Lightning Hunters

Tags

apocalypse, cave, cold, folk, future, hunt, hunted, last, life, lightning, lightning hunters, lost, myth, past, people, poem, poetry, warm

Lightning Hunters

 

In the the world before there was fire,

We sat, cold and shivering,

In our caves,

Waiting for a lightning strike.

 

A gift from the gods,

To carry home in ceremony,

Aloft,

Dangerous lifebringer,

That must be protected and fed,

Lest we spend another night in the cold.

In prayer we surrounded it, in love

For this mysterious blessing

That kept us from the night

Made our desperate hunts

Less risky in their prize

Knowing food would come

With less danger of deathly disease.

 

They said our ancestors made it from sticks

The elders, the storytellers ,

But in these damp lands

Of ruined towers

Great stone and metal precipices

Best avoided for fear of predators

There were little enough.

 

Once, we stretched towards the stars,

In stories, passed down,

We stretched too far,

Brought the god’s wrath upon us,

Filled great cities with poison

That great beasts fed upon.

 

We brought it upon ourselves,

So now we hide,

Last refugees of a dead race.

 

We search for lightning strikes,

Before the rain takes the bounty away from us,

Our brave hunters travel far.

For fuel and food and fire,

The last carried back as precious

As any of the rocks our ancestors cherished,

To be held in ceremony,

In the depths of our catacombs,

The hearth of our final days.

 

 

 

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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

Lots of love,

Henry

xx

Shelter

Tags

ashes, death, embers, fire, life, Mountains, outcrop, poetry, rain, rock, safety, shelter, storm, travel

Shelter

 

 

There’s always shelter somewhere in the storm

Repeat it, as a mantra,

To protect from gales,

Buffeting rain turned to blades

In wind ice cold, penetrating

Even the warmest cloak,

On the hillside,

Far from home.

 

 

The journey will take its toll,

A price exacted upon you,

It may or may not

take your life,

It will be forever etched

Upon your soul.

 

 

There’s always someplace warm,

Some crag to cower under,

From the worst of nature’s wrath.

 

 
The storm takes,

The earth provides,

Though rain can soothe,

Mountains take lives,

If disrespected,

If the toll is not paid

It will exact it upon another.

 

 

 

Blood runs in the ground,

Washes away in the torrents

Becoming one with the earth again,

Leaving little trace of your path,

But ashes left under
An outcrop, embers
For the next traveller
To re-ignite.

 

 

 

————————————-
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

Lots of love,

Henry

xx

Hideaway

Tags

carrion, caves, coast, coves, davy jones, death, fantasy, folk, folk tales, hanged men, hideaway, last drop, pirate, Pirates, poetry, sea, seashore, treasure, waves, wind, wreckers

Hideaway – a wreckers poem. Sea and pirates and treasure and the macabre. 

Far from port we hide,

Lanterns ready to be carried,

In dead of night,

Across the knives of the bay,

That cut ships to shreds,

Leave their treasure filled stomachs

Open to the sky,

Ready for our carrion claws

To dart and disappear, 

Scampering through the wreckage,

To peck at the ribs of disaster,

So we can eat another day,

On the spoils of tragedy.

The Beadle and the Sheriff

Come along the rocks,

With dogs and torches,

Searching for our lair,

They’ll never find our Sinbad’s cave,

It’s tucked away, secret, lost,

We’ll hide until the law 

Has gone away, until 

The next ship comes.

In the night we’ll leave,

Treasures stashed for other days,

When it’s safe we’ll steal away.

They caught our comrade on the coast,

Strung him up in the port,

So as the tide wanes,

He smiles his rictus grin,

To the sea that kept him,

Until she was done with him,

Rolled him into the arms of the law,

On a rogue wave,

That sent his angler-fish boat,

Onto shore, where the

Fishermen found him.

Sea born, sea dead,

He threw his boots off as

The pushed him from the gallows pier.

One long drop,

Then they’ll return you to the sea,

One last drop,

Neck snapping as she comes to take you,

Back to briny waters whence you came, 

She birthed you and she’ll take you home,

When all is done and fishes nibble at your bones,

Smile the grin of men long dead,

When they catch you,

Mother sea will take you back,

To Davy Jones’ long sought home,

In the end, what’s dead is dead,

But seafarers are ne’er alone.

Image from google image search Here