Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

In humble Illionois,
A beaten boy becomes a fiend,
A gift from a sire,
I wish I could yearn for the best,
But alas it did not end well,
Thirty three innocent souls,
Taken too soon,
By a portly smiling man,
Bespite the theatrics and face paint,
Garottes are not magic tricks,
A crawlspace is no place for a party,
And quicklime isn’t punch,
Please my friends,
Behind even a clowns grin,
A demon can hide.

I find myself in a barrow,
Caked in dew and ash,
I know not how I found myself here,
And yet I hold the shovel,
In my personal astronomy,
I’m at my nadir,

No longer illuminated by lunar,
My eyes are asteroids of ice,
And no stars rest behind them,
My zenith is now obscured,
Hidden by clouds I myself painted,
I know not why,
But even now I hold the brush.

Do you emulate both slob and insomniac?
Cursed with too little rest one night,
And sleep like a corpse the next,
Does your routine remain fluidic?
Unpredictable and overly pliable,

You see,
A sleep schedule is like a beast,
An anaconda with a foul temper,
A stallion not yet broken,
A sloth and a dragon,

It won’t always heed your wants,
It has a wild heart all its own,
It’ll thrash and kick,
Bite and try to flee,
And your daylight hours will bear the wounds,

It could indeed be tamed,
Through effort and habitual changes
Fewer chemicals and bedtimes kept,
Respect this cavalier animal,
And you’ll rest anew.

Sitting alone in your cradle,
Dross all around you,
A world in turmoil,
It’s hard to ignore the grey,
But did you forget?
You hold the solution in your hands,
A leather-bound saviour,
Pages upon pages,
Filled with worlds and invisible people,
It’s both a blindfold and portal,
An unguent for the world weary soul,
Hiding the monotony of the world around you,
While permitting you to traverse others,
Befriending all manner of secret friends,

My friend,
It’s a temporary respite,
But a necessary one,
There is no shame,
In sheltering oneself between the pages.

You say underrated,
That I’m unfairly overlooked,
But that would require hidden worth,
A trove of treasure undiscovered,
Let me say this truly,
There is none,
I am simply a feeble writer,
Playing at greatness,
A mouse among skyscrapers,

You moved forward,
Healed and loved anew,
Built this cottage of a new life,
Thatch of new beginnings,
Timbers of healthier boundaries,
You found pride in this new homestead,

Yet spectres of past creatures encroach,
They want to haunt your new home,
Wailing falsities and evaded liabilities,
They scratch at the windows,
Caressing the glass,
Begging to access you once more,

They’ll offer apologies and sugary tongues,
But like the vampires of old,
Don’t let them in,
Withhold your invitations,
Close the curtains,
And sever the ties.

Salutations inmates!

How goes the week? Keeping it crazy I hope. Of course you are, you silly little minxes! I’ve felt somewhat off myself. Not exactly in the negative sense, but I’ve simply been feeling all over the place. Struggling to focus and the like. I admit I’ve had a lot on my mind, but this feels a little more intense than I’m used to. It may be a silly question without specific contexts, but would anybody have any theories? In more substantive conversations, I’ve been rather happy with my recent poems. I do, however, feel I’ve been missing something a bit in the last few months. I haven’t created any of my true crime poems in far too long! Anybody else think I ought to fix that? Any suggestions?

So, you know what we’re here for today right? Come on! Ok, I’ll tell you. Do you know the muffin man? -No wait, that’s not right. Oh yes. It’s the Harlequins writing music today isn’t it? Yes, I’m sure. Did anybody see the clue earlier on today? It wasn’t as vague as some previous ones have been. Well, hopefully not anyway.

The theme for our writing music this week is pianos and keyboards! That most extravagant of musical instruments that often act almost like centrepieces on a stage. Similar to drumkits I suppose. It’s an instrument that I really wish I could play but I fear I like the manual dexterity or focus to get it done. Instead I listen to the masters and mistresses. From the most famous composers to “amateurs” on Youtube. It’s a rather skilful practice as is any instrument, but I just feel a certain culture emanating from it. The feelings that a well-played piano can invoke are myriad. It can be the most sombre heart-breaking dirge or an upbeat dancey tune like ‘The Entertainer’. It can be as complex or simplistic as the player allows, with a range that I feel dwarfs many other musical instruments, perhaps even guitars. I’m going to show you all five of my favourite piano pieces from around the interwebs and I hope that y’all enjoy them as much as I do.

So please, join me as we delve into the musical minds of pianists the world over!

Motoi Sakuraba – Gwyn Lord of Cinder

Adele – Someone Like You

Beethoven – Für Elise

Soken/Keiko/Amanda Achen Keenan – Return To Oblivion

John Legend – Nervous

And there we have it! I don’t think I could really have much to say about these artists other than wow! I really hope you check out all of these artists if you haven’t already listened to them. Yes, even the videogame ones. They all deserve it for certain. There were many more that I could have chosen for this list, but perhaps I ought to leave that for a potential future continuation eh?

So, on to the usual social media nonsense eh? It’s got to be done you know! The asylum has some social media sites that would really like to receive your affection. Or maybe just a like/follow will do. It would mean a great deal to me! The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and lastly a page over on Twitter as well! Links will be included here as always! Also, if you really enjoy what I do here at my humble asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Thanks for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

If you could see into my mind,
And witness my imagination,
The cerebral alchemies at work,
You’d be both mystified and sickened,
Perhaps alarmed and inspired,
It’s a funhouse with no safety rails,
All ice creams and guillotines,
Clowns and lilies and landslides,
Horror and wonder beyond my eyes,

It’s a nirvana within a nightmare,
And vice versa,
But it is where my palette resides,
Harvested from the very fields of my wit,
The darks from gloom and hopelessness,
And colours flowing from my oddity,
All of this ink is required,
Regardless of its source,
To force this imagination on to the page.

I often think,
We are bundles of hay,
Fashioned by unseen hand,
By stitch and Hessian jute,
Into vaguely living things,
Soulless effigies,
Voodoo dolls,
With vacant button eyes,

Existence is a witch,
And she casts spells through us,
To create breath through herb and cloth,
It’s a curious form of magic,
Unpredictable yet sympathetic,
She often pierces us with crooked pins,
But it draws no blood,
For we are but poppets.

When the sadness encroaches,
When the skies are violated by fog,
Not all hope is lost,
For I can return to my art,
That beacon of inspiring radiance,
A lighthouse,
A port in the storm,

Built of written word and ballads,
Bonded by ink and stanzas,
A structure as vital as my own blood,
A sun at its apex,
Versicolour in its gleam,
Burning away the void of the world,
Drowning it in lyrical hues,

It’s a haven,
A sanctuary of poetry,
So no matter the malic of the twilight,
The light burns ever on,
The art shall ever flow.