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Amanda M. Blake

~ Of fairy tales and tentacles

Amanda M. Blake

Category Archives: Poetry

The Smiling Man

28 Wednesday Aug 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

creepypasta, horror, lyrics, monsters, Music, not a poet, poem, songwriting, urban legend

horror crime death psychopath

Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

I know it’s been quiet here for a while. I actually wrote three songs in the interim, but they were part of DRIFT, and I haven’t decided what to do with them there yet or whether to share them here before putting DRIFT out there.

But I did manage to throw together a little something over the last few days.

I love writing horror songs, because it really forces me to focus on atmosphere instead of plot, and they require a great economy of words – which is not my strength. 🙂

“The Smiling Man” is old Internet creepypasta that’s based on a number of urban legends about demons and monsters that interrupt your evening walk home.

Not the kind of thing I expected to write a song about, but the chorus kind of happened to me. I’m really pleased with the bridge, too.

THE SMILING MAN

On a starless night
Under yellow streetlights
Walking home in the cold
Shivering
Been thinking about
Lying down, getting warm
Wrapped up tight.

From a block away
A man dressed in gray
Strolling along in the dark
Whistling
A cold distant tune
Something grim and alive
Slips inside to stay.

Chorus:
He’s smiling
Smiling
Smiling
With his teeth
And no lips
With his tongue
Down to his wrists
He’s smiling
His whole head around
He’s smiling
Blinking
Sinking
Smiling you down.

You step and stumble back
But his song’s in the black
Following you and he comes
Dancing
To his music, to his smile
Closer still, close enough to attack.

No matter how you run
The man shadows the sun
Surrounding you, drowning you
Smiling
Until he opens his mouth
To feed upon what’s already gone.

Bridge:
It’s a merry old song
A gentleman’s smile
Whistle it with me
Through the night for a while.
And smile with me
Smile with me
Because everyone loves a good smile.

Chorus:
He’s smiling
Smiling
Smiling
With his teeth
And no lips
With his tongue
Down to his wrists
He’s smiling
His whole head around
He’s smiling
Blinking
Sinking
Smiling you down.

Dead Ends

29 Wednesday May 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

ghosts, gothic, hitchhiker, horror, lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting, urban legend

horror crime death psychopath

Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

I tried to write a hitchhiker ghost song a while back, but it didn’t really work, and I had to put the idea back in the box for a while.

Last month, I tried writing one again, and this time it came together into something coherent.

I’m fascinated by ghost stories, because they’re so difficult to do well. Ghost poetry’s a little different – all about atmosphere. It’s so delightfully creepy and sad and sexy all at the same time. The hitchhiker ghost urban legend is one that’s stuck visually in my mind, so it was a pleasure to find an outlet. I’m quite happy with it.

DEAD ENDS

Black leather jacket and long white dress
Silk flutters like wind through the mist
Don’t have no home, don’t have no address
Picking up the girl with a tear and a kiss.

Sparkling eyes and pale blue lips
Can’t help but tear your gaze from the road
A corsage goes dry on another girl’s wrist
But whispers remind you that you’ll soon grow old

I offer you a moment
I offer you a chance
I know it’s not allowed, sir
But would you like to have this dance?

Chorus:
I wander a long and lonely highway
Can’t stay in one place, can’t linger in one town
Hitching rides without a destination
Legs are tired but feet never touch the ground
You’ll see me in the rearview mirror
But I’m not there when you turn around.
Ride with you until the moon descends
And I’ll be wandering until the road dead-ends.

Never had my moment in the sun
Cold gray steel and headlights stained with blood
Silk dress still white as winter for so long
I touch your hand, just looking for some love

Back seat steams, my skin’s as cold as ice
Ghosts from your lips as you bring your heat inside
Steal your breath to remember my own life
That someone like you stole in a car like the one you ride

I offered you a moment
In the dark you heard my voice
You know it’s not allowed, sir
But remember, you made the choice.

