The Bloody Boys

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The Bloody Boys – A tale of magic and cake and thieves and murder.

 

The Bloody Boys

 

The lower city was in chaos, wracked by a string of robberies, murders and general misbehaviour. All since a mysterious gang had moved in on cheapside. They were known as the Bloody Boys, and had begun a reign of mischief on the city folk. The traders had called for aid from the city, but the guard never came this far into the poor quarter. They made no secret of their lair, barricaded themselves into an abandoned building that they had covered in scarlet banners, they flaunted themselves, adding layers of insult to an already beleaguered city. The rich folk never listened, staying in their palatial lairs, they laughed in scorn at the little people and their troubles. They took what they could, greedy and slimy, from the hands of the Bloody Boys, to keep away from cheapside. Took what they could to keep their mouths shut and let the boys operate their wickedness across the lower city. They didn’t much care for the smallfolk really, and if they were profiting from it as well, well even better for them. The handprint sign of the boys followed all their robberies, and was too often shown across the town.
Agnes was a baker, of the finest sort, whose shop made her little bit of cheapside gleam. She made buns and cakes so delicate they sparkled in the dawn’s light, though they were always gone by the end of the day. The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread spilling into the streets. She kept some aside for those who couldn’t afford much, making sure she always had bread enough for everybody. She also had the misfortune to be right in the path of the bloody boy’s mitts. One morn she woke to find her stash of cash all gone, with only their bloody handprint calling sign to show her where they’d been.
This, she cried, was the final straw. She rallied up the tradesmen, grabbed her sturdiest rolling pin, and with a great cry, she passed out bread and cakes, brought the crowd to tears, “Today we take our tools to them, those thieving boys have made us fools for the last time”

Together they marched on the bloody boys hideout, only to find they had all gone, scattered, and in the coming nights the thefts got worse and worse.
So, she gathered her closest friends in the traders together, and they decided to set a grand trap, to catch them once and for all, and end their tyranny. “We’ll lay a dreadful trap, with all our skills, we’ll catch them all, and lest the city be too merciful, we’ll make sure their bloody hands don’t stain another of our walls”
She baked a grand, golden cake, the like had never even been seen in the high city, and she placed it at the centre of her bakery, where all could see, and wonder. The Carpenter laid traps in the floor, though it pained him to twist the wood and nails in the ways he did. The fisherman and the tailor made spiders webs, nets disguised as ribbons, razorwire hidden in rainbows and gold leaf that fell from the rafters. It looked like a dream, and as a jungle flower, just as deadly. Deadly flavour.

 

They came, sure as their greedy eyes were unable to resist, perhaps even all of them, figures in the shadows in strange outfits. Tattered crimson velvet coats shining in the darkness, as the moonlight occasionally lit a dim blade. They were silent, and radiated menace. They were darkness, blood seeping towards their target. The bakery simply gleamed at them, enticing, appetising, and with a signal (and a noticeable wince from the banker) the toymaker pressed a button as the masked boys came close, looking less human as they moved into the light, more like nightmares. The cake began to rotate, with a merry-go-round sort of tune, and as it did small coins began to fall from hidden compartments, glinting in the lamplight. The first of the boys came fully into the light, exposing monstrous eyes in a mostly covered face, launching him-it?-self at the door. The Glass, not glass anymore, replaced with a sugar glaze that stuck him to the door, holding his clawed hands to it, as he let out a blood-curdling scream that caused the traders to shiver, but the trap was set, and the boy was pulled into the door by his own efforts, becoming encased in this sickly trap. The others offered little sympathy to their fallen comrade, in fact the only one to come close simply laughed and slit the things throat, pushing it through the door and shattering it as it kicked the fallen things sticky corpse through. It (and they were most certainly “It” not he, now, they saw). It jumped towards the cake, along with a few of its fellows, and became tangled in the deadly ribbons, their efforts to get free only hastening their demise. They were real beasts now, snarling and screaming in rage until they stopped, hanging limp, the cake still untouched.
Still they came, all different sizes, marked by their red velvet mockeries of gentlemen’s attire. Some were caught in trap-doors and cleverly disguised deathtraps, though the strangest thing with the boys is that when they.. Expired.. They turned to bundles of rags, scraps of red velvet and bandage-like shadow, their ‘blood’ was simply shadows and darkness. The cake, at it’s centre, covered in gold, was untouched, and then there was only one left, glaring and malicious, it sort of stepped through the traps, slicing the ribbons and remains of it’s fallen counterparts down and disarming the craft-folks cleverly laid traps.
The craftsfolk hid in the buildings surrounding it, watching. This one looked different somehow, bigger and meaner and more.. Real.. It was at the cake now, grabbing handfuls of gold and cake and icing indiscriminately and stuffing them into it’s maw. Like the awful thing it was, just devouring all around it, including the remnants of its fellows. Agnes was having absolutely none of this, and despite her fellows protestations, grabbed her largest rolling pin and threw it at the beast. It looking round and grinned, and to all extents it was a set of knives under an extravagant mask. It leered, and she smiled, as it drew itself up and close to her face.

