Castle Poetry

A Drone, Downed (On the Shores of The Hope)

Out on livid blue rills, leaded runnels; 
slate gulls raged at our intrusion. 
We ignored both and kept grubbing 
but with scant river thrift for the larker, 
salvationist – bar a hazed witch bottle, 
caked paint kettle and winded cans of Ace. 
That is until, upon allsorts, toffee
substrate; we found the drone, downed.
A jailer, from an uppity future –
splayed, prostrate. Its crash-site charged 
with a nameless alarm; with sentiments 
of horror dripped straight off the page.

That is until I caught it, staring up
with cloudy cornea. Cowed, with blades bent 
and gimbal glazed with brack water. 
I felt control begin to recover, 
I felt small liberties return. 
I now towered – the tallest juniper 
upon the steppe and staring down 
at the slow death of a Blatnik or Zek.
My first-born urged, Let's steal it away. 
Open it up, for laces and louse-
etched circuit boards – for its secrets. 
I trod it into the toffee, allsorts substrate.

Joseph Long lives and works on the Medway as a father and Engineer, writing poetry between shifts. He has a passion for works which reflect working class life & culture. Joseph has been published by Stand, The Dawntreader, Confluence and The Cannon’s Mouth.

He was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize for Poetry in 2025 and longlisted for the National Poetry Competition in 2025.