Tag Archives: not a poet

Throwback: Vultures

05 Friday Jun 2020

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File under “Sometimes I get mad.” I wrote this last year as an indictment against systemic racism, from incarceration to economic opportunity, set in a reimagined world of non-human animals. Because what can I say, I watch a lot of Disney.

VULTURES

Scavengers caught in cages
Different stages of difficult phases
Fangs filed, claws clipped
To the bone, wings snipped.

Ribs press against skin
As spectators stare in
At beasts who never stood a chance
And never stand a chance again.

Fresh apples in dead mouths
Fresh blood, draining down
Decaying flesh, begging hand unfurled.
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Gold glints in their eyes
Black velvet circling the skies
Safe from the kill, prey the predator’s own.
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Beasts of work, beasts of burden
Unburdened by strain of security
Best to stay low to the ground
Better to maintain the purity.

Hungry eyes, the grass is greener
Where it isn’t needed.
What’s a hare to do
With something to care for, my dear?
Just another bit of roadkill.
No one’s crying, my dear.

Carrion desiccation
Unrepentant desecration
Each poor dying soul strung like a pearl.
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Everything collapses
And dignity lapses
There’s always dissatisfaction
For them to feast upon
A battered, bloody violent reaction
For them to feast upon
As though it doesn’t matter
Which beast they feast upon.

And the predators know
To leave a generous share.
Let the thoroughfare war
Over whether it’s fair.

There’s always more dead to go around.
Always something to blame farther down on the ground.
When did vultures get to rule the world?
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Entertaining Devils

08 Friday May 2020

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ancient architecture art carved stones

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File this under “Sometimes I Get Mad.”

ENTERTAINING DEVILS

They say demons that tempt you walk in deserts
And the deserts are expanding all the time
Tumbleweeds are our new unit of measure
We just passed the last rusted street sign.

They say there’s gold in them there hills
At night, you hear cries and flashing lights
The moths flock in to eat their decaying fill
Promised cold ends in a warm paradise.

But the games are all rigged
And the house always wins,
The promise a mirage,
Successes the sins.

There are many roads and doors
To a hell with many levels
Another one bites the dust
As soon as the last red dust cloud settles
The wolves, they wear white wool
And the lambs howl like rebels
If we’re entertaining angels
Then aren’t we also entertaining devils?

There is more than one dead end coming
Red paint on cardboard says an end is nigh
With long dead language, the demons are summoned
With living words, the demon have learned to lie.

Abundant feasts have gone brown and spoiled
Laughter follows as the weakest fall
Nothing but fog for which men have toiled
Dancing in the streets from the latest thrall.

The party continues on
Until we wear through the soles
When laughs turn to screams
There’s no buying what we sold.

There are many roads and doors
To a hell with many levels
Another one bites the dust
As soon as the last red dust cloud settles
The wolves, they wear white wool
And the lambs howl like rebels
If we’re entertaining angels
Then aren’t we also entertaining devils?

From the view of the mad, the sane seem worse
Sanity’s heart is sanity’s curse
Hell’s unemployed, basking in the glow
There’s no telling how far man will go
To keep the wheels turning
And the candles burning
And the spirits yearning
For something already sacrificed
To the discerning gentleman
With scotch on ice
Who makes sure no one’s learning
What feeds the beast, what feeds a man

What need have we for devils
When we do so well ourselves?
Half the fun of wreaking havoc
Is knowing how many angels fell.

There are many roads and doors
To a hell with many levels
Another one bites the dust
As soon as the last red dust cloud settles
The wolves, they wear white wool
And the lambs howl like rebels
If we’re entertaining angels
Then aren’t we also entertaining devils?

 

Warning Signs

01 Friday May 2020

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white rose and pink smoke

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The coming mist glows yellow
With sulfur in its smell
A smoky sky, hanging low,
Carries dangerous stories to tell.

Red sky in the morning
Blood on the moon at night
An ill-swept wind blows in
With an eerie kind of light.

The world is lit with warning signs
The roads run dark and still
Cyan bruises on these lips of mine
Purple sage upon the hill.

Red eyes from the mourning
Blood on the sheets at night
A sickness marks our subtle sin
The beast will have its bite.

In all the colors of all the signs
We saw but haven’t seen
That we bring ourselves to an end of times
When all we can see is green.
When all we can need is green.

A person must be wicked
If a person’s to be heard
Were I a witch, with verdant skin,
Could the lesson be learned?

Red hives in the morning
Blood from the mouth at night
The edge of green is browning
And blackens into white.

