, instead, I come to places like this. Slightly seedy dives where nobody cares that I look a bit off, or thinks twice about listening to me. You guys make me feel a bit better about my blasted situation, really! Hah! I’m just kidding, you seem alright. Being dead makes everything seem even more ridiculous, trust me. I’ve found a new perspective on things, they don’t seem as important once you’re not really part of them anymore. I can watch, I suppose, sometimes even touch and be almost alive again but I always seem to fade away in the end.

So now, that’s what I do, I guess. As I said, I seem to be the only one who ventures out of the train when I can. The others just stay there. It’s like it all goes quiet when we stop. They go to bed, or phase out for a bit. I don’t really know. I just go for a wander into wherever we happen to be, for a while. I did come to see the world, I guess that’s going to be my modus-dead-er-andi or something (gosh, aren’t I funny? ugh…)

It’s not like i’m even the only ghost waiter, there’s a load of us, and if i’m honest I wasn’t even close to being good at it. I tried, for a bit, but really I was pretty shocking at it, and i’d realised that if I did the minimum of work, enough to get along and avoid getting in trouble, but not be asked or expected to produce wonders. Full team of awful silver service caricatures, including the arsey sommelier and puffed up Maitre D who were the most ridiculous pair of old queens i’d ever encountered. I’m pretty sure they still think that they’re alive. Bless ‘em. They were characters, not people, before the crash, and I think they’ve gotten worse since they died, they loom over the rest of us, their death suits them. Proof that actors have got nothing on the grand peacock pillocks of silver service. They’re literally serving the spirits of spirits to spirits.

Why did I have to get stuck in this parody of a bloody parody. I can’t even get drunk anymore. I can try, go a bit too far, try and get as far away from the train as possible, but i just close my eyes and find myself in my bunk again. That, or i’ll shake my head and find myself carrying a tray of precarious entrees into the dining carriage, an elephantine, puffed-up, penguin-suited, ghast glaring down over gold rimmed opera specs at me. They notice you more if you don’t play along, I realised it’s better to just go along with it all. I just have to imagine i’m still getting paid. Imagine the overtime! Hah!
I wish that as a ghost my uniform had magically begun to fit, but it’s still three sizes too big or too small in different parts of my body. I can still feel the cheap fabric, only made worse with overuse, despite the fact that the physical part of it is all dust now. It’s as if the clothes themselves are enjoying a miserable afterlife as well. I was coming to the end of my shift too, so I still look like i’ve been dragged through a coal shed backwards. I mean, it could be worse? At least I don’t have to endure my afterlife in my underwear. There’s a couple of the folk in the sleeper carriages who just wander round in nightgowns, like they’re Ebeneezer Sodding Scrooge.

Not sure how long it’s been now.. I keep forgetting things?
I can feel myself fading a bit, it’s like that when they want to move on, or have to, i don’t really know which it is. We keep moving, we keep travelling, it’s just how it is. You never know, we might stop again this way one day. You seem nice, anyway – some places we stop, no-body notices us at all. Then I can’t find anyone to talk to, and that’s always a bit sad. Nobody listens to me on the train, I get lonely sometimes. It’s been good to get out for a bit.

Keep your eye out for us, the confused ghosts, the ones who can’t really get into this whole haunting lark. We’re probably around than you think, lurking, or just waiting for someone to talk to.

I hope we’re not the only ones out there, running the tracks across the world at night. I like to imagine phantom steam trains in the big stations, great demonic horns sounding in chorus when they’ve closed up for the night. “

 

 

 

————————————-
I’m putting all this up for the love of writing and your enjoyment, and if you would like to use it for your own purposes that would be awesome. However, it’s my writing, and I must ask you to ask me first, and credit me (obviously). Also, if you do I’d really love to see/hear/watch it!
If you’d like to support me, on a monthly basis, then i’d love you forever, and feel free to sign up for my patreon here – i’ll link the blog to here whenever I post something new, as well as a few extra snippets just for patrons (so extracts of WIP larger projects etc)
https://www.patreon.com/lonpops .
If you would also like to help me keep putting things up for free, and support my writing but would rather not do monthly donations, my paypal is:
paypal.me/henrythorpe
Share, like, comment, critique, spread the word(s) and thankyou for visiting my page, you’re all wonderful.

I’ve also done recordings of several of my poems and stories, which are available on soundcloud here

If you’d like to give my page a like on facebook it’s here – https://www.facebook.com/HenryArthurThorpe/
Follow me on twitter (I’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops
Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com

Angel’s Watch

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Angel’s Watch

 
They told him to build

Towers like angels,

To watch over us,

Keeping guard

Over the city below.

 
The city grew around them,

Though they stood,

Wings outstretched

Above everything

For decades,

Things grow,

Cities live,

Spreading like bacteria,

Petri dish escapees,

Outwards and upwards,

Leaving walls

That once sheltered

A civilisation

Behind.

 
The angels look up,

A great stone-metal cage

Surrounds them.

So, At last,

They sleep

 

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Follow me on twitter (i’m afraid I don’t post much) – @Lonpops
Or drop me an email at hathorpe506@gmail.com