Posts Tagged ‘War’

I crawl,
I crawl because death looms,
Tracer fireworks and smoothbore orchestra above,
The air is a Russian roulette of lead,
To stand vertical is to welcome the reapers round,
Razor wire as spectators,
Bullet casings as applause,

Knees and elbows,
Along this dank trench,
Each inch ahead is a marathon,
The mud cossets me as a reliable guardian,
Enveloping me as I crawl panicked,
My uniform once regal,
Is now a butchers apron,

Knees and elbows ragged,
Each pound of the earth shakes forth more debris,
Fellow conscripts lie about as charnel meat,
Carved by arms dealer produce,
This ditch has become the grave of many,
Its mud surely pining to consume me too,
As readily as any artillery,

Knees and elbows bloodied,
Exhaustion grips me,
I crash beside a shredded standard,
I did not choose this war,
Have no ability to quell its fury,
But now I lay amidst its masterpiece,
Etched in grunge and gore and steel.

My father told me to watch the skies,
A crestfallen voice nursing a missing leg,
He said there were eagles up there,
They’d taken his locomotion in flashes of patriotism,
Ironclad falcons,
Armed to the beak,
Hunting through dead metal eyes,
A video game played malms away,
These vulturine creatures brought death and gunpowder,
Bestowing firestorms at a moments notice,
Butchering villain and victim both,

Father said they were here to remove obstacles two,
Deplorables and witnesses,
To feast upon the black gold we dare live upon,
To eat and answer to nobody.

The battle was won,
The dead collected,
And now it was time to revel,
To the longhouse,
The fire burned ochre and coral,
Roaring along with the cheerful ruckus,

The hall was a banquet of cheers and hurrahs,
The skalds sang long into the early hours,
Singing of the exploits of axes and swords both,
Mead ran like amber showers,
The scent of both pork and sweat frothed brashly,
And the sound was a human cacophony of joy,

The triumph of the day was diluted by the sombreness,
Like watered down ale,
The slain would not join them,
But they indulged all the same,
They knew their comrades revelled in Valhalla too,
And would join arms with them again one day.

The Earth strives to heal,
From the corruption of warfare,
Still wounded decades later,
Still polluted by the arsenic of empires,

From the minds of old men,
Did these scars across the land come,
Painted by bone shards and blood of the young,
Spread by the quills of artillery and lead,

Many souls died here,
Laid to rest in craters,
Mother Nature lies beside them in solidarity,
Mourning for the industrial slaughter,

And the planet still weeps,
Those tears of acid rain,
She hates those old men,
And endeavours to right their wrongs.

Hello there inmates!

I’m having a rather adequate week, I’m glad you asked! How have you all been? I hope you’ve all been working hard and playing harder. The weather on our little island has been a little bit bi-polar so far. We had a pretty major storm here that has caused some inconvenience to various homeowners and outdoor workers. I’m not a huge fan of the rain you see, though I must admit thunder storms are rather amazing to watch from indoors. However, the very next day it’s right back to boiling hot sun! Grr! Oh yea, the writing has been rather uplifting this week. I’ve had some wonderful comments that have made me feel really nice and warm inside.

So, let’s talk music eh? Did anybody get the clue for todays musical theme? Well, let me tell you what it is. I’m sure the suspense has been killing you. No? Well, that’s alright! The theme for todays music is combat! Yep, swords striking against one another, the swoosh of martial arts attacks and the thundering pound of artillery fire. War, physical prowess and military history are extremely dense and powerful areas for inspiration when it comes to music. We all have witnessed warfare and fighting, whether it be regrettably in person, or on the silver screen. Powerful emotions run through these things like pulsing veins. Anger, sorrow and pain are prime examples of this. Combat is, unfortunately so, a very human exercise. So, would you like to hear the artist I’ve chosen to demonstrate my little spiel here? Well, I’m only too happy to oblige.

Join me as we delve into the minds of martial artists the world over! (See what I did there?)

Whispered – Dead Cold Inside
https://www.whisperedband.com/

Sabaton – Fields Of Verdun
https://www.sabaton.net/

Forlorn Hope – Vive l’empereur
https://forlornhope.uk/home

Port Sulphur Band – Bullet’s Lullaby
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCdH8YP4UmTlnBNS3Zs6HlQQ

Olivier Adams- Mortal Kombat
https://www.facebook.com/olivier.adams

And there we have it for another week. What did you think of all of those? I actually struggled to find songs I liked in many different genres for this theme. Could anybody suggest any songs/artists from some other genres, I’d be very interested to hear them! I hope that you all give these artists a look, they all deserve the exposure in my opinion. That last one was a bit of a joke choice, but it is still very much combat-oriented. Give them all some love eh?

Well, I ought to include some social media stuff in case anybody is curious. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account over on Instagram and an account on Twitter. Come and like me over there to see clues for my poems 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 for everything!

Until next time, have a very crazy day inmates!

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.

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.


A continuation of ‘Hedge Knight‘.

The battle lines were down,
Like an assassins dirk across a map,
A knife through butter,
A plague through a nation,
Somewhere Death was atop a pale courser,
Waiting for his ravens harvest,

The tyrant versus the monarch,
Bloody upheaval versus the status quo,
Two hosts of armoured termites,
Spear and lance and blade,
Village pitted against fellow village,
Serfdom meat shields,

A yelled command,
And the storm of blood and iron began,
Armies collided and spilled crimson,
Mars drank deep that day,
Amidst the sea of levied corpses,
A monarchs and a tyrants eyes met,

Time stopped.

Upon this rat-eaten bed I lay my bed,
A mud and barbed wire hovel,
After a long days bloodletting,
The trenches lay heavy with shrapnel and refuse,
Day and light hard to distinguish in the smog,
Bodies alive and not beside one another as brethren,

Rat-a-tat-a-tat,

I carry a small memorial,
The image on this grey photograph feels like an illusion,
A place from a distant fuction,
A home no longer real,
The face has grown indistinct,
The name Elizabeth means nothing to me,

Rat-a-tat-a-tat,

Aside from the distant thumps of artillery,
The only aid to sleep I have is a lullaby of machine-guns,
Repetitive ringing in my head,
Rhythmic melodies of death sent aloft,
In to foreign mens hearts,
A different form of sleep,

Rat-a-tat-a-tat,

I close my eyes,
The gunfire amalgamates with the stench,
A militaristic sedative,
Yet sleep conducts a tactical retreat,
The war goes on,
And the machine-gun continues to sing.

I see him,
In cast-iron visage,
A harbinger of arms dealer joy,
Illuminated in the brimstone of industry,
Lighting up a cuban next to sea mines,
Counting rounds as if an attentive sire,
A self-appointed god of war,
Bestowing energetic gifts of abhorrent blitz,
To all of the unlucky boys and girls,

He visits foreign agoras,
Grinning with teeth of bullets,
He’s extant behind every shell-shocked orphans eyes,
As they grieve for yesterday’s barrage,
Slumped upon sun-scarred plains,
Torn and battered by winds of heavy calibre shells,
Despite this carnage his friends cheer him on,
There is profit to be made,
But first comes the war,

For the bliss of it all.