Posts Tagged ‘Oldschool Harlequin’

I was conscripted,
Forced into these daylight trenches,
By a dice roll,
Snake eyes,
Fighting tooth and nail every year,
Ill-equipped,
Each turn of the sun another foe beaten,
Another hill won with blood,
My standard grows ever more grey,
A tired old veteran in the works,
And once the war is finally over,
I shall take the skeletal hand of the dark,
Like an old comrade,
And finally rest in calm halls.

Hello inmates!

How are you all doing? I’m quite fab, thanks! I hope that you are all doing alright and keeping safe out there. I’ve had a really nice week myself. Not exactly eventful, but I’ve been feeling pretty good. It seems like the country is more or less opening up fully next week, according to the news. Just in time for the weather to turn nasty I imagine! Haha! I’m looking forward to being out and about a bit more. Everyone seems more positive at the moment, which is so nice to see.

As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been on something of a true crime spree this week. I’ve been watching loads of videos about various killers and criminal events. A particular shout out to a Youtube channel called Bailey Sarian, which Tash and I watch fairly often. She has quite a curious style where she fuses two of her major interests: true crime and makeup. I’ve always been interested in learning about true crime stories and serial killers, so watching her has been quite eye-opening. Bit morbid I know! It’s probably no secret that serial killers and murderers have been influences in many of my works over the years. This week in particular with poems like ‘Spencer’.

So, let’s look at something more cheery eh? Some Harlequins writing music! I’m going to get straight into it this week as it’s all about excitement. Todays theme is joy. Oh yes indeed! We all feel it, we all know it. You could probably think of a song that exudes happiness as soon as you read that line. I know I can. So many artists like to write about happy times and the positive sides to life. I rarely do myself I’ll admit, but even so it’s a well-trodden road for poetry and music. Songs about the primal feeling of joy. Tunes that make you want to get up and dance a jig! Want to hear my choices for some jolly anthems?

So, let’s delve into the musical minds of giddy artists the world over!

Bob Marley – Don’t Worry Be Happy
https://www.bobmarley.com/

Earth, Wind & Fire – September
https://www.earthwindandfire.com/

Marshmello – Summer
https://www.youtube.com/c/marshmellomusic

Pharrell Williams – Happy
https://www.pharrellwilliams.com/

R.E.M – Shiny Happy People
https://remhq.com/

And there we have it!

Everybody feeling more jolly after all that? I was very tempted to have a slight boogie myself. I hope that these choices were to your liking my friends. We all need a little light and giddiness in our lives at times, especially in the darkest spots. Here’s hoping I’ve put a wee little smile on your faces out there!

So, let’s drop some social media mess here eh? The asylum has a presence in multiple places. Always check back on my contact page for anything new that is added. I have a page on Facebook, an account on Instagram and a page on Twitter as well. Also, if you like what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting my over at the Ko-Fi page. Thanks for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Monsters are real,
Oh yes indeed,
They walk every street,
Every boulevard,
They hide in plain sight,
They are you and me,
I hear hissing and slavering,
In my ears and on radio waves,
Bound to criminal urges,
Committing crimes to live,
Monsters in all but name,

Stabbing you in the back,
Just for a crumb of feed,
Throttling you pale,
For the pure thrill of it,
Clubbing your skull,
For the loose change in your pocket,
Burning you to sorry ashes,
For they covet the heart you love,
Monsters are very real,
And it’s true what they say,
The worst monsters are human.

A smash,
A glass siren into the night,
The reposed hovel is breached,
Something has slivered in through the chasm,
Something in a balaclava,
A knitted visage of ill intent,

The dark shape haunts the sleeping home,
Possessed of a crowbar conviction,
Studious in its search for pearls and trinkets,
Trespasser tentacles in every nook,
This monster is out of its habitat,
Timidly whispering in tongues,

You deign to catch it red-handed,
A monster hunter in your pyjamas,
A strike is readied,
This is no creature,
Within that woollen mask is a man,
Cold eyes full of panic,

Blue eyes of a desperate man.

There was a young woman,
Red hair and a love of photos,
A young woman not quite right inside,
Led astray through foul circumstance,
Wallace was a bad guy,
Rifles for birthday gifts,
A hint from a sire in some lights,
She didn’t like Mondays,

Some new friends outside,
Not that they know it yet,
So load the cartridges,
Some Ruger fireworks to perk up the day,
Light up some innocent bodies,
Some school uniform party poppers,
Juice on the pavement,
Let’s all scream for Monday.

Do the skies suck away compassion?
Because I see aviators without humanity,
Bomber crews without hearts,
Execrable souls within an iron demon,
Screeching along the zephyrs,
Where even angels fear to follow,

Does the pilot care for those his bombs flatten?
The lands rent by his payload?
I daresay not,
They simply cheer in patriotic tones,
Smirks underneath aviator caps,
Careless of the mushroom cloud in their wake,

They return to their air base sancerre,
And toast to the screams.


The world is naught but pixels,
A video game,
A snuff film,
All high-definition screens,
No soul,
Just pretty graphics,
With stupefying fidelity,
As long as you don’t gaze too close,

If you do,
Expect to see the flaws of the world,
Electrical faults,
Dull non-player characters,
Shallow characters following ill-realised scripts,
The dead pixels,
Static that we all swim amongst,
Until our monitors breathe their last.

That green dragon we all know,
Corruption and temptation and envy,
Its wings blanket the land,
The most towering of vices,
The most pervasive,
And most toxic to be sure,
It poisons us all,
From drunkards to philanthropists,
Leading saints to Stalins,

Could it even plague the holiest?
The purest tempted to depravity,
Leading them down greedy paths,
Would even a saint a succumb?
Approaching that guillotine of temptation,
Still warm with past victims,
For the pot of gold he sees,
Left by a corrupt midas,
Nestled under the waiting blade.

I was submerged,
A dismal submarine,
Thrown overboard,
Laid low by fates gravity,
Into the embrace of a spiritless blue,
Lashed by whips of swell,
A penance for my idiocy,

For my mistakes,

In the cold of the abyss,
Fathoms and fathoms down,
My only companions were alcoholic guppies,
Ungrateful eels and sharks of disrepute,
They hissed and glubbed only pleases and pines to me,
I needed not to breath,
But let the icy water inundate my being,

To drown my thoughts,

And drown I did for too long,
Until a siren pulled me aloft from the wash,
On a bed of roses and bubbles,
She kissed me with a realisation,
That ocean was my own mind,
The darkest solitude,
And deepest expanse.

Perhaps on a whim,
I take a pilgrimage upon the buses,
Public transport cruise liner,
Past the blank-faced operator,
Sitting comfy amongst trash and the trashy,
Taking in all of the voices,
From my fellow bus ticket colleagues,
The factoids,
The information,
Barely a smirk between us,

Double-decker sardine tin on wheels,
From these cheap fabric thrones,
The views are magnificent,
Grey spires beside grey blocks,
Slate upon grey upon ash,
With a dash of fecal brown for a change,
It’s enough to bring a tear to the eye,
Until my stop beckons,
And those motorised doors open,
I finally escape into that gloomy grey.