Tessera

David Thorne

@darthorne.bsky.social

I'm a neurodivergent X-ennial. I crave validation and avoid interaction. It’s complicated. I write things, play pretend with friends, and dispense information no one asked for.

122 Posts52 Follower 63 Folgt

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · 2d ago

#PromptCombo #Stand #Prompt #Poetry @jenthorne.bsky.social

The Stand

Against the world we take our stand
Battered, bruised, we hold the line.
The guardians of a dying land.

Our kin may fall to avaricious hands
Who corrupt the just, who redefine.
Against the world we take our stand.

We neither break nor yield to their command.
We thwart attempts to undermine.
The guardians of a dying land.

They tell us we don't understand.
They exhaust, confuse, malign.
Against the world we take our stand.

Then step by step we grow, expand.
With strength in numbers we combine.
The guardians of a dying land.

To force the tyrants to disband,
Our solitary goals entwine.
Against the world we take our stand.
The guardians of a dying land.

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · last mo.

#OddChallenge #Poetry @zoomburst.substack.com #PoetsOfDoom #Villanelle #Poetry

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 4mo ago

I am having an awful time at the moment as I am currently in hospital keeping vigil at my mom's bedside, waiting to say goodbye. This is a poem I wrote about her a while ago. It seems a fitting tribute to share here. Love you Mom 🩶 #PoemsAbout #InBloom @thebrokenspine.co.uk

Long Before Guerrilla Gardeners There Was My Mother

When I was in my infancy,
so was the estate where I lived.
New, fresh everything gleamed
with the last dregs of post-war idealism.
The footpaths of black tarmac
cut through grassy banks and small hills,
created from the rubble and earth
displaced by the foundations.

Mum decided there weren’t enough flowers and trees.
She didn’t complain to the council,
or ask for a grant.
My dad took us on outings to local forests.
We visited elderly relatives,
house-proud and garden mad.
Pulled over at the side of highways to rescue saplings,
finding everything a new home on our small estate.
Bit by bit the plant revolution took place

I am much older now.
So is the estate.

The patched tarmac has faded to grey.
The houses have seen many wars.
But the trees grow strong and tall.

A voracious rowan has sired an empire.
No autumn journey can be made
without the crunching of red berries under your shoes.
Bluebells settle under golden forsythia,
as the blossoms of ornamental cherries and magnolia
flutter down in the evening breeze,
carrying the scent of honeysuckle
twisted around old signposts.

We walk amongst her legacy.
Her gardens bloom in every corner.
Christmas berries lay down a red carpet.
Bluebells nod their approval.
The confetti of scattering blossoms
celebrate the gift she planted for us

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#AcrosticJanuary #coal @daveashleypoet.bsky.social COAL Coming from the Black Country Of course coal is in my blood. Ancestors delved deep below Landscapes shaped by mining.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#Emoetry #Cautious #writingcommunity #poetry #prompts

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Everything is turning into an acrostic. I think I've been doing too many! #WildWalkPrompt #Kitten @sonnetsmith.bsky.social #AcrosticJanuary @daveashleypoet.bsky.social

Keeping close, needle-paws testing trust.
In the engine of your purr, the room steadied.
Tucked into warm spaces where the sun paused.
Time worked quietly, silken fur dulled.
Every goodbye outweighed your fragile body.
Nothing left. I learn the house without you.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

It's my first time trying a #SenseWrds Prompt poem, but I read this one, and these memories came flooding out! #Prompt 173

Aunt Hilda

I was scrubbed
and pushed into the lavender dress,
the one that arrived in the post,
scratchy at the neck.
My hair tied up, wedding shoes on.
Bundled into the car,
given instructions on how to not be me.

We didn’t visit often.
You weren’t one of us.
Not a comfortable granny
with chunks of cake
and a tea-stained apron.
Not a laughing, red-faced uncle
who smelt of coconut and smoke.

You were stiff,
like the lace at your throat and wrists,
sitting in your flat like a doll.
Painted smile, bird eyes,
in a bejewelled costume.