Chorus:
I wander a long and lonely highway
Can’t stay in one place, can’t linger in one town
Hitching rides without a destination
Legs are tired but feet never touch the ground
You’ll see me in the rearview mirror
But I’m never there when you turn around.
Ride with you until the moon descends
And I’ll be wandering until the road dead-ends.

Bridge:
They find your body in the back seat
Of your wayward hitcher car
Don’t you know not to pick up strangers?
You never know who they are
Now you’re cold as your ghostly lover
Your journey ends, but mine’s still so far
I’m still cold, your ghostly lover
God, why does it have to be so far?

[whisper] I want to feel alive

I offer you a moment
Die a little more each night
I know it’s not allowed, sir
But I don’t want to do what’s right.

Chorus:
I wander a long and lonely highway
Can’t stay in one place, can’t linger in one town
Hitching rides without a destination
Legs are tired but feet never touch the ground
You’ll see me in the rearview mirror
But I’m never there when you turn around.
Ride with you until the moon descends
And I’ll be wandering until the road dead-ends.

How to Love

14 Tuesday May 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

lyrics, sad, songwriting

aerial photography of pine trees

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

This is the sad song I wrote. I just had a moment and didn’t want to feel it, so I wrote it instead. It’s just a soft little thing.

HOW TO LOVE

I don’t understand all the songs
I don’t understand the days they set aside to celebrate
I don’t understand the flowers, the cards, the doves
My heart doesn’t know how to love

I don’t enjoy the romance, the games
A rose would smell as sweet by any other name.
Don’t know that loneliness will ever be enough
But my heart doesn’t know how to love.

Wandering alone in the wilderness
No one ever at my side
And when the beasts come a-roaming
They tear my skin, but nothing’s underneath inside
No meat, no heart, a mannequin,
Nothing to hide with nothing inside.

The stars are just fire, the moon is just stone
And ice only wanders the cosmos alone
There’s never been any magic above
My heart doesn’t know how to love.

I don’t believe in miracles, flying off to heaven
But I walk the line with ghosts in my head
It’s not exactly what I was dreaming of
My heart doesn’t know how to love.

It’s not exactly what I was dreaming of
My heart doesn’t know how to love.

Trouble

21 Thursday Mar 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting

grayscale photography of human hand holding hands

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I write about this theme a lot when doing lyrics, and you’d think I’d do something to change it and find another heartache, but when your problem is stagnation, it’s by definition difficult to change.

There’s a similar verse rhythm to Miranda Lambert’s “All Kinds of Kinds,” so I keep hearing it country, but I would rather do it more singer-songwriter.

TROUBLE

The world is full of metaphors
Like butterflies and open doors
But I never liked any of them anyway
I’m always running on back home
I lock all the doors and stay in alone
And every day’s like every other day.

My reflection’s always changing
While I’m busy rearranging
My life so that it’ll never change again
But mirrors crack and colors fade
With risks untaken, turns unmade
So things end up just like they’ve always been.

Things don’t get better when you’re staying the same
You don’t get to win if you don’t play the game.

Chorus:
I never go looking for
Trouble, trouble, trouble
So it never finds me
Trouble, trouble, trouble
And it reminds me
Trouble, trouble, trouble
Is meant to shine me
Like fire to gold
And oil on leather
Trouble, trouble, trouble
I always stay out of
Trouble, trouble, trouble
Ain’t got no way out of
Trouble, trouble, trouble
Helps you to grow out
And all that makes me wonder whether
If I’m not looking for any trouble
That’s the trouble that I’ve found.

The world is full of dead cocoons
And roses that refuse to bloom
And I guess that I am just another one
And sure, that means I feel no pain
No heart to break, no man to blame
Don’t have to pitch my worth to anyone.

But life was always made to live
And a frozen soul can never give
And all too soon the future’s in the past.
You can always go back home again
But when sand’s poured out, it can’t go back in
Don’t fight for first, you’ll always finish last.

