Posts Tagged ‘Poems’

Salutations inmates!

Here we are at the centre of another week eh? Hump day some people call it. What a bizarre name! Anyways, how is everybody doing out there? It’s been a fairly decent week here at the asylum. I’ve been slowly but surely getting to grips with my new employment. It’s a lot for me to take in but I’m getting there. I’ve certainly been feeling more productive because of it though, outside of my writing that is. Though it has had the unfortunate side-effect of messing up my posting schedule somewhat. It’s going through a period of flux I suppose, I’ll get back on track before long.

Speaking of getting back on track, let’s get to the point of todays post. It’s time once again for the Harlequins writing music and that wouldn’t be complete without a theme would it? Did anybody see my clue for the theme earlier today? It was a deliberately vague one of course. In fact, that in itself adds to todays theme. You’ll see what I mean in a moment.

And now that moment is passed, let’s reveal the theme eh? Todays writing music is all about mystery! We’re going to be listening to music about the unknown and the unknowable. It’s quite a hard topic to actually describe to be honest. It’s all about things that are hard for the human mind to contemplate. There are so many things or concepts out there that we don’t yet understand. Scientific, supernatural or maybe even geographically. Whether that be in terms of the lesser-known metaphysical aspects of the world we live in, things living out there in the unknown or simply the mysteries surrounding other people. You see what I mean? Did that sentence actually make any sense to anybody? I’m not even sure I understood it. Maybe the music will explain better than my addled mind can eh? Let’s try that!

Please join me as we delve into the musical minds of unknowable artists the world over!

Roy Orbison – She’s a Mystery to Me

Abney Park – All The Myths Are True

Alice Cooper – Paranormal

Walker Mcquire – Mysteries Of The World

Leblanc – Unknown

And there we have it! This weeks theme was hard to pin down, even for me to be honest. It’s a MYSTERY as to why. Ha. Ha! Ok, not funny. Regardless, I hope that you will enjoy the music that I’ve picked for this list. Maybe you’ll discover an artist you’ve never heard of before. A mysterious music artist, as it were. Ha.

I’m going to just quickly bash out my usual social media spiel now. The asylum has a few social media sites that it’d be wonderful for you to consider giving me a follow or like on too. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram as well and lastly a page on Twitter too. Also, if you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well. Thanks for everything my friends!

Until next week, have a crazy day inmates!

He sat upon a throne of hoarded gold,
Smelted into shape by fires exhaled,
A king without a crown,
But a coronation of horns,
He had the tongue of a dragon,
The scaled epitome of absolute authority,
A white-hot mailed fist,

And when he spoke,
Embers erupted at the sound,
The storms coalesced and yelled praise,
Mountains kneeled in thrall,
Forests shivered in their roots,
All beasts knew domination,
And even Men feared the shadow in the sky,

All under his wings was his domain,
Fields and seas and bastions,
Nations and borders be damned,
Such trifles are for lessers,
For he was a dragon,
Brimstone was his birthright,
And a dragon only understands submission.

I remember as a child,
Every occasion the hour struck due,
And that resounding tone would emanate,
I would shiver,
Knowing that time had stolen a breath,
And it’d continue even without earshot,
It was that antique grandfather clock,
That accursed authority on time,
With a pendulum of meteorite iron,

I remember it even now,
It’s stature like a judge at court,
It was no humble timekeeper,
But Father Time in oaken design,
As if possessing this apparatus,
Ticking in his voice,
It scared me,
For whom else on this plane,
Could foresee one’s end?

We all have addictions,
Our personal highs,
They’re the best sedatives for the world,
I think we all have that one thing,
That prime compulsion,
That siren attraction,
A chime in the back of your head,

Do you too hear this call?
Is it the rush of nicotine?
The bottle or keg?
Maybe it is the pixels onscreen?
Perhaps the euphoria of narcotic oblivion?
Or the praise of brownnosers online?
As many fixations as orbs in the sky,

We all seem to hold a facet of this blight,
It’s a human defect,
There is no shame in it,
Not really,
We endure in our own ways,
That compulsion is a crutch,
Though it too can destroy us.

This work is complete,
Another night at the forge,
Though I remember naught,
As if rising from a trance,
My vision returns to clarity,
As I gaze at the page,
Assessing the words that I’ve spilled,
I don’t recognise myself,
It is like somebody else wrote them,

Some imposter in my midst,
Slicing my own vellum,
Dripping my own ink,
A man in my face painted inhuman,
Wielding my hands like props,
Raising these poems like the undead,
Though if I can’t recall my own art,
Could he be the true artist?
This imposter,

And am I the fraud?