Your claw-tipped hands
made tea the proper way,
no bags, a warmed pot,
served in cups that rattled on tiny plates,
handles my short, chubby hands
could not grasp,
and bitter biscuits
in bright foil wrappers.

We never stayed long,
only an eternity,
and when I left,
clutching my fifty pence,
I took off my dress
and travelled home
in my vest and tights.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#AcrosticJanuary #Scorch @daveashleypoet.bsky.social

Searing skies flay the crust.
Clouds churn and cry only dust.
Ombre outcrops litter the fields.
Roiling, red magma is all the earth yields.
Corporeal chasms guard the unseeing.
Hell hath now come into being.

Elizabeth Osmond @bethosmond.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Hello @victoriaspires.bsky.social for #promptcombo #subtexts in solidarity with my autistic son who is taking GCSE English later this year and really struggles to decipher meanings which to him, are hidden. He finds chemistry far more accessible. Originally published in The Alchemy Spoon

Poem written in chemical element symbols about autism

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

I may be stretching the #subtext a bit on this one, but I'm still working on a terza rima, so could well have another go later. #PromptCombo @victoriaspires.bsky.social #poems #poetry #writingcommunity

In Costa After the Fight

We enter without words,
the hush between us
thicker than steam rising from cups.

I order the large coffee,
a mug with two handles,
as if my steadiness could be held in porcelain.
You choose winter spiced tea,
its glass tall and fragile,
a vessel for warmth,
where nothing is hidden.

We settle at the back table,
your chair turned away from the shop,
a quiet protection
against the possibility of tears.

The silence lingers,
not sharp, not cruel,
just the aching remnant of something small
that grew too loud.

You lift the cinnamon stick,
thick, rough-edged,
turning it in your fingers
like a question.

“Do you think this is real cinnamon?”
The words break the stillness,
gentle, almost playful.

I say I’ll look it up,
thumbs moving across the screen,
and soon musings on the merits
of cassia and ceylon spill between us,
disguising forgiveness.

We share a smile
and the distance between us diffuses
like spice steeping into tea,
the warmth of a second chance.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Today I learned: - Dante created the terza rima for the Divine Comedy; - my memory of this epic was more sketchy than I would like; - I am prone to going down rabbit holes; - terza rimas are really hard! @victoriaspires.bsky.social #promptcombo #subtext

Divine Subtext

Pages searched for meanings Dante hid,
footnotes quarrel with the lines I see,
each canto murmurs what the poet did.

The plot pushes onward, guiding me
toward grudges dressed with moral bent,
politics reframed as necessity.

I feel the wire pulled tight with clawed intent
around those he learned to loathe with rage,
justice formed from this man descent.

In Purgatory, the air becomes a cage,
the voice grows softer as regret is penned,
as if revising grief on the page.

By Paradise, the metaphors blur and bend,
light enacts what language can't explain,
a man rewriting grief without an end.

Reading him now, I recognise the strain
of a poet building heaven from private pain.

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#AcrosticJanuary #Scorch @daveashleypoet.bsky.social

Saturday is
Curry night
Overall I'm
Regretting the
Challenge where
Heat was a factor. It
Ended badly for my
Derriere

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

TGreat #horrorprompt from @fizzytwizler.bsky.social ❤️ #Shrine This is what I prayed for. All those nights on my knees. All those small sacrifices. It worked. You sent him to me. I know you did. And now I’m ready to make the sacrifice you deserve.

Phil@pgpayt.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Horror Writing Prompt no. 2069: shrine Craft a terrifying tale inspired by the prompt and share your work with #horrorprompt. Big thanks to Fizzy @fizzytwizler.bsky.social for sparking today's terror!

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#AcrosticJanuary #GRAND @daveashleypoet.bsky.social

Gosh, if I had a thousand pounds
Real money for that tattoo I liked
And some left over for the dentist.
No, blow it all on those red-soled heels...
Decadence is only for dreams.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

I love lazy Sunday mornings, and when prompts align in my head to make a poem ❤️ #vss365 #murmur ##WIPSnips #remain #BSPP49 #FrozenStream #OurPoetryX #silentmemories

Longing

I wish these memories
would be silent,
but they persist,
soft‑footed and certain,
returning me to places
I locked away.

