Unknowing confidants, They asked me how I was, Not knowing the affront they presented, I doubled over, Wretching, Finally spewing the blood of Olympians, A flood of viscous ichor, Black running down my chin,
This raven tide contained all manner of darkness, Demons and skulls and unspoken nightmares, Repressed personae clawing from the ink, Certainly nothing holy, These bleak waters held memories, Hopeless images in every swirling bubble, Cries for help, The stygian contents of a soul,
Peering up from my knees, Tear-strewn, We locked eyes, I spoke no words, But they knew what I had said, What the ichor had revealed.
I was born in winter, When the year too was young, I am cold itself, Not feeling the sun for many cycles, Brought up in the gloom, Savouring only rainfall and bonfires,
My eyes are snowflakes, Gleaming in blue fragility, Open one moment and gone the next,
My voice is a blizzard, A wind snapping at your flanks, Bringing only frostbite and goosebumps,
My spirit is wintry rime, A frozen lake in my chest, Immune to human warmth,
I was born of winter, I am algor incarnate, Dead to the touch, Call me Jack Frost, Find ye shelter child, For no heat shall accompany my step.
Those eyes, Oh those eyes, Just like Medusa, Piercing and deadly, Tawny like spite, Her gaze is flanked by numerous serpents, Like a scaled bouquet for a crown, She chokes you with her speech, An invisible anaconda, A his slithering on every word, The venom almost visible on the air,
She hates what you did to her, How you punished her, Cursed her, But she can punish you now, Goddess or not, You try to flee, Yet the body rebels, She has you, In her coils and vision, You’ll be stone soon, Masonry for your own ruined temple.
One dark night not long ago, Under the vigil of the full moon, I metered the fathoms of my soul, Plunging deep into the boreal waters, Unexplored and abyssal, There a quake had altered the sandy animus,
The tides have shifted, The waves have chosen a new path, I have chosen a new path,
Previously a filthy stowaway, Is now an admiral, What once was a worm, Is now a sea serpent in a storm, Bait swelling to become behemoth, A minnow becomes a shark,
I am my own ocean, I’m no longer beholden to the tides of others, I’m no longer drowning.
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?
Beware my lad, Don’t advance impurely or with lance drawn, You’ll show due respect or else, That woman is manticore, A strzyga, A praying mantis, She is Medusa reborn, Elegant and lethal, Deathly and ravishing, I tell you she holds no evil though,
She is justified in her monstrosity, It was self preservation, She was lashed by sharp tongues and closed fists, Burned at the stake, And betrayed ad nauseum, Don’t you see? She had to bear her own talons, To defeat her past monsters, She had to become one, And no man shall ever hurt her again.
That humble little beetle, Oft regarded as vermin, A shoveler of dung, But it’s a talisman, A pearlescent amulet, The god Khepri on Earth,
An icon of regeneration, Carved of stone or faience or jasper, These creatures are the heavenly cycle, Day to night to sunrise, Life to death to rebirth, The inescapable truth,
Indeed, Even within your funerary casket, You’ll still find a scarab, Sewed on to your chest, Wings splayed, Waiting for your return in rolled dung.
The day grows raspy, And I ride atop my iron steed, Pale in its sheen, A frame wrenched from cemetery gates, Wheels grinding through the ash, Over dale and alpine,
You find yourself a spectator, The sun creeps through my visor, Highlighting my face, You look aghast, And see naught but a skull, Grinning at the scene we play,
They tell of me, Hushed tones and cupped hands, I’m the goodbye man, Once I’ve left, Into the fog post-haste, There isn’t anything but silence and grave dirt.
When I write, I fashion wings to soar away, With words in place of feathers, Verbs and emotions as down, The ink acting as glue, Wielding these curious machinations, I long to swim on the zephyrs, To travel betwixt sun and moon, To spit in the eyes of vain gods, Madness perhaps, I’m not like Icarus though, Wings not built of wax, But of honest dreams, And dreams are fireproof.
How are you all getting on? Not frozen yet then I hope! It’s been a bit of a chilly one this week hasn’t it? At least it has been here on this island. It’s starting to feel a bit more like Christmas. So that’ll be feeling perpetually cold and having no cash whatsoever. There are certainly enough bright coloured lights everywhere! Happy holidays and such! I feel like my cynicism seems to be flowing at full power right now so I’ll apologise on that point. I’m loving life I swear! Haha!
So, speaking of loving life, who wants to listen to some music? Did anybody see the clue to todays musical theme? I thought it was a pretty good one, if I do say so myself.
Well, the musical theme for today is fantasy! Ahh of course! The realm of elves and orcs and short people with hairy feet. It’s one of my favourite genres in almost all mediums, behind horror of course. I’ve been fascinated with fantasy since my early years. Reading ‘The Hobbit’ and ‘The Sword of Shannara’ books back in the day definitely had an impact my interests going forward. I’ve written many poems about several facets of fantasy. From magic to mythical creatures, from wizards to worlds that don’t exist. It’s the quintessential essence of escapism, in much the same way as science fiction can be. I just think I’d rather be able to wield magic than fly a spaceship. How about you guys? Also, want to hear some music? I knew you would!
Join me as we delve into the musical minds of mythic artists the world over!
Did any of these songs whisk you away to another world unlike our own? I hope they cast a spell on you! I hope you enjoy each of these artists and check out their other music as well! They all deserve the attention and I’m sure you’ll enjoy them as well!
Speaking of enjoying stuff, let’s have some social media links. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and a page over on Twitter as well! Consider following me over on those pages too for poem clues ahead of time and other nonsense! Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page too! Thanks for everything!
WorldofHarley 