Biography of Warren Atherton
In some way throughout my life I suppose I have always doodled with writing mostly to escape the harsh reality of a rough upbringing.
My poetry reflects on all aspects of life, some based on personal experience whilst others reflect on the lives of people around me.
I really only started writing poetry four years ago when someone incarcerated asked me to write something to help them pass the time of day.
In total I have written but fifty-nine poems to date, fifteen for each of the four years one might say. I do have some particular favourites, especially my 'Sage' series which are all the imagination of a young girl who lies seriously ill in a coma. In order to keep her brain alive and active, she creates a land called Tillanho and her special someone to win over the evil that lurks there, hence the Sage!
Whether or not she remains in this critical condition now totally depends on the outcome of a great war that is looming in her land of Tillanho.
Warren Atherton's Works:
I have had several of my works published in anthologies, nothing major so to speak.
Warren Atherton Poems
On Wuthering Heights
'Tireless sleep, I hear her weep Across dark plains in her lonesome keep. So far away her soul in dismay Where echoing moans keep Cathy at bay.'
Nursery Rhymes On Pain
The hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world! But voices inside daddy's head Say, 'Smack the little girl'.
Mia was the first to show, Stood all alone in cold dismay, Knife clenched in hand as she did pray That all those voices she could hear
A House On A Hill
She sits all alone in her own little house In a world where no people can see, And her mind is a place where a myriad dreams Bring a life to one old, such as she.
A Chilling Tale
With a last gasp of innocence The Reaper turned its' head. Precipitated anger burned Through evil eyes of red-
.And from the south the Clandalks came Bestowing kindness all the more. Indoctrination-heed the law! Set up camp to cleanse our shame.
Said The Sun To The Earth.
From the east rose a Sun on a pale azure sky To a landscape of barren earth-red. The last filament gone without hue, nor a cry, No more life, every molecule dead.
The Sage (Verse Xii, The Dark Lord)
In machiavellian manner with malicious intent The Dark Lord surveyed the scene. He’d watched in a fury, his demon hell-sent Had but failed in what now should have been
The Sage (Verse Xi, Magda The Witch)
In a far distant place in the Tillanho north, Stands a tower jutting half a mile high. Like a granulite epitaph menacing forth To the heavens - a graptolite spy!
The Sage (Verse X, Osedicus Sleeps In Fa...
The moons silver hue torched his path to Fallouth As Osedicus flew through the night. Right above him a shadow approached from the south, Swirling west in migratory flight.
The Sage (Verse Ix, About Gretchel The W...
“For ‘Gretchel the White’, her long story unfolds In a time when a peace held the land; Still a ten year old girl, as yet future untold, As she sat looking down on the sand.
The Sage (Verse Viii, The Eve To War)
Through solemn eyes he hoped had lied, A dense and dismal mass he spied. Out of the darkness whence it came, To murder and to maim........
The Sage (Verse Vii, Risen)
“Inhospitable wretch! Do you quickly forget Your defeat at the Pittacal Door? The Dark Lord himself is still no more a threat To the power of all Tillanho lore.
The Sage (Verse Vi, The 'Dark' Speaketh)
The Sage found himself in a lowly-lit cave In some dank subterranean gorge. All about him were bones in this skeletal grave, To remind of the devils’ own scourge.
Happens, I came upon a copse,
T'was in the dead of night.
Moonlight torched a meadow path,
Led thee to this place of wrath,
A Silver Birch bade out a laugh-
My monolithic epitaph!
Lay, did I, 'pon leaves of old
Whilst winters' wind made moan.