Twisting beneath the surface,
undercurrents of a frozen stream,
murmurs of buried longing,
curling through the quiet.

They find me
in the hush of night -
in that fragile pause
when the world folds into stillness
and all that remains
are the whispers
of what might have been.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#WildWalkPrompt #Bumble @sonnetsmith.bsky.social #prompt #writesky #blueskypoets #writingprompt #nature

Bumble Me

I bumble through my daily life
with all the grace of cheese,
a wobbling, bobbling, half‑awake
discount knock‑off bumblebee.

I drop my keys, I spill my tea,
I trip on phantom air,
and somehow still survive it all
through luck and mild despair.

I buzz with wild intention,
then forget what I began,
a tiny, frantic creature
with no master plan.

But, like bees, I keep going,
though I’m clueless as can be,
a soft and silly creature
in a world too sharp for me.

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#PoemsAbout #TimeSlips @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk

Gimme Five

Five more minutes and I'll go to bed

It's eleven o'clock, but the show just got interesting

Five more minutes and I'll go to bed

It's midnight but I need to finish off this boss

Five more minutes and I'll go to bed

It's one a.m. but I didn't get a chance to read my emails all day

Five more minutes and I'll go to bed

It's two in the morning but my feed is blowing up

Five more minutes and I'll go to bed

It's three o'clock and there's breaking news overseas

Five more minutes and I'll go to bed

It's four in the morning, I shouldn't have had coffee so late

Five more minutes

I'll have to get ready for work.

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#PoemsAbout #TimeSlips @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk

Awakening

The morning cuts into the room like a knife,
a blade of golden light slicing our bodies
with gentle warmth.
Where did the night go?

How can one person be so all-consuming
that time becomes meaningless in her arms?

I was born to be a cynic,
trained to mistrust.
Love was a trap for the weak-minded, the foolish.
But in those lost hours, I saw the light.

We rise, begin our day
with smiles and gentle touch.
I want to tell you
that I would give you every minute,
every second I have left,
if it meant I could spend
every morning like this one.
But I don’t.

You might think me a fool for telling you.
You might not feel the same as I do,
and my heart would not survive
the loss of you.
So I keep it to myself.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Another Friday and another #PoemsAbout Mine is a bit miserable today, but that's been the vibe this week! Can't wait to read everyone else's offerings. #Timeslips @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk

Timeslips

Ten shots in.
Having fun.
Wake up on the curb
outside my house.
What happened?

A needle in a vein.
Nothing matters.
Wake up in a squat,
breathing among the dead.
What happened?

Pills washed
down my throat.
Don’t want to wake up.
Do anyway.
What happened?

Get clean.
Try a steady life.
Monotonous routines.
Wake up
and I’m fifty.

What happened?

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#WildWalkPrompt #Dew @sonnetsmith.bsky.social

Dew

The unmowed lawn becomes a silent festival,
spider‑lace droplets stitched across the ground,
each bead a lantern-strewn thread
to honour the turning of the year.

The earth exhales its last warm breath,
meeting the first shy chill of autumn
in a soft, shimmering embrace.

And I, delighted intruder,
wander through their ceremony,
footsteps carving a giant’s path
across delicate dawn celebrations.

A guest who cannot help
but dance through their silver bunting.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#AcrosticJanuary #Friends

Memo to my FRIENDS

For the love of God
Remember I’m an introvert.
I don’t want to mingle with
Everyone. I want to stay at home.
No contact except by text.
Don’t drag me to your weddings and parties.
Select interaction carefully.

Picture of a quote about how introverts make friends.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Uncertain could be my spirit word! #Emoetry #Uncertain #writingcommunity #poetry

Uncertain

I once held a magic 8 ball
and let its tiny oracle decide my life.
It whispered answers in its drifting blue,
steady as a heartbeat, simple as fate.

My husband hid it on the morning
he learned I’d asked it before I said “I will.”
He thought he was saving me from foolishness,
but all he saved me from was certainty.

Since then, I’ve lived an in‑between life.
Unanchored and reactive,
waiting for choices to choose me.

