Archive for Feb, 2022

Alcohol is a poison they say,
And I daresay they are right,
It is not cyanide it’s true,
Its modus operandi is insidious though,
It makes people change,
Brewery sponsored Hydes,
More primitive,
And somehow diminished,

As the venom is imbibed,
None prove unaffected,
Gentlemen revert to swine,
Dames start to shriek like banshees,
Pacifists become drunken brawlers,
And men of learning act like toddlers,
Common sense is suddenly rather rare,
Brains in inebriated flux,

The toxins incubation period,
A night on the town,
Painting the streets bruise-purple and red,
The poison does its work,
Leaving its victims ruined and awash with vice,
Flush with embarrassment,
Depositing an inhuman husk,
Laid beside a porcelain throne.

This blue planet,
It’s a churning sea of uncertainty,
One we wade through without aid,
Painted in scenic coral yes,
But rife with predatory affairs,
Dogfish of hardship nipping at our shins,
Betrayals with white-tip fins,
Megalodon’s of trauma,

Sharks swim these waters,
Careful where you tread water,
These annals of the world,
The planet can strike without warning,
Tear you heart from fin,
A struggle of swell and weeping,
This planet has teeth,
It smells blood on the current,

And like seals we are prey.

In spite of our grand utterances,
And our Earthly self-importance,
It must be said,
We are but fleas in the cosmos,
Strands of dust on solar winds,

Though our plights do cut deep,
The universe is immeasurable,
Untold planes have already suffered,
You see their husks through that huge lens,
Stars burned themselves out before we even felt fire,

The void holds all manner of oddities,
Nebulae and quasars and black holes,
How can we feel so noteworthy?
When the universe both precedes us,
And will sigh after we’re gone.

To those of us about to die,
To each patriot and scallywag among our number,
To the men sailing for King and country,
Fair winds and following seas,

To those lads about to be run through,
The bodies soon to be broken and burned,
The men butchered by shrapnel and cannon,
Fair winds and following seas,

To those mothers and widows-to-be,
The saints left on home soil,
Those with newly cold beds,
Fair winds and following seas,

To those who’ll survive though mangled,
Cursed with phantom limbs and shellshock,
To the victims whose minds are now ravaged,
Fair winds and following seas,

To those names laid in granite before me,
To those lads who have earned a final rest,
Now upon clouds or burning in flames,
Fair winds and following seas.

The symphony commences,
As the sky grows dark,
Metallic warnings in the air,
Cacophonous and shrill,
Like lost souls lamenting the plight of the living,
From their vantage points,
Those sirens have seen the approaching flags,
Riding upon rockets and helicopter blades,
Their hymn warns of fire and brimstone,
Depleted uranium fireworks,
This is no party tune,
But the raucous dirge of a nation.

Good day inmates!

How are you all doing? Not blown away I hope. The wind has been incredibly severe here in the last week. In fact, the fastest winds ever recorded in the UK were recorded last Friday I believe. Fascinating stuff! I’ve been so happy with the progress of the blog this week. I know it’s not about numbers or anything, but I’ve been really humbled about the…. viewership? Stats? I don’t know what the word would be actually. I’m feeling much more positive about the whole thing this week anyways.

Talking about positive, I’m positively going to ask if you’ve seen the clue for todays musical theme. If you haven’t, give yourself a little bop on the head and zoom over to the social media pages. I posted it a few hours ago. Goooo oooon, you know you want to follow me on Facebook. Haha!

So, the theme for todays Harlequins writing music is travelling! The feeling of leaving the usual and exploring the unknown. Whether it be visiting one of the other marvellous nations of our world, or maybe even simply exploring the nooks and crannies of our own country. I’ve not been able to visit another country for some years, but I have found some interesting places in other parts of the UK. From further north, to the border of Wales and even excursions to our very own capital. Music artists are obviously just as likely to travel like this (maybe more likely) and many of them write and create music about their experiences. From songs about particular countries, to the uplifting feeling of walking down a dirt road. Sounds rather exhilarating no? Want to see what musical travails I have for you today?

Join me as we delve into the musical minds of well-travelled artists the world over!

The Proclaimers – I’m on My Way

John Denver – Take Me Home, Country Roads

Phil Collins – On My Way

Simple Plan – Summer Paradise

Remady & Manu-L – Holidays

And there we have it! The Harlequins writing music has finally flown home! I don’t know about you, but I feel like booking a flight to somewhere now! Oh wait, that costs money. Nevermind! I hope that you are similarly inspired by this weeks choices my friends. Please check out all of these artists, they all deserve the attention I believe.

Speaking of attention, may I have yours? I have social media nonsense to share with you all! The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and a page over on Twitter as well! Please consider following me over on those sites, it really helps me out. Links included of course. Also, if you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page! Thanks for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

I’m a simple pub regular,
This establishment holds past events,
Memories hang in the air like beer flies,
And images reside in the ale sheens on the floor,
Pictures of past revels,

I peer wistfully over my stein,
I see myself in past banquets,
Cheers and absurdities round the tables,
Me and the other rats guzzling prismatic liquids,
Meeting the eyes of some fair dame,

These images,
Like ghosts in some haunted tavern,
They’re things that thankfully occurred,
A rogues gallery of my social life,
And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

When ravaged by all manner of malady,
And gored by the tusks of the world,
We stop off at the pharmacy,
Domain of chemical wizards,
A sweet shop of legion chemicals,

This sterile witches den,
It glows white and smells of detergent,
It’s aisles an amalgamation of lab and herbalist,
Shelves of names unpronounceable by the uninitiated,
Cures for any ill,

They have a variety of incantations to imbibe,
Pink liquid to make the bile stop rising,
Chews to calm the nipper,
Ivory opals to make the voices stop,
A little blue drop to revive a marriage,

Manifesting modern sorcery,
A candy shop of a different kind,
Replete with sweets of bizarre names,
The world will try to railroad you there,
So be sure to take your medicine.

There once was a rather quaint man,
Who was something of a fool,
Not of the royal court variety you understand,
But a fool of innocent folly,
A little touched perhaps,
Clumsy in the extreme,
Yet this clumsiness was somehow blessed by Plutus,
Received of some idiotic luck,

He would trip into the best outcomes,
Face-first into free change and treasure,
He’d bump his head and always recall the way,
Fumble words in just the right manner,
The tears in his suit would flaunt his best features,
A simple jester of modern life,
An honest dunce he was,
It was a pity what befell him,

Luck always runs out.

Part of the same ‘universe’ as “Hedge Knight“.

During that war betwixt would-be monarchs,
There was one knight who stood monolithic,
The blackguard,
A ghastly terror on and off the hills of battle,
They say he was in love with death herself,

Where his sabatons fell,
All hope finds itself stifled,
A pall of dark smog coats the sky,
Flowers wilt and grass withers,
Game flees out of sight,

And he approached our hamlet,
Decay walking into our agora in full plate,
Zweihander in clenched fist,
Already caked in the wine of loyalist bodies,
His courser slavering and exhaling grave dust,

We could only flee our homes,
Displaced by this effigy of doom,
This horror,
The reapers husband in the flesh,
If he were flesh at all.