“Silly, greedy thing. You should watch what you eat!”

The thing pulled it’s face close to Agnes’, but as it did it began to solidify, becoming clunkier. “I had a feeling you were something not quite right, you lot” she frowned as the thing came to a stop, completely seizing up a little too close for comfort “The cement will keep you solid for a while, i’m afraid, you’re quite .. done”
A little later, as they began to clean up, the thing crumbled completely, except a small shadowy thing that tried to slink away, Agnes caught it with a quick sidestep, then pinched it, putting it into a small box she had concealed. “You caused enough trouble, little one, I don’t think i’ll let you escape again”.
The streets were decked with red and black ribbons as Cheapside celebrated. The rich folk ignored them especially that day, if they ever noticed. A while later, the noble council were overjoyed when a giant cake was delivered to them, as golden and beauteous as they had ever seen, and at its pinnacle a tiny crimson jewellery box, which seemed almost too enticing not to open.

 

 

————————————-
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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Pegs

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Pegs

Each Miner put his coat there,

When he came up,

From the depths.

We took pride in our delvers

Coming back unharmed,

More than most,

When a miner doesn’t come home,

His peg stands empty

Just in Case.

 
The Mountain that sustains us

Takes her toll,

She can be hard and she can be cruel,

But she feeds us.

When a miner does not come home,

His Peg hangs empty,

Just in case.

 
The Mountain gives her

Sacrifice back,

Dusty and wild,

We know the earth rarely gives back,

We take enough.

 
Once, she gave us back our son,

Now, in case we forget them,

We keep the pegs

For missing men.

So when they come home,

We can welcome them.

 

 

 

 

————————————-
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 Roving Men

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The Roving Men

 
There are ghosts of rovers in the hills,

Men who were not kind

When they roamed the earth,

They were roaming men

Who took all that they could claim.

 
These men who died alone,

Hateful and cold,

In the ancient hills,

Woke curse with their malice,

Old gods watched as they fell,

Felt their malevolence fail

And called it sacrifice.

 
Enthralled are they, in spirit,

To roam alone on the moor,

Forever wandering until

Three lives they save

Then they’ll be no more.

 
So if you spy a ghostly bandit man,

Pistol or sword bared,

They’re looking out for danger,

So you must be-ware.

These are the ghosts of evil men,

That surround you as you trail,

They are not here to hurt,

They cannot touch a mortal,

Not for long, not to hurt,

In the darkness, leering,

You’d think they came for worse.

 
There is no atonement in their eyes

The hillside gods were of blood, of death, of earth,

Their curse is bitter irony,

These men were cruel,

Their fate is worse,

To wander ever lone,

‘Til one day they might

Chance to save a soul,

From men like they were,

Who’d wreck it on the hillside.

 

————————————-
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

Mayflies

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Mayflies

 

The old man sits

In his rocking chair,

Wondering at fate.

He was a dancer,

An acrobat, darling

Of the wandering folk.

He’s not forgotten them,

Still tapping his fingers

To a beat in his mind

That played so long ago.

Now

That the musicians

Are all gone,

He wonders

If he’s the only one left who remembers

The tune.

