The Poetry and Art of David A. Thorpe Page 1 of 2 Claire's Poetry I Claire's Poetry II Claire's Poetry III Claire's Poetry IV Claire's Poetry V Claire's Poetry VI Thorn's Poetry I Thorn's Poetry II Jewel's Poetry Poetry by Jonathan Adam Poetry by Denise Adair Poetry by David A. Thorpe Poetry by David A. Thorpe II Jim Morrison Poetry American Prayer - The Doors Other Poems Other Poems II YELLOW ROSES By David A. Thorpe 2008 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk Withdrawn and tinted with the crimson shades of sunset, they sleep ´till dawn, only to rise again bathed in the ´morrow`s sun and flowering in a more delightful fuller bloom; their magnificence being crowned by the intensity of their yellow petals. A colour only again repeated as a sun, in some child`s painting. The heat of a summer`s midday, drowsing the sentinel cat, does not deter the dexterity of bumble bees, sucking from each flower its precious nectar,  like a new born baby at a mother`s breast. Their annual ceremony, painlessly tolerated by the passive donors. The evening draws nigh, the leaves of trees rustle. stroked by a gentle breeze, before it visits the unsuspecting blossoms, quivering their golden petals; thus destroying nature`s pretence, of their being a painting by Jan Bruegel, the elder. THE BLUE ROOM By David A. Thorpe 2007 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk Still at times I recall with fervour a mysterious and perhaps a mystical place, and the haunting temptation to uncover its secret. The winding staircase, leading down to this lower chamber, increased with each step the sensation of suspense. The illumination of the solitary flickering candle, projecting shadows of the curious and apprehensive intruder, revealed the foreboding door; the entrance to this enchanted recluse. Oriental in appearance with numerous large floor cushions and a wall tapestry, each in various shades of blue, whose exotic woven fabrics revealed their own tales of a thousand nights and one night. A crystal lamp of magical prisms reflected in all directions blue light, as if a swarm of hundreds of frantic glow worms, suddenly released and in panic, were striving  to reach the darkness of the night, in vain. Hidden by the heavy damask drapes was the glass door, leading to the tropical garden of mango and banana trees, their large lush foliage, offering shade and coolness, partially masking, like veiled beauties confined to their harem, the hues of the exotic blossoms and flowers, first discovered and named by Bonpland and Humboldt; their scents impregnating the balmy evening air and penetrating into the very essence of the blue room THE BEAUTY HAS ARRIVED by David A. Thorpe, 2007 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk Far beyond to where the swallows migrate, Amarna, her palace astounded an ancient world ; a temple to her god Aten, the sun, whose heat, surging in her blood, drove her to the highest pinnacle. Reflected in the mirages of the burning dessert, her beauty overwhelmed, and to her will she subjugated the immensity of the river, which blessed her fertile kingdom, throughout the years of her reign. Heard only as an echo in the labyrinth of sea shells, her eternal secret, a revelation still to be revealed, her name a proclamation of her presence; Nefertiti, the beauty has arrived. THE DAWN by David A. Thorpe, 2007 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk Her tears fall against my window pane, sobbing she takes leave of her nocturnal lover, forgetting in her sadness that their separation is of short duration. On awakening birds sense with joy her presence, and chirping they announce her arrival as she lightens up the slumbering sky. Listening to these heralds of the dawn, I ponder if the sun will shine today. The Church of Our Lady, in Dresden by David A. Thorpe THEN ASK THE STARS by David A. Thorpe, 2007 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk Then ask the stars, their trillion years of wisdom might reveal the answer to the riddle, which taunts the sanity of your mind. Then search the endless universe, its myriad of heavenly bodies might guide you to the cosmic oracle, patiently awaiting your perseverance.  Then plead with the northern lights, to brighten still this heavenly phenomenon, and shed light on the incomprehensible, hidden in the darkest corner of the arctic.  