The Orator

This orator,
His words are stout yet beautiful,
Vigorous yet codling,
They are forts for good people,
They form bridges to understanding,

A maestro of the spoken word,
His tongue orders charges of sonic armies,
At such decibel,
As to wake even the dead,
And crack the sky,

We all hear him,
And witness his war on the silence,
His syllables the troops,
His words the tanks,
His utterances commence artillery strikes,

The still is the enemy of learning,
The quiet a cruel dictator,
To stop would invite the enemy back,
The icy silence,
So he cries ever on.

Some writing music: Part 45

Hello there inmates!

I hope you’re all having a wonderfully splendiferous day today! Apologies for the lateness. I’m having something of a complex time now. Not in a positive way either, I’m afraid. I’m in the process of changing my living arrangements right now. Its much too hot, much too stressful and I’ll be honest, its getting me down. Im also forced to write up this post on my tablet. For these reasons, this post is going to be a lot shorter than usual. Sorry about that.

Its time for yet another edition of the Harlequins writing music. I find few things bring me more calm than a good song from an artist that one knows well. Let’s see what I can come up this time eh?

So, join me as we delve into the musical minds of extravagant artists the world over!

Blur – Park life

https://blur.co.uk

 

 

Green Day – Basket Case
https://greenday.com/

Scooter – The Logical Song
https://scootertechno.com/

Juice WRLD – Lucid Dreams
https://legendsneverdie999.shop/

Darkseed – Biting Cold
http://www.darkseed.com

So there we have it for volume of the Harlequins writing music!

Heres hoping that you all give some of these artists a try. They all deserve the attention in my humble opinion. I tried to vary the the list to have well-known artists and more obscure ones. I hope you all appreciate their songs! Don’t make me call the clowns!

As always, I’ve got to include this little blurb here. I have a Facebook page, a twitter account and an Instagram page. Come on down and check them out. I post random little tasty sausages here and there, including clues for my poems a few hours ahead of time. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over at the Ko-fi page! Thank you all so much.

Hopefully the next post will be more eloquent and less panicked. Until then, have a very crazy day inmates!

Grotesque

I am bound to this place,
This gothic mausoleum,
Of outdated thesis,
Warding off evil with monstrosity,
I was chiselled out of stone,
So I feel nothing,

I appear an abomination,
An amalgamation of goat and drake,
A chimera,
A terrible sculpture,
Defending this farcical place,
As if it held the grail,

An architectural guardian,
A gargoyle in the common parlance,
I look down at the ants below,
My granite heart feels nothing,
Yet I wonder what their lives are like,
Are they as cold as I?

I was once a very real dragon,
If not for this cement,
I would soar from this perch,
And wreathe the earth in flame once again,
But fear not child,
Those warm days are long dead,

For I am bound to this place.

Work Is Life

Such childhood dreams I remember,
Of artwork and vividity,
Smiles were the way,
But then the conveyer belt fired up,
Careening me through a decided life,

It appears to this dreary soul,
That a lifes worth,
Such as it is,
Is merely based upon ones employment,
Dollar and stirling signs,

To contribute is just of course,
But life is not purely about what you can give,
In terms of finance,
We should follow Euphrosyne,
Not remain serfs to Plutus,

You are what you earn,
Does a bad back,
And a full pension,
Mean a life fulfilled?
Should respect be dependent on vocation?

We live to work,
And work to live,
But what about the end?
Will I too have to build my coffin?
Dig my own grave?

Battle Dancer

As I lay incapacitated,
Upon this grassy knoll,
My shoulder and lung run through,
By barb of crossbow bolt,
I spy my Lady-General,

A maiden of war,
This carnage is her dance,
Dashing from dance partner after dance partner,
Bestowing upon them crimson terminal flourishes,
Spewing ribbons and pyrotechnics to applause of screams,

This theatre,
Spanning over ruined meadows,
With fire and arrows overhead,
A charnel drama,
Host to my Ladys baneful ballet,

Chinks in mail,
Gaps in plate,
All find spots for her blades,
She leads the way,
Bringing the wardance to the enemy,

Morosely she kneels at my side,
“We are War”,
“But your dance is over”,
Wistfully pecking me farewell,
I fade into the abyss.

As 33

An age-old remedy,
For an enemy,
Poisoners best friend,
A deadly tincture,
A snake in a bottle,
Fangs in the liquid,
A tasteless toxin,
A tasteless death,
Insidious in its design,
Even more so in its usage,
Bringing ruin to a body,
Cells die in droves,
The human frame soon follows,
Slowly and painfully succumbing,

What is it?

Dissecting A Demon

I slew this demon,
By my own rageful hand,
Within the swamp of a stuporous night,
To study its vile anatomy,
Work out why devils play the way they do,

This scalpel shall cut hotter,
Than any inferno of hell,
Such is my conviction,
I feel the arcana swirl about this cadaver,
This is the one,

As I make my initial incision,
A cloying ooze of sins drips out,
Infantile shrieks as it hits the floor,
Why continue to bear such filth?
I bottle it up for further inquisition,

Prepare the rib-spreader,
Let’s see this things core,
Stinking heat emanates like breath,
Yet only a void hides behind ribs,
These beings have no heart,

Saw the skull past the jagged horns,
Expose the mind of evil,
How does devilry conduct its plans?
The neurons pass only sick ideas betwixt,
It holds naught but the stench of malice,

So what have we learned?
Devils will always be devils,
Evil will always be evil,
It is intrinsic to their souls being,
It is proven,
If you witness malevolence within a man,
Just remember it is root and stem.

Tumour

I have a tumour,
I feel it pulsing within my skull,
A neoplasmic fiend,
A frankenstein creation of my own heart,
My cells joining its unholy legion,

I know from whence it came,
I breathed in those cancerous cells,
They breached my lips,
On a vessel of her red lipstick,
Her nightly ritual,

She drew me in,
Like a spider playing a violin,
A trap of an embrace,
A witch in white gown lingerie,
Obsessive oncology,

This amorous disease ravaged my form,
Playing jukebox romance ad infinitum,
My humours sent into spasms,
My virtues turned askew,
Blurred eyes,

I ought to be alone,
Give me a bottle of amber,
My own radiation therapy,
I’m unclear of the prognosis,
But this love is cancer.

Strike Out

Dust settles,
I’m out,
Of this El Dorado,
I fear I never learned the rules,
Of rather never heeded them,

Alas I speak not of baseball,
But of a home,
Knapsack at the ready,
Full of filthy guilt,
My human mistakes,

Was it my unwieldy and sickly countenance?
Did I spend too much time in my head?
My unkempt den?
My friends in the night?
Strikes one and two,

This haven,
Of Bavarian design,
Strike three is called,
And I’m out of here,
The sidewalk beckons.

Flocks

I am not a jealous soul,
But I stare green-eyed at birds,
Those avian aviators,
Artists of the blue,
I envy them their wings,
I write you true,

Soaring the skies,
It must be such release,
Such catharsis,
They are not bound to one another,
Why do they stay in throngs?
Are they not individuals?

Do they not know they are free?
My envy screams up at them,
Predation should be no deterrent,
When the flock flies west,
Why not fly east?
Don’t waste those wings,

Coveting their feathery prom dresses,
I call out to them,
Please take me away,
Imitating their freedom,
I reach skyward,
Yet they flee in flocks.