Things don’t get better when you’re staying the same
You don’t get to win if you don’t play the game.

Chorus:
I never go looking for
Trouble, trouble, trouble
So it never finds me
Trouble, trouble, trouble
And it reminds me
Trouble, trouble, trouble
Is meant to shine me
Like fire to gold
And oil on leather
Trouble, trouble, trouble
I always stay out of
Trouble, trouble, trouble
Ain’t got no way out of
Trouble, trouble, trouble
Helps you to grow out
And all that makes me wonder whether
If I’m not looking for any trouble
That’s the trouble that I’ve found.

 

House of Windows

22 Friday Feb 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

ghosts, haunted house, haunting, horror, lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting

brown concrete castle

Photo by Jack Gittoes on Pexels.com

Because I’m between major writing projects (transcription isn’t a major project), I was finally able to start THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE on Netflix. No spoilers, please, but I think it’s amazing. Episodic horror doesn’t always deliver – I think it’s a pacing thing, and in the case of what I’ve seen on AHS and other Ryan Murphy shows, a matter of being too clever to be scary.

Anyway, it seems like a good time to share my haunted house song I wrote last month, which totally has a Shirley Jackson vibe to it.

HOUSE OF WINDOWS

It’s a whole wide world out there
A fine, varied, full-bodied thoroughfare
Hundreds of thousands breathe the same air
Footsteps thunder over same streets, same stairs.

The house is gated, silent, and still
Its statues, a marble gleam atop the shadowed hill
They peer from stone eyes, listen with stone ears
Let all with eyes see, let all with ears hear.

Chorus:
The house has many windows
Curtains trembling with ghosts
Moths have made away with all the clothes
The dead inside don’t sleep but doze
It’s a house with many windows
But the windows are closed.

Statues at the gate, statues in the rooms
Inhale stale air, filter in the gloom
Every creaking floorboard, memory of previous doom
A house of many windows, a house of many tombs.

Visitors come to view the walls in awe
Priceless paintings behind drapes only the dead get to draw
Guests all leave unsure how to say what they saw
Any moment a knock on the door, any moment a monkey’s paw.

Chorus

In the deep dark garden, the roses have died
Whatever the tenants tell you, the dead likely lie
From skylights come the gray of stormier skies
A house of many windows, a house of many eyes.

Let all who wish to join us enter in
Remember all your failures, remember all your sins
Death chills the halls, creeps under your skin
The house offers rest, yet restlessness within.

Bridge:
Is life just waiting for death? Is that how it goes?
Am I a house, or am I already a ghost?

Chorus

 

All Thumbs

07 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

dance pop, lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting, synth pop

grayscale photography of human hand holding hands

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I haven’t had enough mental space to write many lyrics this year, so I’ll mine from last month, my first attempt at a full-on synth pop song. It’s probably hard to hear the beat in the chorus, but have fun figuring it out. Took me multiple tries to find just the right beat.

Now it’s a freaking ear worm.

ALL THUMBS

A mysterious magician
Of cool disposition
With sleight of hand
A skillful woman on a mission
Fools every crowd
No answers allowed
I disappear
And no one can see through the cloud

But you slip through a trapdoor
Looking like do you and therefore
With your smile
See my hands
When you walk in the room

I’m all thumbs da-dum-dum dum-da-da-dum-dum dum-da-dum-dum
I’m all thumbs da-dum-dum dum-da-da-dum-dum dum-da-dum-dum
I’m all…

Prodigy extraordinaire
On piano keys like Fred Astaire
Fingers flying
Every note floating on air
A standing ovation
Such imagination
What can’t she do?
My music, the sweetest sensation

But then you play your own song
I can only follow along
With your smile
See my hands
When you walk in the room

I’m all thumbs da-dum-dum dum-da-da-dum-dum dum-da-dum-dum
I’m all thumbs da-dum-dum dum-da-da-dum-dum dum-da-dum-dum
I’m all…

I’m a stumbling
Tumbling
Fumbling mess
Don’t know who I am
Don’t know my address
Can’t get control of myself
No more or no less

With that smile
See these hands
When you walk in the room

I’m all thumbs da-dum-dum dum-da-da-dum-dum dum-da-dum-dum
I’m all thumbs da-dum-dum dum-da-da-dum-dum dum-da-dum-dum
I’m all thumbs.

