Posts Tagged ‘Poems’

Good day inmates!

Happy eclipse day or whatsoever they decide to call today. Apparently there is supposed to be an eclipse at some point today, which is rather fascinating even though I am unlikely to witness it here in the UK. Still, it’s quite amazing that such a cosmic event is happening. Anybody out there in internetland going to try and witness it?

Things are functioning much the same way as usual here at the asylum. I seem to be in a bit of a pit in terms of writing inspiration at the moment. I’ve been coming up with poem ideas, then scrapping said ideas ad infinitum. It’s maddening really. Hehe. Maddening.

So, I thought I’d make another one of the Harlequins writing music posts today. Not for any reason in particular, I’ve just been listening to a plethora of music artists today and I felt I should share some of them. Nothing wrong with an impromptu spectacle of musical excellence eh? Quite an array of genres on show today I think. Here’s hoping you all enjoy it as much as I do.

Once again, let us delve into the musical minds of hellacious artists the world over!

EDEN – Wake Up
http://iameden.eu/

Aviators – Fading light
http://music.soundoftheaviators.com/

Toto – Africa
http://totoofficial.com/

Stephen – Crossfire
http://www.sincerelystephen.com/

Soundgarden – Black Hole Sun
http://www.soundgardenworld.com/

So there we have it for yet another volume of the Harlequins writing music! I can’t believe I’ve made 20 of these now. I must be truly insane. Maybe, As always I hope that everyone who reads this enjoys it. I urge you all to check out these bands, even if you don’t think you’ll like their specific niches. You might be surprised.

Until next time, have a very crazy day inmates!

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To most who look,
Poetry looks a glorious act,
A noble act,
But it’s a lie,
It is butchery,

I hack and cleave,
Words into prime cuts,
Punctuation into mince,
It is a foul process,
The table glistens with grease and crimson,

Exsanguinate the prose,
And remove narrative viscera,
Carve a strip of exposition there,
And rend from it superfluous fat,
My pen thirsts for more,

Boiling bones of expression,
Reducing them to grist for future ventures,
Everything is red,
The grisly work is done,
For the punters to love and hate,

Caked in blood and gore,
Of projects discarded,
I am no writer,
No poet,
I am a butcher.

Good day inmates!

My My, it has been a long while hasn’t it? It’s been about a year since my last post, my recent reblog notwithstanding.  This is something I am rather ashamed of, to be honest. I consider myself a writer but have committed myself to next-to no writing whatsoever. It is a great shame to me. I’d be quite surprised if many out there even remember the WorldofHarley or myself. If anybody does though, thank you kindly! You must be mad!

But alas, I am here to rectify all of that now. The Oldschool Harlequin is back and I will be sticking to it this time. It has been ,and will continue to be, a busy year but what is life without a challenge, no?

So I thought I’d return with one of my writing music posts since I am going to be listening to this stuff constantly while I burn the midnight oil. It is aural brain-fuel after all. It’s time for part 19! As always, I shall be displaying five music artists that I love to listen to and that inspire me and my writing. It can be any genre and sometimes I even surprise myself with the stuff I listen to.

So, without further ado, let us delve into the musical minds of masterly artists the world over!

Paddy and the Rats – Ghost From The Barrow
http://www.paddyandtherats.hu/

Creedence Clearwater Revival – Bad Moon Rising
http://creedence-online.net/

Zardonic – Pure Power
https://www.zardonic.net/

Stevie Wonder – Superstition
http://www.steviewonder.net/

Placebo – Running Up That Hill
http://www.placeboworld.co.uk/

 

So there we have it for another volume of the Harlequins writing music! It’s been too long since I made one of these and I am sorry that. I hope that you guys have enjoyed this edition and will continue to check into the blog going forward. Be sure to give all of these artists your love, they are all exceptional (at least in my opinion). Be sure to check out my previous writing music posts, you’ll be surprised with the wonders you may uncover.

Until next time, have a very crazy day!

Feeling a touch nonsensical today,
Feeling a dash ridiculous,
My mind is scarlet jelly,
These thoughts are hundreds and thousands,

Once lost which way does a page turn?

Can a cookie become a chef?

Does winter prevail in many competitions?

