No Power
I have a problem,
I seem to be lacking in power recently,
I’ve never really been pushed,
I’ve never been overcharged,
I’ve never been struck by lightning,
My consciousness lacks a certain electricity,
No power,
No motivation,
No current,
No ambition,
No voltage,
No impetus,
Do I need an electrician?
A new battery?
A new transistor?
A heart-shaped motor?
An inspirational amplifier?
Does my negative have no positive?
Why do I have no power?
Does my meter need some change?
Feeling a touch nonsensical today,
Feeling a dash ridiculous,
My mind is scarlet jelly,
These thoughts are hundreds and thousands,
Once lost which way does a page turn?
Can a cookie become a chef?
Does winter prevail in many competitions?
Can a merchant learn to sale a ship?
Does my coffee need some medicine?
Can a mansion ever be a lady?
Random thoughts dart about,
I know I’m not making any sense,
But did I ever?
Reminiscing On Previous Madness, Because why not?
Greetings fellow inmates!
Just a short one for you. I’m going to do something a little bit different today. I’ve been reminiscing. You see, i was looking back at my older posts earlier and i felt that they were unceremoniously being forgotten in favor of more recent ones. I’m referring mostly to my older poems. A couple of my older favorites don’t seem to get much attention anymore. That’s nobody’s fault but my own of course, but i feel it is a shame. So, i thought I’d write a post highlighting my older favorites so newer inmate additions to the blog could give them a gander without searching through the archives. Links are provided of course!
Poetry
Tarquin – A story about a twisted killer butler.
Lives of masks – A poem about what masks mean to people.
How to kill an angel – A dark poem about punishing an…
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Mr. Ash
He’s coming for me,
Even the storm outside does not cloak his steps,
Mr. Ash,
The frigid wind tries to hold him back in vain,
The rain whispers “flee”,
Each stroke of lightning is a plea of “run!”,
My attempts at going underground failed,
My thieving insult to him will be repaid in blood,
I glance out of the window fearfully,
I see him nearing even in the black,
It’s like staring into evil itself,
It’s like looking at the apocalypse in slow motion,
A demon,
A God,
Or something altogether more alien,
Long spindly limbs,
Pale and hairless,
He is dressed literally to kill,
His emaciated limbs bear barbarous claws,
Claws that have ended lives since time began,
And perhaps even before,
His mad eyes are wide open,
His grin filled with murderous intent,
He’s coming for me,
His form appeared at my door,
That grin still glistening,
Despite…
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The mind is a prison,
Shackles and all,
All your ideas are kept there,
All your machinations are bound there,
Your minds eye is temporarily blindfolded,
Upon request these treasures are released,
Creations given wing,
On to page and stage,
To captivate and terrify,
To enlighten and appall,
But something has designs on these gems,
Writers block,
The plague of the author and artist,
A malady so harrowing,
So abominable,
So soul-crushing,
Now my mind is blocked,
The affliction comes for me,
It’s an unwanted guard to my prison,
Authorizing no creative release,
Me and my psyche are in solitary,
Will we ever be released?
Hateful God
There once was a God who learned to hate,
He grew tired of benevolence,
And perhaps of divinity too,
His creations only brought disappointment,
Beasts of fang and scale grew tiresome,
Achieving nothing but a tedious cycle of predator and prey,
His creations of the waves too,
Fins and scales offer no diversion,
He looks to the skies,
And hates the souls flying overhead,
Cursing at his avian creations,
Each wing-beat an assumed insult to his godhood,
Most of all he loathes those of his image,
Dominating a world he made,
Squabbling over salt and dirt,
Boring, boring and boring,
A bored God is a dangerous God,
A dissatisfied one even more so,
What if he decided to inject some amusement?
A cataclysm there,
A flood here,
Or a plague over there,
Something a hateful God could unleash upon his subjects of ire,
What if this God decided to throw…
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My Second Moon
I gaze upon the moon each night,
I sit in the dark,
Staring skyward,
My eyes reach out,
They can’t reach her,
They’re not worthy.
Crescent full or gibbous,
Her dazzling form lights up the dark,
An astral goddess,
An empowering icon,
A source of inspiration,
Playing kiss-chase with the clouds.
So why do I see a second moon beside me each night?
And beside me each day?
A moon of such astronomical beauty,
That it blots out even the lunar goddess,
Earthly yet still heavenly,
A goddess of a different kind.
Then I realize,
You are my second moon,
Superior in every way.
Accordion
The accordion plays on and on,
Its player masked and humbly attired,
An apocalyptic accordionist,
Tight-lipped and stoic,
Longing for the end of all things.
On and on,
The world falls apart,
Flames jig to the tune,
The land quakes to each note,
Civilization gives a final emphatic applause.
The world moves to an inaudible drum beat,
Waiting for its execution,
The noose tightened,
And the guillotine lifted,
An accordion at the end of the world.
Each keystroke is a crescendo,
Each scale is a finale,
And each note is a curtain call,
An Armageddon,
So the accordion may cease playing.
The end comes,
The accordion plays on.
A crossroads in my life,
I remember it well,
Mundanity one way,
A tiresome future,
A pointless existence,
Eccentricity over yonder,
The way of the top hat,
The path of the face-paint,
I chose the only path I could,
Now I jaunt along it,
A cane in one gloved hand,
And a pen in the other,
A jester marotte in my pocket,
My top hat standing tall,
A capricious design upon my face,
Where my grin goes,
Kaleidoscopic and macabre images follow me,
There can be no end to the madness,
This procession of the asylum continues.
WorldofHarley 