It is hard to say,
Whether the future is set in stone
Or malleable as pastry,
Indeed there are predictive methods,
Warnings of impending strife,
The portents,
But do they speak true?

The winds of chronology are fickle,
Any sage could attest,
But our threads may yet be seen,
Be it calamity or fortune,
So what do the tarot cards signify?
Do you see it in the tea leaves?
What does the crystal ball show you?

The elements do speak to us,
Though we rarely heed their words,
Do you not hear the rage in an inferno?
The rhythmic dirge of the tides?
The grumbles of the tectonic shifts?
Their intentions are clear as ice,
But what of the wind?
Changeable and fickle,
The most mercurial of all,

She can only be translated by a wind chime,
It’s soft clinks offering phrases and tones,
Little shells tapping against bark,
Bucolic words as it sways,
A quaint little apparatus,
Made of string and shaped wood,
Only that can allow the wind to speak,
To converse,
And not just howl.

Hello there inmates!

So we’re in a new week and it’s been a pretty good one at that. The weather has been hit or miss, but stuff in my personal life is really starting to look up a bit more. I may have found new employment that is likely to be a bit of an adventure for me. It’s an area I’ve only really scratched in the past. It’s been a real morale boost though, I can tell you that for nothing! I’m still very nervous about it despite the fact I’ve started already, but they have made me feel very welcome and I’m optimistic, which is always good! Smiles all around right now, painted or otherwise!

You know what day it is! Wednesday! Hopefully most of you know what that means here at the asylum. For anybody who is less accustomed to my “schedule” here, on Wednesdays I bypass writing a poem for the day and I share some music that I like to listen to while writing. These days, I typically keep to a single theme that the songs will emphasise. Think of it as a writing exercise as well as a showcase of some pretty awesome tunes! I shared the clue for todays musical theme on social media earlier on today. Did anybody see it?

Well, whether you saw it or not, here goes nothing! Todays musical theme is…. plants or botany! As many of you may know, I’ve created writing music lists about the animal kingdom in the past, so it’s only fair I represent the plant kingdom for once too eh? Just like any aspect of the natural world, flora has inspired artists of every discipline over the many years. From painters creating landscapes of flowering fields to writers creating alien plants for a fantasy universe. It could be the myriad looks and shapes and sizes of plants that could inspire ideas in an artists writing or creating. The tallest and most regal trees to the frankly bizarre varieties of flowers out there. They represent as many different things as there are plants out in the world. They are symbols of human ideas, just like the elements and many animals can be. So, perhaps I should get to the music eh? That’s what we all like!

So please, join me as we delve into the music of green-thumbed artists the world over!

Seal – Kiss from a Rose

Black Sabbath – Orchid

Goo Goo Dolls – Iris

Incubus – Psychopsilocybin

King Diamond – The Trees Have Eyes

And there we have it once again! If I trusted myself with a watering can I’d almost be tempted to get a little garden of snapping flytraps myself after all that! I’m not sure I could be trusted with flowers or the like to be honest. I know for a fact I can trust you lovely people to check out all of these artists and give them some love! They all deserve it, as I’m sure you’ll agree if you’ve read this far!

Speaking of which, If you’ve read this far, would be so kind as to just stick with me for this last bit. It’s my usual social media spiel you see! I am working as hard as I can to increase my reach on social media sites and bring my poems to as many eyes as I can. It’s an uphill battle as you can imagine but you could help me out by considering following or liking me over on those sites. I’ll include links here as always so give me a thought eh? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and lastly an account on Twitter as well! Also, if you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Thanks for everything and no pressure!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

The man wasn’t born,
Never laid within a womb,
He was fashioned wholesale,
From mineral and clay,
A human form,
Standing above even the mountains,
Wearing nests and clouds as a shawl,
Dwarves would spelunk into his ears,
Searching for cerebral copper and iron,

His skin was the epitome of ore,
Diamonds and gems set in his eyes,
And Stalactites and stalagmites were his teeth,
His movements were tectonic,
Quakes shook at every footfall,
The man liked to tread upon soft grass,
Though he couldn’t tell why,
He would wander ad nauseum,
But did not know why,

You see,
He was just a golem.

Though the Mother is hurting,
Whether by natural entropy,
Or by human hands,
Most refuse to see it,

Like scolded children,
We put on our blinkers,
As if in denial,
Ignoring the fumes and fires,

As the skies grow crimson,
And the seven seas boil,
We’re all peeking through fingers,
Witnessing our own ends,

But will nobody wield those same hands,
Just maybe,
And save the world.