A Night Witch’s Eve

24 Monday Dec 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

christmas, holiday, horror, lyrics, not a poet, pagan, poem, songwriting, winter, witch

black metal balustrade with string lights

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

I’m actually quite happy with this one. I don’t do simple very well (all of you know I’m a wordy mf’er), but when it happens, I’m pleased with how clean it can be.

The musical style should be somewhat close to “Silent Night,” but with more of a minor key, and actually meant for a soprano sound, the classical diva you might sometimes have in a symphonic metal song. Merry Christmas Eve, all!

A NIGHT WITCH’S EVE

Silent night
Silent cold
Everyone’s sleeping
The season grows old

Silent night
Silent snow
Concealing the traces
Where night witches go

Silent night
Silent dreams
Awake and aware
Through sobs and through screams

The midnight is anything but holy
Magic pierces the sky too bright and too boldly

Silent night
Silent sighs
We place silver coins
In everyone’s eyes

Silent night
Silent snow
Concealing the traces
Where night witches go

A Merry Texas Christmas

21 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

christmas, country, holiday, lyrics, not a poet, poem, song, songwriting, texas

shallow focus photography of green christmas tree

Photo by Nick Collins on Pexels.com

I wanted to share this earlier in the week, but in addition to being busy, the darn song just wasn’t ready. There was a whole verse that had a rhyme scheme that didn’t match the rest, so I needed to play around with it. I don’t need finished products when sharing lyrics I’ve written, but I like it to feel like it could be finished.

As you might imagine, “A Merry Texas Christmas” should have a bit of a country twang, but not too much, because not all of us have a strong accent. I do only some of the time, and it’s usually a choice rather than my default. Although ‘y’all’ is kind of a given.

A MERRY TEXAS CHRISTMAS

I can count on one hand having snow on Christmas.
Even being cold is a coin toss to lose
If I’m not cold and snug Christmas morning
I have to confess, that’s not the Christmas I choose.

Chorus:
They set up the lights before November is gone
Advent wreaths burn candles down into one
Everyone wishes for snow, then wishes for sun
And that’s a Merry Texas Christmas.

Santa wears cowboy boots to deliver our toys.
We drink our hot chocolate then bring out the egg nog
Armadillos and cacti with penguins and wintery joys.
And the Christ candle burns instead of a Yule log.

Tamales and chili, dinner Christmas Eve,
And pecan and pumpkin for Christmas Day pies.
We turn on the fire and crank the A/C
Everyone knows when it’s Christmas, everyone lies.

It’s part of the magic
The magic of Christmas
The magic of a Texas Christmastime, y’all.

Chorus:
Light shows draw crowds into neighborhood streets.
For once the huge churches fill all of their seats.
We pray for our peace and we do our good deeds.
And that’s a Merry Texas Christmas.

We scream Merry Christmas so everyone hears it.
We forget why we do it, like everyone else.
We fight over words and holiday spirit.
But in the end, we do it like nobody else.

I’ve only ever known a Texas State Christmas.
Our star of wonder is often the star on our flag.
For many long years, a Texas State Christmas,
Yet as years have gone by, I often feel sad.

Chorus:
But the lights fill the streets when the evenings are long.
Both radio and churches swell with Christmas-y songs.
Everything’s right even when everything’s wrong.
And that’s a Merry Texas Christmas.

