Archive for June, 2020

I walk this black and gold city,
Streets lined with circuits and voltage,
Chapels and shrines to chrome,
Midas kingdoms,
I’m a cyberpunk,
A loathsome hacker,

The disquiet is choking,
It entwines with the smokestacks,
Faces become metal plates,
Emotions reduced to lucrative algorithms,
Human no more,
Flesh has become a sin,

Corporate gods,
Mechanical preaching,
The world underwent body modification,
Its soul sold to the highest bidder,
All of its life has become mineral,
All black and gold,

I’m a ghost in the machine,
A former spirit of rebellion,
My heart was coldly dead,
Even before this metallic clone,
A facsimile of a pulse,
A life,

The augmented future is bleak.

The Earth is amidst a storm,
Grey and ghastly skies,
But let us not forget,
When the world is taking in water,
There are those who wish for the future,
To have an upward trajectory,
For division to be subtracted,
Those whose years have not yet seen the gloom,

The youths wield their weapons,
Spraycans and paint,
They wash the drab away,
With images of doves,
And purple fingers crossed,
A mural of prismatic positivity,
In violets and teals,
Tattooing the world with hopeful graffiti,

I envy their zeal,
They wave and call to hopes light,
As it crosses the street,
Elusive hat brim floorward,
Does hope hear them?
Does it see their art?
Does it hear their pleas?
Or does it continue on into the rain?

A tyrant sits atop an ivory house,
An avatar to some,
A fiend to others,
The suit speaks,
Yellow eyes widened,
Red horns protruding,
Impersonating an altruistic deity,

The tweets fly,

He slams the world into his podium,
As if to give credence to his decrees,
Exploit the land,
Kill the poor,
Coddle the elite,
Ridicule the allies,
The edicts spew among hellfire,

The tweets soar,

Does he desire the apocalypse?
A demonic want,
Still clutching the lectern,
Belching hate into microphones,
Furnishing barbed wire to the lowly,
A servant of the people,
Who views only himself as a person,

The tweets burn.

Good day inmates!

Here’s hoping you are having a wonderful wednesday! It’s been more or less smooth sailing here at the asylum. I’ve been really happy with the recent poems i’ve posted, which believe it or not is a rarity for me. I don’t tend to like my own work. I feel that is a curse of the creative soul. I’ve been trying to grow the blog, get some exposure on other sites and just being a wacky little streak of moonlight. It’s been rather tiring I will confess. I know that fame or being noticed isn’t really the point of this blog or my writing, but do you ever wonder if there is an “end result” so to speak? This is a genuine question to my fellow inmates out there. Is the writing itself the point? Or do we seek some kind of validation? I’ve laid awake some nights recently wondering.

So, it’s time for part thirty-eight of the Harlequins writing music. Many of you will know the drill by now I imagine! Five musical artists that I like to listen to when i’m either writing or thinking about writing (procrastination be damned). I do say this every time, but it bears mentioning. I will be attempting to vary it up a bit, I like to get different kinds of vibes and images from all different genres. And it also has the added bonus of presenting something for everyone, if that makes sense! So here we go!

So, join me as we delve into the musical minds of canny artists the world over!

The Birthday Massacre – In The Dark

Scatman John – Scatman (ski-ba-bop-ba-dop-bop)

Pale Waves – Television Romance

Rise Against – Prayer Of The Refugee

HIM – The Sacrament

So there we have it for yet another edition of the Harlequins writing music!

I hope that you give all of these artists a fair chance. They all deserve the exposure and the attention, in my eyes at least. Bit of a mix there eh? Especially that Scatman John, now that’s one you don’t hear every day!

Now, as I mentioned i’m trying to get more exposure for the asylum right now. I have a Facebook page, Twitter page and an Instagram page. I post some random stuff on each of these, as well as clues for each days poem a few hours beforehand. Just for a little bit of fun of course! A little bit of self-promotion can be a slight confidence boost! Haha! As always, if you like what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page! Thank you so much!

So, until next time, have a very crazy day and upcoming week inmates!

Inside my mind there’s a checkered staircase,
Aspects of Victorian design,
If you could peer through my eyes,
You’d see it,
And shudder,
The eyes are a window to the soul after all,

The steps wind haphazardly,
No rhyme or reason,
The barbed banisters suggest cruelty,
But the gentle incline shouts serenity,
An incarnation of mania,
I don’t know what lies at the top,

Is there an attic room,
That hides screams of abuse?
A hidden room with a green door,
That contains the holy grail,
Or is it,
Where I hear that spectre wailing?

