The Harlot’s Grass: A Self-Publishing Songwriter’s Journey Through Poetry, Music, and Creative Integrity

Why Authentic Expression Matters in a World of Noise and Unsolicited Distraction

Being a self-publishing songwriter is a journey filled with both creative triumphs and digital challenges—especially in today’s social media landscape. I often receive unsolicited messages in my chatbot from individuals eager to recruit me or promote their services. While some may mean well, these interactions can feel off-putting and foster an atmosphere of skepticism.

I genuinely value fairness, honesty, and respect in all interactions. That’s why I established my subscription-based website dedicated to songwriting, music, and poetry—to offer something significant to the world. The magic of a song or poem is embedded in the heartfelt words I passionately create, not in algorithms or empty pitches.

Crafting “The Harlot’s Grass”: From Poem to Rock Song

Today, I dedicated my time to crafting “The Harlot’s Grass,” a poem I transformed into a rock song. While I’m excited to share the lyrics here on my blog, I warmly invite you to become a member of my website to enjoy the original, artisan-crafted track. This piece is a reflection of my commitment to authentic songwriting—where every word is rooted in emotional truth and poetic clarity.

Connecting Through Social Media With Purpose

Occasionally, I showcase songs on social media to connect and spread the word across platforms like YouTube, TikTok, and X (formerly Twitter). I would love for you to join me there, and don’t hesitate to reach out with a thoughtful message if you’d like. Let’s keep the creativity flowing together—through real connection, not noise.

“The Harlot’s Grass” – Lyrics

George Michael Bennett
georgemichaelbennett.com
2025-10-22

A flick of a tongue, a silent probe,
The scent of the innocent does imbue.
A flutter of wings, a quick little hop,
Unaware of the pause before the drop.

She watches them play, in their carefree dance,
Oblivious to the coming, fatal chance.
Her patience a virtue, her stillness a art,
To tear unsuspecting lives apart.

Oh, the garden's a stage, and the night is her guise,
With eyes like dark pools reflecting the skies.
She's the shadow that coils, the breath on your neck,
A siren's soft call, a beautiful wreck.
She’s the storm that lies sleeping, with thunder untold,
A harlot of grass, both venomous and bold.

And the fangs, a sweet promise, a glint of sharp white,
A sly little grin in the pale moonlight.
A velvet embrace, a deceptive caress,
Leading to darkness, and utter distress.
She’s the whisper of danger, the lure of the sin,
Where beauty and peril eternally spin.

Oh, the garden's a stage, and the night is her guise,
With eyes like dark pools reflecting the skies.
She's the shadow that coils, the breath on your neck,
A siren's soft call, a beautiful wreck.
She’s the storm that lies sleeping, with thunder untold,
A harlot of grass, both venomous and bold.

So, tread with great care, where the shadows do creep,
For the garden holds secrets, buried so deep.
And the snake in the green, with her seductive sway,
Waits for the moment to take you away.