A distracted dragon-fly flusters in your ear, the better to accept my confession, made without a compromise. A declaration of an oath before a sacred altar. WINTER by David A. Thorpe, 2007 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk Long gone are the swallows, whose acrobatic flights in perfect formation cast lightening shadows on the once waving corn fields, now hidden under the soft white blanket of the first snow fall and perforated by zigzag paths of some early morning hare. Traces of its hungry, frantic search for food. There is a silence, a peacefulness of winter time. The animal kingdom in deep slumber and nature herself, exhausted after the last ravaging storm of autumn, has finally taken her well deserved rest. Passersby hang their heads in non-communication, their faces hidden ‘neath woollen scarves, an attempt to hide their harsh expressions; caused by the bitterness of the biting arctic winds. But my favourite winter works of art are seen only on such sub-zero dawns. A delight to the awakening eyes, to behold the masterpieces of some nocturnal artist, whose frosted window images will disappear for ever with the first rays of  the winter sun.. The Temptation of Albrecht Duerer by David A. Thorpe SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL by David A. Thorpe, 2006 (Dedicated to Christine Ann Piwowarski) Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk I remember the beauty of her smile, sincere and full of caring, warming my entire body, even on the coldest day of winter. I remember the beauty of her eyes, her gaze sealing her promise of commitment, reflecting her acknowledgment of the understanding between us. I remember the beauty of her voice, never harsh but full of confidence, giving support and advice of how things perhaps, could better be accomplished. All in all a daily reminder of her trust. Now on a journey on the other side of my reality, her beauty continues to give joy and inspiration. IT'S NOT INSANITY by David A. Thorpe, 2006 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk It’s not insanity to want to be submerged in your eyes of crystal clear lagoons, enchanted by their own inconsistency. Sometimes bewitching, sometimes green. It’s not insanity to want to dive into the depths of your gaze. Soaked into irrationality by the enticement of your glance. It’s not insanity to wish to be a prisoner in the darkness of your blink, released in an eruption of shed tears, falling slowly like pearls of lava over your cheeks, extinguished without pain, in the voluptuousness of your lips. SUMMER by David A. Thorpe, 2006 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk The rising sun sheds warmth and lightens up the darkened stage, whose back-cloth was provided by the fairy kingdom of Tatiana and her ass-headed lover for their mid-summer night of love. A mystical night pregnant with fragrances of druid rituals within acient towering stones and Viking bonfires, witnesses to Nordic summer ceremonies. The early morning song birds, a full choir of heralds of the awakening day, whose cooling air clandestinely creeps over the sills of open windows, and gently disturbs the flimsy curtains with designs of petrified butterflies of pastel colours; the only intruder to the intimacy of slumber. No painter’s palette could ever reproduce those hundred shades and hues of green, which drape the dozing landscape, drenched with bright sunshine from a cloudless summer sky. THE PORTABLE CINEMA by David A. Thorpe, 2006 Contact: david.thorpe@huddersfield1.co.uk "Tonight we’re going to Europe!" Exclaimed the excited and overjoyed Rufina, the 10 year-old repeating her news at every open doorway, as she ran barefoot down the dusty and empty street, sweltering in the tropical afternoon heat. The village was aroused out of its siesta and the following commotion echoed through the ruins of the 'Spanish Villa', the citadel overlooking this once flourishing colonial plantation. Its impoverished population now abandoned and left alone in its struggle for survival. They had been sighted, approaching the village on the narrow coastal road, walled on both sides with banana and bamboo trees. The three young men from the capital, their vehicle packed with equipment for a week-end of beach and submarine exploration. The portable cinema had arrived. Before dusk a once white painted house wall was chosen, the new cinemascope screen. The projector was loaded with the first carriage of slides. Chairs, arranged in rows, were already fully occupied with impatiently awaiting spectators. Josefa was surrounded by children, all eager to receive their home-made ice cream treat. Some of the girls were wearing their Sunday dresses, their hair adorned with coloured ribbons. The evening sun took its bow and disappeared. The journey could begin. That evening they went to Denmark, England and Germany. With eyes and mouths wide open in wonder, they were transported to their destinations: Helsingor and Copenhagen , York and Bath, Heidelberg and Dresden. A journey of a lifetime! To retell over the years to come to their children, grandchildren and fellow travellers. Jenny & The Seagulls - Artwork by David A. Thorpe Claire's Poetry I Claire's Poetry II Claire's Poetry III Claire's Poetry IV Claire's Poetry V Claire's Poetry VI Thorn's Poetry I Thorn's Poetry II Jewel's Poetry Poetry by Jonathan Adam Poetry by Denise Adair Poetry by David A. Thorpe Poetry by David A. Thorpe II Jim Morrison Poetry American Prayer - The Doors Other Poems Other Poems II