The staircase,
That scratches the edges of my skull,
Where do you think it leads?
My thoughts struggle to climb it,
My imagination died many steps earlier,
Sweaty flotsam on the steps of a soul.

Life slips away,
So begins the last rites,
There’s no end to the ceremonies,

Cleanse the dead,
Wash away the sins and victories,
The cloth wipes away any humanity left,

Dress the dead,
Hide the scars we all made,
With a stately red tie,

Serenade the dead,
Tell lies and fake anecdotes,
Pretend you didn’t abandon them,

Bury the dead,
Hide it from our eyes,
Let us not see its white skin innocence,

Drink to the dead,
The rum and revelry shine on,
Heartache becomes headache,

Forget the dead,
Let them travel to the styx,
Onwards to the next one.

I once spied a lady in the agora,
She was under assault,
A wounded warrior,
Axe and buckler broken,
Beset by a heartless hood,

So I took on my shield stance,
Rickety and ill-trained as it was,
Speaking up in defence,
I did not know her,
But I felt compelled to assist,

An ill-advised bastion,
My soft words of peace did not assuage,
The arrows and bolts persist,
I took several verbal blows,
My reinforced aegis sundered,

A tempestuous lover or abusive spouse,
I remember not,
Was she fearful or under the thumb?
I could not know,
I tried to hold the line for her,

But she joined the foe,
An unexpected turn of face,
I fall to one knee,
Fragments of my shield,
Scatter on the wind,

She goes with her aggressor,
Spitting on my charity,
Was I wrong to wield the shield?

You would think that flags were holy,
Sacred relics,
How they are so worshipped,
Visible at all the rallies,
Leading all the armies,
Do people not realise,
They are simple crass fabric?

Flags are living things they say,
Flying around on the wind,
They squawk things like,
“You win!”,
“Here be friends!”,
“Leave me be!”,
“Here be dragons!”,

All manner of divine symbols,
Pennants of myriad beliefs,
Flags of nations past and present,
Ensigns of every shade,
Some are benign,
Others are oppressive gods,
Worshipped by churlish bigots,

Flags perform for all who gaze,
People elate at their wistful dances,
They are both cherubs and incubi,
Performing in every hurricane,
But alas,
I tell lies of course,
They are simply soulless fabric.

Dancing and twisting,
Shanties and discussing,
Dizzy politiking,
Beer and cider and rum,
The nights jovialities,
Heavenly as they were,
Have left a hellish calling card,

A blurred perspective,
Bloodshot eyes,
A demon sat upon my cranium,
Parched throat,
Things not where I thought I left them,
A sock gone walkies,
Ill-advised pigeons sent,

Despite this transitory curse,
I do so adore oblivion,
So I pop a pill,
And do it all again.

To whom it may concern,
To a younger me,
Before the top hat,
I’m writing to you this eve,
To tell you that all is well,
We’re making it,

I remember your life,
In fragments,
You were blessed with a seemly family,
Supported in the extreme,
Mostly taught to read at home,
With a saintly maternal hand,

School never was for you,
You had an alright head on your shoulders,
But you wanted to live in other worlds,
Pixels and ink,
You were afraid of this life,
Afraid of the future,

You had plenty of good friends,
You weren’t stupid,
But you were certainly easily led,
You would always let them lead,
Most of the time this was fine,
Sometimes it hurt your back and caused bruises,

I know you were bullied,
Sometimes intentionally,
Other times simply not shown respect,
You weren’t weak,
You could have fought back,
But you felt you deserved it,

You always preferred the dark,
Those damned midnight strolls,
Nothing but the wind and emo music for company,
You knew the night like a forbidden lover,
I guess it felt safe,
We never did see those monsters did we?

You wasted a few opportunities,
Neither of us can deny that,
Not enough effort there,
And leaden limbs here,
You didn’t know what to do,
I don’t blame you for that,

I remember you loved too hard once,
That definitely broke you,
It spawned a voice in your head,
A certain clown if I recall,
There have been mishaps since,
Even I struggle with that one,

I write to you in my lucid moments,
To tell you it got better,
Not easier but ever more finer,
You’re me now,
We’ve come a long way,
I think we’ve got this.