The earth speaks out, Tectonic truths in waves, The rumbles come, And upon them comes the moleman, A priest in filthy vestments, Slouched and indistinct from ore, Conducting each quake in totality,
He preached in earthy tones, Each verb a stone to the head, He was an unassuming critter, As humble as his namesake, But his speech was steadfast, Sermons extolled through two teeth, Through unseeing eyes,
Despite his inhuman form, He meant no harm, This humble mole is just delivering epistles, From the titans writhing below, Magma and raging stone, Voices of the planet, Sounds we no longer hear.
As the timeless adage decrees, Man must explore, To blaze trails, Cross malms and seas, The very astral lanes above,
In our collective consciousness, There is a primal need for the next sight, Each step falls upon a new time zone, Conquering hazard and fauna both, Striving for the exotic,
The labour is a double-edged cutlass, Even as they discover new opportunities, Pray for the adventurers, It is their achievements that are exploited, Turned to corrupt purpose.
Revels in the agora tell of one thing, The arrival of the vaunted tinker, He came far to our little town, Partnered with a carriage holding such marvels, A promenading carnival of cogs and brass, A treat for the needy,
He could fix anything, His craftsmanship bordering on sorcery, To the wheels and pins he was royalty, His golden hands commanded the broken shards to marry, Clocks and pans were his pawns, For a price in silver of course.
Wandering bewildered in a lawn maze, I found this place, By mistake or chance, This verdant museum, This garden of secrets, Its emerald prizes did not come free, The thorns acted an entry toll upon my arms, But oh was it worth it, Almost did I prostrate myself,
My eyes did bathe in supernal botany, A wonderland without a red queen, Trees holding up the firmament, Flowers abound of every persuasion, Little cardinals splaying to their solar deity, The pristine lawn a parade ground of green, Drilled by uniformed peacock life guards, I could remain here forever, Yet such divinity can only exist in folklore, So I wrench open my eyes.
There was a knight, A man of foul tastes and fouler intentions, Scorned by lords and radiant ladies, A brutish giant of a man, Fallen out of court favour, Settling to escape from the disapproval,
This knight turned that scorn outward, Turning to punishing the serfs, A wandering tyrant, Chivalry turned to banditry, A wolf in iron clothing, A kingslayer,
This was no Robin Hood, But a plate mail monster, No silver tongues, Just silver daggers and silver morningstars, Claiming to be a knight errant like any other, But searching for vice over virtue,
Along with his merry band of cutthroats, He revelled in flesh and loot and fury, A plague on the realm, A steel cyclone, Tearing a scar of hate across the nation, Until a feeble monarch deigned to act.
This desert of existence ranges onwards,
The dunes a maze of decisions,
Scathing to the touch,
My camel became bleached bone eons ago,
I’ve forgotten the sounds of life and flushing leaves,
The only caress from blades of desert wind,
I ache for an oasis of respite,
To rest my fèet upon regal silk,
To wash my hands in something other than grating sand,
Some pure water filled with praise,
A compliment not from a forked tongue,
Before resuming lifes journey,
I see pyramids filled with gold and felicity,
Dancing a slow sway upon the horizon,
The sight galvanises my steps,
Just a handful more miles of bland waste,
Or is it mirages that give me hope?
Has the heat of being gotten to me?
I hope you’re all having a wonderful week. Mine has felt extremely productive, which is a very freeing feeling I must say! I’ve gotten the impression that my works this week have been a tad more “hard-hitting” than average. The epitome for me was “Domestic Bliss” which, as may be clear, was derived from real life experience and anguish. I was content with how it came out though and I hope you all enjoyed it.
So, it’s time for the Harlequins writing music! Any of you who happen to follow my social media may have already guessed the theme for todays post from my clue. I hope it wasn’t too obscure. So, the theme of todays music picks is rebellion. What is rebellion? The spirit of freedom and the will to ask questions, even against authority. Criticising your own government is one area that most think of when you hear the term rebel. The determination to be yourself regardless of those cupped whispers. It can be misconstrued as childishness at times I supppose, but that tends to be from people who seek to stand on you. This rebellious spirit has sparked many artists over the years, from punks to anarchists, from anti-establishment types to followers of particular politicos. These can span genres of all kinds and there are no shortages of artists to pick from.
So, let’s see what I have come up with. Do you agree with my ‘lower than layman’ take on rebellion? Or do you think I’m being overly vague? I think I’m still getting the hang of this. So let’s see which five artists we have today eh?
Join me as we delve into the musical minds of rebellious artists the world over!
So, how about those choices eh? I’m hoping they displayed some rebellious spirit for you all to enjoy. There were a few others I toyed with choosing, but maybe they’ll appear some other time. I hope you’ve enjoyed my choices and that you check any of these artists if you’re unfamiliar,they all deserve it!
So, lets have some social media spiel! If you want to see clues for my poems and weiting music themes ahead of time, consider liking/following me over there! I have an account on Facebook, an account over on Instagram and last but not least a page on Twitter. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over at the Ko-fi page! Thanks for everything!
Spring is come,
I see it in the daffodils legion beside the road,
I feel it on the warmer zephyr,
My ears heed the throng leaving hibernation,
The smell of fresh grass graces my nostrils,
I taste the cordial breeze upon my tongue,
My senses can perceive the shift,
The world comes to life again,
Shaking off the frosty mantle,
Bringing its head above the snow finally,
Taking a long-awaited breath,
Its veins bearing aqua unfrozen once more,
Like an archaic blade reforged,
The world exists anew.
I remember you vividly,
Sitting next to me,
Or were you standing over me?
Holding me perhaps too tight,
A living and breathing possession,
I was your toy soldier,
You showed your feelings openly,
Love letters in dark patches of skin,
Compliments tempered with caveats,
Invisible chains while away,
I believed it was stress or foul mood,
But you were Hyde without Jekyll,
Did we have a good life?
In our love nest of isolation,
An idyllic little boxing ring,
No friends allowed,
Don’t let the spies in,
They can’t see the real us,
It wasn’t all bad,
As you snored,
I breathed a sigh of relief,
When you left for the mines,
I didn’t flee,
Why didn’t I leave?
You said you loved me,
But your closed fists said otherwise,
You claimed to support me,
Then why could I only do wrong?
You didn’t want to hurt me,
Then why do I sustain scars years later?
When lost in life,
A wilderness of town streets and motorways,
Directionless and addled,
There appears no clear path,
The gravel has given way to bog,
The blue sky grows weary,
Streetlights barely illuminating the way,
And wolves howl in the vicinity,
Roadsigns striving to send you to their jaws,
What do you do?
Do you hold the tools of survival?
Do you seek aid?
Garner information from friends and strangers both,
Do you chart your own path across the map?
Orienteering lifestyle,
Or do you remain perpetually lost?
Languish in the cold and sleet,
Never to see a warm hearth again.