Running

24 Friday Apr 2020

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woman wearing white dress walking on sand

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After a bit of a dry spell, lyric-writing inspiration hit me hard, and I had to take advantage of the windfall while I had it, so there will be more in the coming weeks.

I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with these things, but sometimes a feeling doesn’t want a whole novel to express it. I’d like to think that I’ll be able to DO something with them, but experience tells me that even if I do, that doesn’t make me heard.

RUNNING

Laying on the bed
Blood on the pillow
Drying brown
The porch swing creaks
In autumn wind
Where I’ve always belonged.

Always in a world of four walls
Head bruised by low ceilings getting lower
Told the walls were safe and I was just too tall
Locks for my own good, no use for a door.

I never try to get away
Torture to move
To breathe
I’ll take what you give
As the gift
That I have to receive.

But I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
Left the keys in the car
The money in your pocket
You can’t tell me who you are
You can’t shut my mind and lock it
I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
I don’t like to run, but I’ll run from you.

You asked for everything, every window open
You told me to stay, so I stayed
But even a spider reaches the end of her rope
And you know what a good spider does to a mate.

Been staying so long
I couldn’t see
Through your windows
That I could go
Where you weren’t
That I could just go…

You were a king
Of the smallest plot
But you’re not a king out there
Show your teeth
But I’ve got teeth of my own
If you don’t, why should I play fair?

There were a thousand forty-eight chances in my jar
And you just took the last one
I stood so still for so long
But the stone’s cracked and now I can run.

And I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
Left the keys in the car
The money in your pocket
You can’t tell me who you are
You can’t shut my mind and lock it
I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
I don’t like to run, but I’ll run from you.

 

Pretty

25 Saturday Jan 2020

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black beetle in macro photography

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

I had a lot of fun writing this one, because it made me giggle and it doesn’t go the direction you think it will.

PRETTY

Do you think I’m pretty?
I don’t trust a mirror to tell me the truth
Do you think I’m pretty?
I don’t trust mirrors, but I’ll trust you.

My hair gleams so glossy
I scrubbed my skin till it shines
They’re both blacker than onyx
You’ll find no onyx stone finer than mine.

Do you think I’m pretty?
When I ask others, they all run
Do you think I’m pretty?
With the others gone, call me your only one.

I can smile for days
You’ll never find sharper teeth whiter than mine
I smile at you from ear to ear
To the back of my head, to the back of my spine.

Do you think I’m pretty?
My heart rests on your reply
Do you think I’m pretty?
If you don’t love me, someone will have to die.

Maybe me… Maybe you…

Have you ever seen a body like this?
Where others are lines, I’m all curves
Segmented, hard, and perfectly formed
Open your mouth and I’ll open mine. Dinner is served.

Do you think I’m pretty?
I cannot control the hand I’m dealt
Do you think I’m pretty?
My heart breaks the same as everyone else.

Do you think I’m pretty? (4x, deeper and growlier each time)

Storm the Castle

09 Monday Dec 2019

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low angle photograph of concrete tower

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I’m not sure where this comes from except a series of images in my head, perhaps inspired by the heavy hand with cinematic pop I’ve been consuming lately. It’s forceful and lots of melodramatic, but that’s how I like it.

STORM THE CASTLE

Barren land from cliff to shore
Smoke and stone, chained dragon fire
You think you’re a king
You deserve so much more
But you’re wearing the crown of a thief and a liar.

You call me princess, but man, I’m a queen
You call me child but I am a warrior of the wild
You think you’re the king
And though my crown remains unseen
I am your end, destruction reviled.

The armies stand, but not for you
The earth, it turns and will turn without you
Your people call for a different name
How long did you think they’d endure you?

Doors won’t keep me out
Raise your sword
I’ll charge the gate
I give my word.

I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle.

Where once was green, you turn to gray
Not even wolves still roam our woods
Your eyes are green, what once were gray
Your daughters weep, wraiths in black hoods.

You call them trophies, you touch them gold
Cold metal under gold hands, no warmth in your skin
You call us playthings, silk skirts to be sold
You lock your walls against me, but I’m coming in.

Empires rise, empires fall
You have gained and lost it all
You’ve done as any tyrant does
You beg to me to be deposed.

Open the door, false king, false friend
Let coins pour into the streets like grain
All false kings come to ignoble ends
I’m shaking off the dust, shaking off the chains.

You call me a woman
Better were I a man
You call me a girl
But I am the dragon.

I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle.