Cats Don’t Care About Christmas

11 Tuesday Dec 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

cats, christmas, holiday, humor, lyrics, not a poet, poem, song, songwriting

adorable animal cat celebration

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

This next song arose from an offhand comment from my dad while I was talking with him last year about not really getting in the spirit of Christmas anymore, yet writing Christmas songs anyway. He followed it up with, “Hey, that would make a great Christmas song, wouldn’t it?” I wrote it in my head all the way home from dinner that night.

It’s silly af, but cat lovers should have some fun with it.

CATS DON’T CARE ABOUT CHRISTMAS

Cats don’t care about Christmas
They yowl and meow asking where their food is
They don’t know what time of year it is
Oh, cats don’t care about Christmas.

They sleep in our mangers and hang in our stockings
They don’t want the presents, they just want the boxes
They bat at the ornaments and chew on our bows
And why they kill Christmas trees, nobody knows.

Cats don’t care about Christmas
They hide and decide that they don’t need us
They hate and tolerate the costumes and kisses
Oh, cats don’t care about Christmas.

They throw up on tree skirts and pee in the guest rooms
They run for no reason from bedroom to bedroom
They climb onto our laps when we’re warm and we’re lazy
But while we try to make everything perfect, they’re crazy.

They shake off the jingle bells and won’t pose for pictures
They won’t pay attention to stories or scriptures
We hide all the tinsel. We can’t keep poinsettias.
We want so much to love them, and sometimes they let us.

Cats don’t care about Christmas
They purr and prowl, kill us with false sweetness
Pretend they’re the angel atop the tree to deceive us
Oh, cats don’t care about Christmas.

Missing Christmas

04 Tuesday Dec 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

christmas, ennui, lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting

photo of green leaf plant near pink paint wall

Photo by Maria Tyutina on Pexels.com

I don’t have seasonal affective disorder. I actually experience the reverse, my mood becoming measurably better when it’s darker and colder outside and worse when it gets warm and bright.

But something happens to Christmas as you grow up, and it’s something that made the holidays difficult for roughly the last ten years. Both the spiritual and the secular sides suffered. In fact, it’s only just this year that I kind of got back into the spirit. I put up most of the Christmas decorations at home. At work, I’m decorating my cubicle in a Nightmare Before Christmas theme, which was a spontaneous decision that I’m really enjoying. I’m a Halloween-all-year kind of girl, so it fits my personality.

Christmas music is the one thing that’s been a constant through the ennui. With music on my mind, I wrote down a lot of these feelings about Christmas that people just don’t seem to talk about, especially when it comes to singletons and people who aren’t churchgoers. Sure, sometimes I feel like the Grinch (don’t most of us grow up into the Grinch?), but really, I’m more sad than angry. However, I think letting go of what Christmas used to be has helped me enjoy it in my new ways.

MISSING CHRISTMAS

As a child, I saw Santa through the open bedroom door
Sick with excitement at what morning had in store
I saw in him in the darkness, which fueled my belief
Of magical reindeer who come when you sleep

Half-eaten carrots and hoofprints on snow
Once you spot the lies they only start to grow
When magic becomes just another sleight of hand
One starts to wonder where Christmas should stand

The stories repeat so often, I know them by heart.
Growing up without children, I’ve no longer a part
Meaningless, meaning less every year
And now Christmas seems like every other part of the year, I fear…

The moment I stopped looking for Christmas
Was the same time the magic died
Its epitaph written in my attic-lost tree
I mourn for the death of a magical time

I love buying gifts for my family and friends
Receiving doesn’t matter much after it ends
The truth is I lost Christmas a long time ago.
I’ve struggled to find it again, but I know…

That feasts, friends, and families simply don’t
Make the time any more magical, the season just won’t
Reach as far inside of me as it did once before
When magic and miracles brought hope to my door

Half-eaten carrots and hoofprints on snow
Once you spot the lies they only start to grow
When magic becomes just another sleight of hand
One starts to wonder where Christmas should stand.

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