All these feelings without names, They need a place to bleed, I cannot simply pour them like poison, Into any ear that’ll listen, Ahh, Enter scene, A blank slip of paper, Equal parts cohort and foe, Each line a pulse of time,
It’s an opportunity, An emergency exit on a crashing plane, To expel these emotions, With a buffer zone, An iron curtain, A degree of separation, It is also a risk, The pen allows too much, And parchment has no regard for secrecy,
You see, The paper, It can say more than my lips, For good or ill.
When next you smile, Spare a thought for the discontents, The pessimists, The sad ones, Don’t feel guilt, Your elation is no insult, But know what you possess,
You know the ones I speak of, The loners and heartbroken, Those prisoners of their own minds, They who wear dark clouds as halos, You see them every day, They pass like autumn leaves in a stream, Grey faces churned up in the worlds maw,
These sad ones are in pain, And like cornered beasts they lash out, What manifests as brusque manner, May be a call for help, A rupture in the shell, So consider mercy, No need to strike the bear with a sore head,
The world is foul enough, So I urge you, When next you see a discontent, Why not spare a smile?
Ever since I could possess thoughts, Poetry was my dream, Letters and artistry and themes, Abominations and darlings, It was in my veins, Inky black and viscous, A river Styx beneath the skin, And my quill was Charon,
These free verse haemorrhages, The pages take them like leeches, They flow like obsidian blood, But are delectable to the open mind, I know not where these stanzas begin, And my spirit ends, I am bound to keep bleeding them, We are one and the same.
How is your week going? I sure hope it’s been going well and as ever, I hope your creative enterprises are flowing wildly. Life is too short for weeks filled with misery. Life is for living! Or some such positive claptrap. Haha! On that note, it’s been an alright week so far here at the asylum. A few virtual meetings, more than a few beers and a couple new friends. I’ve also been pretty pleased with the poems I’ve been posting too. Not bad for me, I must say! A few more weeks like this and I may even feel genuine joy.
So, let’s attempt to get the joyous stuff eh? Todays the day of the week for the Harlequins writing music! Did anybody see the clue I posted earlier in the day? The clue for todays musical theme? I’m going to keep asking until someone actually tells me they have. It’s only over there on the social media sites you know. It was a really good clue too, honest!
Alright, the theme for todays music is… Acapella! It’s an area of music you don’t tend to hear much about and yet it’s pretty much always been there. Without the presence of instruments, humans have made good use of their voices to create melodies and the like. That is all acapella is, music without instruments. That’s not to take away from the skill that it can require to not only make the correct sounds, but also keep in sync with however many other participants you have. It’s no different to any other kind of band in that regard I suppose. Practice makes perfect and all that. Regardless of it’s a guitar or your own vocal cords. I’ve always enjoyed the sound of a well-performed acapella and yet I can’t quite put my finger on what is specifically their draw. They just sound…. wholesome? I’m not sure. I’m going to stop rambling and give you people what you came here for: the music!
Please my friends, join me as we delve into the musical minds of Acapella artists the world over!
And there we have it! How about that eh? Wasn’t that fun? It just feels so strangely wholesome and friendly, despite the actual content of the song. Maybe it’s just me. Regardless, I think all of these artists would appreciate your support. So go and check all of them out. Go on, do it! You won’t be disappointed!
Speaking of which, I’d also be really appreciative if you checked me out as well. Not physically mind you, just on my social sites. The asylum has a number of pages that you can view around the interwebs! Come and give me a like or follow sometime eh? It would really mean a great deal to me. I have a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and a page over on Twitter as well. I’ve included the links here as always for you lovely people. Also, if you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Thanks for everything!
Like a herd animal, I partook of the watering hole, Unaware of the danger, The lustful threat in the grass, She was a lioness, A queen in this arid place, A regal and beautiful creature, With hungry eyes laid, And me hiding amid the herd,
Alas, My quickened heart, My lingering gazes, They gave me away, And in an instant, Just a rustle of brush, A flutter of eyes, And I was but prey, An antelope in throes.
The other night, As the candles died and ale dried, I looked for you in a crossword, Hands trembling, To see you amongst the other sonnets, The pen traced you, Around letter and idiom, Your name hidden in plain sight, A puzzle arranged perfectly, Unconsciously, No clue was necessary, Save for the monologue of my heart.
There was a man, Perhaps a wizard or some kind of fae, Whose blood ran with lava and waves, And whose voice was typhoons and sandstorms, He had a face like a craggy bluff, And his eyes shifted with the seasons, He would roam like a glacier one cycle, And a tsunami the next,
As the masses are wont to do, Plebs would strike him with human issues, Pebbles dropped in his waters en masse, He’d snap back with flames, A conflagration from his charred tongue, A storm of lightning and pointed flurries, As if the elements were beholden to man, Just another tool,
His temperament was as changeable as clouds, Full of biting rain one moment, And an easing sky the next, He was erosion and draft, He was the bushfire and the oasis, He had seen whole worlds life, He was the elements four, Submissive only to time.
I continue along this forest trail, Each footfall a breath, The path winds and spirals, Passing landscape views of calendar years, I intermittently peer behind me, I’ve crushed twigs on my way, Like broken bodies, They watch the sky, Laid amongst leaves and beds, They are lives I once touched, By hand and again by foot, Left in the past.
When the feelings return bashfully, I do come to the conclusion, This heart must be recyclable, Built of simple glass and plastic, It keeps getting broken you see, Shattered underfoot, Lobbed over seawalls, And left beside dog waste bins,
Yet painfully and surely, It gets rebuilt each time, Melted down and pulped, Reconstituted so many times, More than one can count, It’s pleasant to love anew, To feel the thump in my chest, Yet the temptation remains of course,
I think I’ve been duped, My wallet has a defect you see, Notes keep escaping, And a pint materialises, Left upon the taproom timber, Bills and pledges be damned,
Escapade after escapade, Money goes out, Lager flows in,
In our tavern laboratory, Ale-soaked as it may be, Over numerous dizzy weekends, We’ve tested this phenomenon, Though the results are often hazy, The bank statements don’t lie,
Session after session, Money goes out, Cider flows in,
This vampire of funds, This defective leather beer tap, Could it be a problem? Mayhap, But I’ve got to admit, This bronze nectar is sublime.
WorldofHarley 