Mike Henthorn
LightNews LightNews
emjayh.bsky.social
Mike Henthorn
@emjayh.bsky.social
33 followers 150 following 13 posts
Husband, dad, grandad. Interests are walking, Man City, history (particularly late iron age), literature. Born again poet.
Posts Replies Media Videos
emjayh.bsky.social
In which I talk about mental health.
November 23, 2024 at 10:18 PM
emjayh.bsky.social
#StoptheGenocide
#FreePalestine
#villanelle
GENOCIDE LIVE IN 4K They call me a snowflake my compassion is mocked, Watching poor orphaned children, stare at the abyss, All the faces around me could not be less shocked. Their lives unaffected, as yet more bombs are dropped, A murmuration of missiles, doyens of death, They call me a snowflake my compassion is mocked. Hunger is a fire, water supplies have been blocked, Victims labelled villains, as they die in their sleep, All the faces around me could not be less shocked. The cold moon sees everything from where it is docked, Bullets from a sniper, war planes strafe through the night, They call me a snowflake my compassion is mocked. Christmas cheer is slowly taking over the shops, As bombs fall like snow in a land too far away, All the faces around me could not be less shocked. Pretty trees adorn homes, with an Angel on top, Celebrating the saviour ignoring the child, All the faces around me could not be less shocked, They call me a snowflake my compassion is mocked. #FreePalestine #STOPtheGENOCIDE - [ ]
November 22, 2024 at 8:23 PM
emjayh.bsky.social
Disused farmhouse, Rossendale. I used to pass this on my daily walk to work.
A scenic view of an old farmhouse in the hills above Rossendale. The farmhouse is partially obscured by a large bush with vibrant purple flowers. A stone wall runs along a dirt path leading to the farmhouse, with lush greenery and trees surrounding the area. A wooden gate and a signpost indicating "National Trust" and "Holcombe Moor" are visible in the foreground. The scene is tranquil and picturesque, capturing the rustic charm of the countryside.
November 16, 2024 at 4:06 PM
emjayh.bsky.social
To Ellen Strange is a poem about a woman tragically murdered by her husband on a Lancashire moor.
#poetry
#domesticviolence
#localhistory
A picture of a poem entitled To Ellen Strange: Did you feel the hill pulling you back As you ran, Afraid of the man, you could feel, Could sense, With each crunching step, On pale, frosted grass. Panicking, stumbling, glancing back. Left foot, right foot Breathing hard - breaths of despair Clouding the air, As the hill pulled you back? Or did you stroll up the hill? Leisurely and light, Shawl clutched tightly Against the chill of the night. Did you take time, To gaze up at the stars, As you made your silky way Up up Up onto the moor? Unknowing Unaware. Were you lost in your last earthly thoughts, When the man pulled you back? Centuries have passed, Yet your name lives on The lips of common folk, Due to death unavenged. I think of you often as I tend to your cairn, My stoney offering Lost in the pile of cold stones, Left by kindred souls. Time to move on. Until the next time I am drawn to your cairn. Your spirit, like the hill, Keeps pulling me back. Did you feel the hill pulling you back As you ran, Afraid of the man, you could feel, Could sense, With each crunching step, On pale, frosted grass. Panicking, stumbling, glancing back. Left foot, right foot Breathing hard - breaths of despair Clouding the air, As the hill pulled you back? Or did you stroll up the hill? Leisurely and light, Shawl clutched tightly Against the chill of the night. Did you take time, To gaze up at the stars, As you made your silky way Up up Up onto the moor? Unknowing Unaware. Were you lost in your last earthly thoughts, When the man pulled you back? Centuries have passed, Yet your name lives on The lips of common folk, Due to death unavenged. I think of you often as I tend to your cairn, My stoney offering Lost in the pile of cold stones, Left by kindred souls. Time to move on. Until the next time I am drawn to your cairn. Your spirit, like the hill, Keeps pulling me back. Did you feel the hill pulling you back As you ran, Afraid of the man, you could feel, Could sense, With each crunching step, On pale, frosted grass. Panicking, stumbling, glancing back. Left foot, right foot Breathing hard - breaths of despair Clouding the air, As the hill pulled you back? Or did you stroll up the hill? Leisurely and light, Shawl clutched tightly Against the chill of the night. Did you take time, To gaze up at the stars, As you made your silky way Up up Up onto the moor? Unknowing Unaware. Were you lost in your last earthly thoughts, When the man pulled you back? Centuries have passed, Yet your name lives on The lips of common folk, Due to death unavenged. I think of you often as I tend to your cairn, My stoney offering Lost in the pile of cold stones, Left by kindred souls. Time to move on. Until the next time I am drawn to your cairn. Your spirit, like the hill, Keeps pulling me back. A serene landscape of a frosty moorland under a partly cloudy sky. In the foreground, a cairn of stones, dedicated to Ellen Strange, is surrounded by frost-covered grasses, with a vast, gently sloping hill in the background. Though the scene evokes a sense of solitude and natural beauty, it is the spot where Ellen was brutally murdered in 1761 by her husband.
November 16, 2024 at 11:26 AM
emjayh.bsky.social
I feel cleansed after deleting that toxic app from my devices.
November 15, 2024 at 12:42 PM
emjayh.bsky.social
November 14, 2024 at 1:03 PM