Posts Tagged ‘Art’

To be a poet is to walk among past giants,
To write is to scamper betwixt their footprints,
As they feast in their halls,
Subsisting on crumbs dropped from on high,
Vermin in their literary Valhalla,
A rat amidst their feet,

There is no beanstalk to their heights,
Shakespeare and Shelley,
Bronte and Poe,
Colossal wordsmiths and Einherjar bards,
They earned their places here,
I have not,

I came to climb to their zeniths,
Trying not to get stomped on,
Barely a flea in contrast,
To their elephantine labours of text,
My works are rock paintings,
Ink on seashells childishly spent,

In this land of giants,
I am but a neophyte,
I’ll likely never achieve the apex,
But why not keep climbing?

What inspires you?
Is it your experiences?
The scrolls where your life is written?
Is it the raw state of the Earth?
Notable or heroic figures?
Beings of fiction?
All of these are valid my friend,
Keep on being inspired,

As for me,
I’m inspired by the bizarre,
The strange and macabre,
Those whorls of the surreal I wade in,
And like psychedelic koi,
My ideas evade even my own comprehension,
Sense is a lost cause you see,
So I too shall keep being inspired.

When I wake up in the afternoon,
I put my socks on my hands,
And it’s like having friends over,
Oh the conversations we have,
The guffaws we share,
A daydream in thespian method,

I’m a weird guy you see,
A certified eccentric,
A brain of butterflies and pendulums,
A clown in pyjamas,
I have a grin of ball point ink,
And a Cheshire cat in my chest,

I’m not normal,
Of this I cannot be ashamed though,
It’s a medal of honour,
Made of teaspoons and timepieces,
It’s insanity you see,
And that’s a mindset I cotton to.

Hello there inmates!

How goes the week for you all so far? Very well I hope. I do still like hearing snippets from you all in the comments. It sort of puts a life to each “account name” if you get me. You all keep doing your thing and I’ll be here cheering you on from the interweb. As it happens, I’ve had a bit of a conflicted week myself. The weather has been pretty impressive an I’ve felt positive the majority of the time, I had a pretty hefty slump on monday. Despite most of the day being quite great, I spent most of the afternoon and evening feeling rather sorry for myself. Inexplicably sad and down about practically everything. I should point out that I don’t know why, it just hit out of the blue. I dealt with it in my usual way: sleeping. Come tuesday I was fantastic again. I don’t know what that was all about. So yes…

Anyways, let’s do something more positive eh? Music! Not depressing music! Todays theme clue wasn’t depressing at all, though wonder if it was actually discernible. I know that a clue is meant to be at least somewhat mysterious, but it’s a bit wasted if NOBODY gets it. Let me know if that’s not the case eh?

Todays musical theme is imagination! A pretty substantial tenet of the artist (among other things). That’s human creativity in a a nutshell. Imagination is pretty impossible to quantify I suppose. It’s a basic creative force that manifests in countless different ways in countless different minds. It creates art, it got us into space and into the clouds, it formed numberless savvy plans and it helps us in day-to-day life in ways we may not even notice. Again, it’s something that tends be synonymous with general thought, so it’s not often considered a ‘force’ on its own. I believe our imagination is what separates us from other creatures and it is what makes art so special. Things created out of thin air just for the sake of creating them. It’s part of what makes us believe we can achieve whatever we want. As I say, it’s hard to describe so this little ramble may be nonsense to most. That’s absolutely fine. That’s why I’m in the asylum. Anyways, want to hear some music about imagination?

Well, join me as we delve into the musical minds of ingenious artists the world over!

Abney Park – His Imaginary World
https://www.abneypark.com/

Owl City – Alligator Sky
https://www.owlcitymusic.com/

Foster The People – Imagination
https://www.fosterthepeople.com/

Poets Of The Fall – The Child In Me
https://poetsofthefall.com/

NICOLOSI – See It Go
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCzo5ssKqhOVtahDXeaP2lMg

And there we go! Another list completed and hopefully another round of artists you guys will decide to check out! I hope that these artists give off the message I’m trying to embody here. That almost undefinable aspect of human intelligence, the root of every drawing or piece of literature. The seed that grows into practically everything we know, at least in part. Please give these artists all a look, they deserve it. One of these is among my favourite artists ever, but I’ll let you guess which it is.

As for favourites, can I be one of yours? Social media pages, that is. I really want to grow my “presence” and it seems social media is the way. I’m yet to see that, but still. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Twitter and a page on Instagram as well. Links will be included here, as always. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well. Thanks for everything and thank you all for reading my work in particular.

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Every soul is a sculpture,
Cut directly from the wombs quarry,
A showpiece in its own right,
Accolades and all,
The finest marble,
The world takes its toll however,
Foul weather and insidious creeper,
The years chew away at your granite,
Artwork defaced by degrees,
By malicious chinks and words like sledges,
You’ll crack and shatter eventually,
If only in part,

Don’t fear though,
This is no detriment to you,
Even a shattered statue has an elegance,
An artistry,
We humans are like that,
Imperfect yet still masterpieces.

At times I am embarrassed by my words,
Not my speech when sloshed,
Nor when I talk on matters outside my purview,
But my written words,
My tenderfoot poetry,
That they show too much of my inner workings,
Or err too far into the fantastic,
That they make me naked,

Through those barely legible scribbles,
A mans madness is laid too bare,
All can see the dross that I am,
The worm that I am,
And it makes me feel contrite,
Blushing through my clown grin,
Yet I cannot stop,
I will not.

Why do I write?
It’s an intricate question,
But the answer is simple,
I found a calling within the ink,
A reason for being,
An obsession perhaps,

And so I waltz with quills and vellum,
A giggling rune crafter,
Splashing ink upon dreams and fantasies,
Incubi between the lines,
Chimera of vowels and consonants,
And I’m a capable beast master,

I’ll admit it takes practice,
When I pen these brainchilds,
I’m not showing off,
Not espousing some kind of artsy manifesto,
I simply write because I love it,
I could not see myself any other way.

What is dark poetry?
It’s art from the other side of life,
The undercroft,
It is the pens true misgivings with the world,
Poetry without the veneer of hope,
Without naivete,

It’s verse unconcerned with the daisies,
Or the wonders global,
It’s poetry with the mask off,
Of black eyes and cracked teeth,
Of track marks and hangovers,
Grief and crime and the reapers art,

Don’t misconstrue my words though,
Flowery prose has its place,
Ink of faith and family,
Denial helps with the pain after all,
But all ideals require an obverse,
And that’s poetry from the dark.

I was spawned without logic,
Without reason,
A vacuum behind the eyes,
Only a glitzy nebula in the gap,
My mind must be locked up elsewhere,
Incarcerated in absentia,

Reason has formed a bogeyman,
Trying to drag me away,
To mundanity,
But I won’t go,
I’m fleeing sanity,
Cloaked in oddity,

I live as a madman,
Bereft of marbles,
Skipping gleefully along the path,
Sidestepping what you call common sense,
Seeing carousels and masquerades everywhere,
Persisting on this demented track.

Every book is a wellspring,
Dripping with the exertions of an artist,
An acolyte of the quill,
Each and every tome,
It is a font,
A primordial soup upon parchment,
Birthing life on every page,
Bursting forth galaxies in mental geysers,

It draws stories in your minds eye,
Worlds that never were,
Fantasy and science fiction,
Horror and romance,
It is succour to a soul in this grey land,
A taste of aqua for a dying man,
An escape,
Until the book covers meet.