I miss my plastic prophet,
its floating truths,
its easy absolutes.
How strange to feel so lost
without its answers.

Mizz Whozza Whazzit@mwplovesmusic.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#Emoetry prompt for 1/15 is #Uncertain #writingcommunity #poetry

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#vss365 #prompt #heartfelt

Heartfelt

I cannot tell you how my heart felt
the time we first kissed
or that night we parted.

It did not skip or break.
It continued to beat, unnoticed,
feeding my body,
even when I wanted it not to.

My stomach ties itself in knots.
My bowels often indicate my mood.
My face grows hot,
my skin prickles and sweats.
But my heart feels nothing at all.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

A slippery one for #AcrosticJanuary @daveashleypoet.bsky.social and a tardy submission for #WIPSnips @wipsnips.bsky.social #TENTACLE #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

TENTACLE

There in their glasshouse you sat, green and fat.
Elongated arms whipping in the fan’s breeze.
No one paid you any attention
Till the sparrow flew in, tempted by our scones,
And perched close by, too close.
Clamped within seconds, we watched it struggle.
Looking on in horror as it stilled.
Everyone left quickly after that.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#WildWalkPrompt #Fluff @sonnetsmith.bsky.social

Fluff

How gently it clings to the barbs,
yet the cruel winds cannot prise it
from the nook in which it nestles
with steel resolve.

Strands fly fragile and alone,
do they mourn the loss
of a time when they belonged
to the herd?

One day the fluff will be gone,
and with it the joy
of watching it waving a greeting
to the breeze.

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

@ignorantfairy.bsky.social #FaeSense #ShadesOfTwighlight

The World Between

My soul is not night-black,
but it has long since
left behind
the light of day.
Darkness clings to it,
a looming threat,
an inevitability?
It walks in shades of twilight,
clouding my world in a fire-like glow.
The light too bright to walk toward,
the grey shadows a warning
of things to come.
I stand between both,
a soul bathed
in the setting sun.

David Thorne @darthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

#vss365 #prompt #stoop @fhpowellwriter.bsky.social

Pick Your Battles

I will not stoop to your level,
not out of some
misguided sense
of altruism.
It is because if I let go,
if I met you on your battleground,
I would not stop
until all around you lay dying.
So I do not fight.
I do not let go.
I do not give in to rage.
Because I know
I would lose myself to it.
You are not worth the price.
You are not worth my soul.
But do not mistake this restraint
for cowardice.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Agatha Christie died 50 years ago today, although her legacy will live on forever 🖤 #AgathaChristie

Agatha

She watched the world
from behind lace curtains.
Where gossip tangled like roses.
And every smile
had a shadow stitched beneath it.

She understood the weight
of small details.
A misplaced glove.
A pause too long.
The way guilt stains
even the most polished silver.

Her mind was a corridor
lined with locked doors.
She knew which ones to open,
and which to leave
ajar, whispering secrets.

For her there was
no final mystery.
No grand farewell.
Just a quiet retreat
into the folds of fiction.

No note.
No struggle.
Only silence.
The soft echo of a woman
who knew too much
about endings.

Black and white photo portrait of Agatha Christie by Angus McBean.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

@sonnetsmith.bsky.social hope you are feeling better today. Here's another one about my love/ hate relationship with birds (and their feet). #WildWalkPrompt #Chaffinch

Angry chaffinch

It sits outside my window
and shouts at my cats
with its incessant
video-game gun bleating.

Its grabby little claws
scratch along the windowsill
trying to find purchase
on the stiff white plastic.

I look at this tiny vision
of a mould-mottled peach
and wonder
how something so perfect
can be so annoyed
and annoying.

Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 7mo ago

@daveashleypoet.bsky.social yesterday was #PoemsAbout day, so everything else went for a Burton. Therefore, I have done two in one to catch up! #AcrosticJanuary

INSTANT TRANCE

I take the bump
Needles drop onto music
Swaying in the rush
Tempo takes hold
And just like that
Nothing else is real
Time flows backward.

Tabs and toots fill my boots
Rhythm rages
Against all the machines
Now the strobing starts
Carrying me further in
Everything is light forever.