So he whistles alone

Along the dusty corridors

Between cobwebbed rooms,

With Ill-used feet,

Dances with

Lost loves,

In this forgotten place, in dreams,

He can almost remember

What those summer evenings

Felt like.

 

————————————-

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

 

The Abyss

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The Abyss

 

I jumped into the abyss
Holding your hand,
It seemed so romantic.
It was such a stupid idea,
It took me ages to find you,
You were all mixed up,
Jumbled around ,
Consciousness
Scatter
Ed
Into a thousand bits.

 

The Abyss called,

We swam within it,

Enjoying the luxury

Of the incorporeal,

A holiday from existence,

For a while,

Until it bored us,

And missing touch,

We deny it,

Become ourselves again,

Walk away from the

Incomprehensible

Nothing

Arm in Arm.

 

————————————-

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

 

Dancing Shoes

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Dancing Shoes

 

Sally Thomas walked out

Of the factory, for the last time,

In a mood so bloody foul,

She sparked and swore

Shouting curses to the sky

At the mediocrity,

The pure bloody dullness

Of the cobbling folk.

 

Shouting Curses in a thunderstorm,

She called to Spirits of old,

For Sally, she had witches blood

Although she didn’t know.

 

In her rage came

Words she swore

She’d never heard before

Some ancient curse

Passed down in blood

She was a witch’s witch’s daughter,

Though it was hidden in the past.

She never knew, what would come,

In that old factory,

Witches words carry power

Those folk soon

Found, to misfortune.

 

It started on the factory line,

With a tapping on the belt,

A shake and a vibration,

To a rhythm all things felt,

It caught everybody there

It caught the shoes too,

Infectious and delirious

To dance along to.

 

In the night, the footless shoes

Jumped up,

And on the factory floor,

Began to dance a merry jig,

Thumping, to a self-made beat.

 

The old and the discarded,

The almost and the new,

Played merry havoc on the floor,

As the machines lurched in tune.

Next day no man could get near,

Without losing both his shoes,

for they’d take him

With them to the dance,

Then throw him to the floor

When he couldn’t keep up

And let him scramble away

Before they carried on the tune.

 

That week no one in town

Could understand

They all were left barefoot.

All the Shoes had upped and gone,

Look as though they may,

They could not find a single one,

Not even understairs

Nothing with a sole was left,

Their shoes had all gone rogue

They had danced away in the night

To the grand old factory dance,

So now the people were all bootless

Walking In the morning light.

 

So now the factory’s had to close,

The cobblers ran away,

The shoe trade’s dead in Pedley,

Every man goes barefoot now.

Sally Thom, she’s laughing,

Her Dancing Curse still strong,

Now Pedley is a dancing town,

So once a year at least,

The men climb back into their shoes

And dance a merry jig.

————————————-

 

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

A Witch to Write

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A Witch to Write

 

I want to tell you she was kind,

She was not kind,

Though she was fair.

She did us well,

She kept us from deaths door

Too many times to count,

Saw our babes and lambs

Safely into the world,

Helped our dying leave,

In peace, at the last.

 

I would like to tell you she was well loved,

That we repaid her kindness

With gentleness, good recompense,

That would be an untruth,

Whilst we knew her gifts,

We treated her with scorn,

Neglected to make her welcome,

Crossed ourselves as she passed,

Though so many of us owed her dear.

Debtors are loathe to pay

That which they cannot.

She had never asked for recompense,

But the guilt, rotted us,

Ate at us, turned us.. foul.

 

Children would spit,

throw refuse at her home,

Torment her cats,

We? We just stood by,

Allowed it, muttering to ourselves

Of the cruelty of children

The games of the young,

Though our own muttering

Was the cause of it.

 

When the witch hunters came to town,

There was not a one

Who stood up to protect her,

Defend her,

Claim her as our protector,

Not our curse.

 

We let them take her from her cottage,

Tie her to a stake

On the village green

Where in better times

We had danced our

Mayday lovers dance,

And light that damned taper.

 

The fire that should have spread,

Engulfing her,

Took our village instead.

It lunged backwards as the rain fell,

Thunder crackling as the witchfinder screamed,

Leaving our houses ash.