Can a merchant learn to sale a ship?

Does my coffee need some medicine?

Can a mansion ever be a lady?

Random thoughts dart about,
I know I’m not making any sense,
But did I ever?

Nonsense

The mind is a prison,
Shackles and all,
All your ideas are kept there,
All your machinations are bound there,
Your minds eye is temporarily blindfolded,

Upon request these treasures are released,
Creations given wing,
On to page and stage,
To captivate and terrify,
To enlighten and appall,

But something has designs on these gems,

Writers block,
The plague of the author and artist,
A malady so harrowing,
So abominable,
So soul-crushing,

Now my mind is blocked,
The affliction comes for me,
It’s an unwanted guard to my prison,
Authorizing no creative release,
Me and my psyche are in solitary,

Will we ever be released?

Writersblock

A crossroads in my life,
I remember it well,

Mundanity one way,
A tiresome future,
A pointless existence,
Eccentricity over yonder,
The way of the top hat,
The path of the face-paint,

I chose the only path I could,

Now I jaunt along it,
A cane in one gloved hand,
And a pen in the other,
A jester marotte in my pocket,
My top hat standing tall,
A capricious design upon my face,

Where my grin goes,
Kaleidoscopic and macabre images follow me,
There can be no end to the madness,
This procession of the asylum continues.

MFM Team

We are criminals,
We are dead men walking,
Smugglers and felons all,

A pall falls over our vessel,
A dark mist,
A palpable guilt,
As if the sea knows our illicit purpose,

A distant lighthouse stands guard,
Its light is our doom,
The tension is tangible,

The white coast is a reminder that we are outcasts,
The cliffs tell us we are doomed,
The chines call with a foil behind their backs,
The surf tries to drag us to the gallows,

Our vessel a prize for the law,
Our cargo a trophy for Customs,
The disquietude is discernible,

Waves lash at the hull like blades,
A far-off sentry spies us,
The sea knows,
The sea grins.

Smuggler

A continuation of ‘Festival Of Blood‘.

I was a bad man in life,
A nightmare in a mask,
Bringing luscious bloody release to innocents,
Before my festival of gore was cut short by firing squad,
But I’m back,
I claws my way out of hell,

But something followed me,
Something wants to drag me back,
Drag me back with fang and claw,
This infernal dread has a name,
Cerberus,
A real bad doggy,

A mass of muscle and maw,
Dark as the night,
And far more foreboding,
Three canine heads of such freakishness,
A trichotomy of insatiable mouths,
Slavering with the essence of hell-fire,

I am prey now,
A target for this unholy behemoth,
This guard dog of the underworld,
Its eyes seethe with crimson voracity,
It will hunt me for all eternity,
I can only flee,

I was a serial killer,
An apex predator,
But now me and my soul are just panicky prey.

Cerberus

This is the suburbs,
Residential utopia,

Gardens disheveled and unkempt,

Children with blank faces,

Creaky marred front gates,

A young lady who hears all manner of sordid gossip,

A shed kept from prying eyes,

A policeman with lewd secrets of his own,

A community full of cliques,

A weary young man who keeps his basement locked,

A husband and wife who never look at one another,

A girlfriend head-to-toe in Stella Artois contusions,

A widow still in a black veil,

A crowded yellow school-bus never to get home,

Some utopia,
When perused closer,
Even the suburbs aren’t so idyllic.

I gaze out of my window,
And up into the sky,
That sapphire display of experiences and worlds unknown,
That projection screen for hopes and fears,
I see other worlds that are out of reach,
Or are they imaginary?

The great azure sky looms over,
Acting as a backdrop for my minds eye,
The sun illuminates it,
Acting as a catalyst for what I see,
The clouds act their little plays,
Trying to obscure the enigmas I see,

I see worlds of splendor,
I see nightmare-scapes,
I see fiends and seraphs,
Horrors unbound,
And otherworldly monsters,
Oh the monsters,

Alien worlds that are wholly unknowable,
Stars shimmering every colour of this world,
And many that are not,
Worlds of untold beauty and potential,
And worlds of misery and black lightning,
I’ve seen these before in my dreams,

Then I become cognizant of something,
I was staring into a mirror all along,
A window into the human soul.

Unknown