Archive for Apr, 2022

After that Oppenheimer blast,
That argument of explosive parameter,
Followed by a shockwave of deafening silence,
There comes the nuclear winter,
A fallout of two suitors,

It’s a boreal wasteland resembling the space before,
A toxic space without light or love,
Replete with the radiation of resentment,
A shattered ruins of love nests,
There is no warmth to be gleaned,

And like that bomb,
This is no natural event,
Hearts like atoms must touch,
This cold is the stuff of sorrow,
And a winter that could last millennia.

I don’t recall when,
But we eloped from the realm of normality,
Me myself and I,
Became curiously strange,
A rebel from sanity,
A highwayman on the outskirts,

It was indeed a crime to some,
And I was cruelly judged,
Flogged and pilloried,
Pebbles scraping at my painted smile,
Stepped on,
A grey screen held over my effulgent colours,

But I embrace this life of banditry,
I’m the Harlequin,
A heretic from the creed of routine,
I’m not you,
I’m not by the numbers,
I’m an unapologetic renegade.

We’ve all been stabbed in the back,
Either by our own mind or by another,
Either by past or personage,
The heat is the same,

It changes you,
Mutates you,
It turns your blood to acid,
In turn calcifying you to the outside,

It will influence you before you know it,
As if a dark spirit was bestowed on you,
Inevitably it leads you to pay it forward,
Malice is an universal human trait after all,

My friends,
I sympathize of course,
Betrayal is a hell of a narcotic,
And spite is the chaser.

Good day inmates!

What a fine day (and week) it is as well! The sun has been shining and the temperatures have been steadily rising. As I said previously, I even managed to get out on the bike in the last week. I took a lot of photos and videos. Maybe I’ll share some on the asylum pages at some point, the typical social media thing of course. It’s been uplifting as well as inspiring, being out on the roads and sitting in some of the lovely scenery that the island has. You may have got the inkling that a few poems recently came from my escapades out and about. Also, thank you all for the lovely comments and stuff I’ve been getting recently. I really do appreciate it and I feel I don’t acknowledge it enough.

So, it’s the day of the week that we “celebrate” the Harlequins writing music! As always I posted a clue for the theme of todays musical extravaganza earlier on. Did anybody guess it? It wasn’t a hugely intellectually irksome one. I’m sure it was obvious! Haha!

I’ll get on with it. The musical theme for today is country! As in the genre of country music! Now this is a genre that I’ve only really taken a step into in the last few months. Mostly due to one of todays musical choices. It’s always been in the background for me I suppose. Would it be fair to say that traditionally (or at least stereotypically) country music is very much American in nature? That old stereotype of rural Americans having a good ol’ party in a barn. The most famous country stars were certainly Americans, the likes of Johnny Cash or John Denver. It’s a genre that touches on some of the simpler, yet quintessential, parts of normal life. Not just for Americans either. Young love, alcoholism or everyday work, to name a few. Many songs can resonate with people globally. And that is something that I think is great about country music, it’s something that anybody can listen to and glean some nugget of inspiration and joy. They also have some songs that are simply great to have a hootenanny to. I hope I used that word right. Anyway, stop rambling Harley!

So, how about you join me as we delve into the musical minds of country stars the world over!

Brothers Osborne – I’m Not For Everyone

Dolly Parton – Jolene

Willie Nelson – On The Road Again

Johnny Cash – The Man Comes Around

Roy Acuff – Great Speckled Bird

And there we have it! I tried to get a fair variety of artists for this one, as you can see. I mentioned above that one of these artists has gotten me into a bit more country music recently. That would be my first choice, The Brothers Osborne. They’re easily the most ‘modern’ of these artists, but I feel their work still encapsulates the true nature of what country music is and can be. Be sure to check out all of these artists, they definitely all deserve it. I’m sure you’ve heard of a couple though. Haha!

So, allow me to include some social media shilling eh? The asylum here has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and also a page over on Twitter as well. Please consider following me over on those as well, it would really help me out. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Cheers for everything my friends!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Today I realised,
The lane of memory is laden with broken glass,
Sown amongst rose petals and photo snaps,
I see it from astride my metal steed,
Daydreaming down the highway,

Traversing it can breed torment and pierced feet,
Slicing at your pupils and spirit,
Bittersweet images play out every few yards,
The past visualised like stained-glass,
Faces and places like prismatic daggers,

Some memories bite less of course,
Not all glass is jagged,
Some merely graze,
That memory lane can indeed be tender,
But is forgetting preferable?

The end growled,
So I put on some body armour,
A flimsy stab vest,
To protect me from the bite of her exit,
And indeed did a knife come,
Sharp as a sour tongue,
And heated red in a lovers forge,
An anvil rendered mute thereafter,
There was no malice in the blades drive,
Nor the hand behind it,
Just a soul scorned,
My vest prevented a terminal break,
But the strike bruised all the same,
Freezing a heart in its cell,
Forever more.

The other night,
I made a scrapbook from the pieces of us,
Memories put on to parchment,
Crumpled photos and lingering gazes,
Tufts of hair and smiles around campfires,
Receipts and candlelit dinners,
It’s all that remains of us,
Existing only in paper and glue,

This scrapbook,
It has grown to be a cat o’ nine tails,
Papercuts and stinging eyes,
It hurts parts of me immaterial,
Every fibre of my being,
Yet the memories on those pages,
They’re the reason I don’t give in,
And throw it into the fire.

You know,
Inside your head during any dilemma,
A contest is played out,
A game of chess with one player,
Yet two distinct perspectives,
And only a single piece wearing your face,
A mirror lies at each end,
Straight-laced and logical on one side,
Flamboyant and passionate the other,
A reptile versus a clown,
Taking turns at your heartstrings,
Your next action on the line,
Whomever wins,
You may lose.

We are all sculptors,
Did you know this?
Tooth and chisel in hand,
Toiling to fashion a statue of ourselves,
Not in mundane physicality,
But a simulacrum of our internal selves,
Every facet of life made mineral,
Family and romance and profession,

The variety of works will be awesome,
Many will create perfect forms of marble,
A model sculpture of a model existence,
Something for others to muse over,
Some may be sloppily cut from rough material,
Rashly hewn by a being in woe,
A life and potential unfulfilled,
Not all souls prove picturesque,

The scale of each monument scales,
Our tenures are not all equal,
And death is a sacrosanct deadline,
When you take your last breath,
The sculpture is complete,
The great work is done,
A remnant of a life for all to see,
To marvel at or chastise.

This night feels off,
The moon wears a foggy veil,
As if hiding from the bogeyman,
And I sympathise,
A macabre creature does indeed stir,

There’s something in the graveyard,
And though it resembles a cadaver,
It is very much not a corpse,
Pale and emaciated,
Hunched over with unhinged motion,

It’s chewing on something,
Grave dirt,
Old pine,

The sounds are vile,
The slurp of viscera and crack of bone,
The lowlight offers a horrific silhouette,
I gasp and hold back a retch,
Twin hungry orbs lock with my eyes.