 

She left with the winds,

“I tried, I really tried”

Left us all bereft of home,

Though all alive,

Except the men who

Had come to take her.

 

In the dust of our homes, we wept,

For we realised our folly.

Her cottage on the hillside was

As gone as she,

Not a stone to remember her,

Though we all knew our sins.

 

Our lives,

Our repentance,

A last kindness

we did not deserve

From one we should have treated better.

 

You can listen to this and a few of my others, read by me, on my soundcloud 😉

 

 

————————————-

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

Bruna Mae

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Bruna Mae

 

Bruna was a pirate queen

Who sailed across the sea

Through winds and storms

She sailed, she sailed,

She sailed across the sea,

Battles, wars, men she fought,

To win the seventh sea!

 

She sullied forth in cannon-fire,

Split King’s men with her sword,

Breaking hills and sharing booty,

She flew across the seas

Sails blowing in sea-Bournemouth winds

She flew across the sea,

So let’s all cheer our pirate queen,

Long may she reign!

She fills us up with wealth and beer,

She built our homes and kept us here!

 

Oh Bruna Mae, queen of the waves,

Who sails upon the sea,

Through wind and storms,

She sails, she sails,

She sails across the sea,

Battles, wars, men she fights,

And brings us home for tea!

 

She fought a drake off Whitby,

She broke Tortugas snake,

A Dragon Slaying Pirate Queen,

That’s our Bruna Mae!

Those Redcoat stuffy navy men

Never stood a chance,

Blown to pieces in the bay

As she roared her captains laugh!

 

Oh Bruna Mae, oh Bruna Mae!

Sailing across the seas

Brought wind and storms

We’re sailing, across the seventh sea!

Battles, wars, men we’ll fight!

A Pirates life it be!

 

With rousing cheer, we’ll follow,

Our fearsome queen at front,

Bows will rage,

Sails will bellow,

We’ll shout our songs

We’ll shout, we’ll sing,

Across the Night

Across the seven seas!

 

Oh Bruna Mae, pirate lord,

We’ll follow you through darkest storm,

Until we’re home and warm again

We’ll fight, we’ll sing, we’ll plunder,

Through doom! Through tide!

Through darkness split by cannon’s roar!

 

————————————-

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

Crossroad

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Crossroad

 

There’s a crossroad

Out on the moor

Where the winds whip chill

Spirit hounds howl

In the darkness.

Dead of night

Calls gallows-folk out,

To roam the hills.

 

This was a plague village,

Long gone, the ghosts

Walk paths in ruins

Lost in ages dust,

Crumbled almost away.

 

It’s just a crossing,

In the hilltops,

Roads, dishevelled,

From lack of use.

There was a town here, once.

 

Every night she rides out,

From houses made manifest in moonlight,

Silvery sword sheathed,

As she gallops into the night,

Towards her fate,

Another traveller in the dark.

 

Be wary when you walk the moor,

She rides for gold, she rides for more,

A fearsome figure, on her great white steed,

Pistol-fire and sword-clash,

Her calling is thunderstrikes.

 

She’ll rob you blind,

Or if you take her fancy,

She’ll strap you to her horse’s back,

Take you home across the hills,

To a village

That only exists

When the moon waxes

To join the shadow folk.

 

Be wary of the highwayman,

Whether your heart is pure or foul,

On the night-roads she travels,

Lone abreast her horse,

She’ll take you if she fancies,

Or leave you broke and sore,

She’ll ride off in the moon again,

You’ll ne’er see her more.

 

————————————-

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

The Persistence of Dandelions

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The Persistence of Dandelions

 

Tumbledown helicopters

Spiral across the eddies

Of countryside breeze

Forever entangling

And dis-entangling

In unseen vortexes

Of springtime

To settle and

Be torn away

Or, when old again,

Be plucked from

Rest

By some giddy lover

To be set upon

The rivulets of the air

Currents again,

To, in pieces, soar

Across the world

Until

The ground intervenes.

They will persevere,

As with every weed

Ripped from the ground,

A thousand take flight

On an unexpected breeze.

————————————-

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