The Long Walk

23 Saturday Nov 2019

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black and white gray grey smooth

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It’s been a hot minute since I wrote a song, but now I have three. They usually happen in clusters like this. I’m overworded from NaNoWriMo, so I’m not sure how much anything works, and mood-wise I’m a wreck, but I’ll take what I can get right now.

Another in my personal ‘paralysis’ subgenre, aka ‘poor you, please get over yourself,’ but it’s bound to happen now and then.

THE LONG WALK

When I was young, I was ready to fight
But now I lie down with fire dying inside
Watching everyone else taking sides
And still wishing that I could fight
I’m tired
I thought I’d have so much more I could do
But now it takes everything just to get through
I’m tired.

Not a day goes by
That I don’t think of dropping everything
And walking away
I don’t even know where I’d be walking to
Just away.
Away.

And I’d see all the things I don’t see on my screen
And I’d talk to the people who say what they mean
Or maybe I wouldn’t talk at all, to anyone or anything.
I’d just go till the rubber wore off my shoes
Until the world grew much bigger than squares of bad news
Until the road cut out at the end of the views.
I’d go until my soles were bloody and red
Until all of the madness flew out of my head
Deep down I know it would end when I’m dead.
But at least I’d know it was real.
Because if I have to be tired,
Do I have to be too tired to feel?

The course of my life, it moves chair to chair
And the truth of it is that I end up nowhere
Back where I start, ambition fades in midair
As I move back the goal posts as far as I dare
I’m tired
Once I dreamed much farther than this
And those dreams couldn’t fit on an end-of-life list
I’m tired.

Not a day goes by
That I don’t think of dropping everything
And walking away
I don’t even know where I’d be walking to
Just away.
Away.

Leaving isn’t the answer, but I don’t know how long I can stay
At night I’m too tired from the fires of the day
But I can’t go to sleep, knowing that it all starts again
And that I’ll never be what I thought I’d be then
Because we’ll never be what we couldn’t have been
So should I just throw it all away anyway?

I’d see all the things I don’t see on my screen
And I’d talk to the people who say what they mean
Or maybe I wouldn’t talk at all, to anyone or anything.
I’d just go till the rubber wore off my shoes
Until the world grew much bigger than squares of bad news
Until the road cut out at the end of the views.
I’d go until my soles were bloody and red
Until all of the madness flew out of my head
Deep down I know it would end when I’m dead.
But at least I’d know it was real.
Because if I have to be tired,
Do I have to be too tired to feel?

What Are You Wearing to the End of the World?

06 Friday Sep 2019

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blue and yellow flame painting

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If I keep going like this, I could have a whole album of apocalypse songs.

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING TO THE END OF THE WORLD?

Everything falling to pieces around you
The core of the apple has gone to the worms
The surface is cracked but the planet still turns
The Earth will do just fine without us.

But what will we decimate into our chaos?
How else to sully our decadent names?
Arsenic apple pie and murdering games
In prosperity and in plastic we trust.

Chorus:
On this day of our Lord, I ask only one thing
The chains are all rattling, the pendulum swings
The roses are dying and thorns are unfurled
What are you wearing to the end of the world?

Leather and lace go with shame and disgrace
The meteor falls in red fire silk
Volcanoes are flowing with honey and milk
But the milk is laced with sweet poison

Stilettos in pockets and the heels of our shoes
Pistols spin in pistoning security machines
Bad boys go worse and the good girls go mean
Here’s the handbasket to hearse into hell in.

Chorus:
On this day of our Lord, I ask only one thing
The chains are all rattling and the pendulum swings
The roses are dying and thorns are unfurled
What are you wearing to the end of the world?

They’re serving a feast speared with silver-lined spoons
The glazes look fine but taste of ash and of dust
The golden-gild cages are tarnished in rust
But we cannot break open any of our locks.

Dressed to the nines and down to the wire
The fur is all fake, blood-mined diamonds and stones
We’re dancing on shoes worn down to the bone
The servants keep turning back all of the clocks.

Bridge:
The masque of the red death holds sway over all
When the apocalypse hits, we head for the mall
The Beast has a number and our number’s come up
There are debts to be paid. On your knees, ante up
Hell is just empty and the devils all here
Amputated hands steer a carnival wheel.
We know what we’ve done, no more acts of contrition.
Lay back in the earth and think on your sin.

Chorus:
On this day of our Lord, I ask only one thing
The chains are all rattling and the pendulum swings
The roses are dying and thorns are unfurled
What are you wearing to the end of the world?

The Smiling Man

28 Wednesday Aug 2019

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horror crime death psychopath

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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

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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.