28 Saturday Jan 2023
Posted in A Few Thoughts, Poetry
We need to let go
of this idea of normal
as something we’ve lost.
There is no normal.
It’s true monthly, yearly,
five years, a decade,
but easier to see if
you look back twenty years,
then another twenty years
then another twenty.
There is no normal.
There is your childhood,
and then there is now.
Sometimes, normal just changes
faster than usual
with a cruel snap
like whiplash,
but the disaster
is just as normal
as the calm before.
We always live in
unprecedented times.
16 Wednesday Nov 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
bloodless, empyrean con, horror, poem, Poetry, published, sliced up press
I shared this on Twitter but kept forgetting to put it here. My first paid poem, “An Empyrean Con,” is featured in BLOODLESS from Sliced Up Press, a collection of blood-free horror.
17 Sunday Jul 2022
Posted in Poetry
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
We can clear the burning black
From the smoldering bay
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
Dead fish are swimming
Belly up to play
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
The coral’s gone white
The seaweed’s gone gray
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
It’ll only last an hour
Or at most a day
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
No need to point fingers
We can afford to delay
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
Sure it looks bad here
But not as bad as they
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
We promise it gets better
No need not to stay
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
We’ll keep our thoughts pure
On our knees to pray
The sea is boiling today
But that’s okay
By the time it’s all gone
We’ll all be away
05 Sunday Sep 2021
Tags
biblical, ezekiel 37, folk, lyrics, poem, skeleton, songwriting
I’d been holding onto a few lines of this for ages and only came up with a song to go with it today.
Loosely inspired by Ezekiel 37, the Valley of Dry Bones, should have a lovely, rough folk beat, like Bishop Briggs’ “River.”
–
RATTLIN BONES (EZEKIEL 37)
Rattlin bones
Rattlin bones
Get up and dance
You rattlin bones
Can bones yet live?
You rattlin bones
Rise up in the name of the Lord
Skeleton fingers
On skeleton hands
Counting the time
For the skeleton band
Skeleton feet
With skeleton toes
Tapping along
To the feast of the crows
Rattlin bones
Rattlin bones
Get up and dance
You rattlin bones
Can bones yet live?
You rattlin bones
Rise up in the name of the Lord
Tendons on bone
Muscle to skin
Build up the bodies
To the flesh that they’re in
The breath of life
A song in the air
To dance in the dust
Of the flesh that they bear
Rattlin bones
Rattlin bones
Get up and dance
You rattlin bones
Can bones yet live?
You rattlin bones
Rise up in the name of the Lord
The graves are all open
The souls are all free
Teeming the valley
For all souls to see
The multitude sings
Stomps thousands of feet
Unsettling the dust
To the living hearts’ beat
Rattlin bones
Rattlin bones
Get up and dance
You rattlin bones
Can bones yet live?
You rattlin bones
Rise up in the name of the Lord
17 Monday May 2021
Tags
I posted a simpler, cleaner version of WE ARE THE ENEMY last year, but I’ve revisited the first version and decided that, though it has some similar lines, it has a few different kinds of things to say. I’m battling a lot of feelings that are bigger than me, so big I can barely put them into words. I decided to borrow, for now.
WE ARE THE ENEMY 2.0
Truth, justice, and the American way
Heroes fly with stars and stripes, red and blue and white
It’s all okay at the end of an American day
How we do it doesn’t matter if we’re right.
God bless America, we’re right, so we must be good
And if we’re good, we can’t be wrong
And if we can’t be wrong, we do what we should
We do what we should, with an oath and a song.
We are the villains in too many stories
And not just those of those we condemn
We think power makes us strong
And strength gives us the right to win.
That because we are strong, we must be good
That because we are good, we must be free
But look at what we do, look at what we’ve made of you and me
We are the enemy.
Holding the unfinished in steel claws
While buildings crumble to the ground
Our words are sacred, absolute oaths
Never to be torn, burned, or bound.
All without words spoken, without the mark
Can fall to the conviction of our words
Our deeds are counted by the cruelties dealt
Cards we call good, the right of the sword.
I never thought I’d see the day
I never thought I’d see the day
When there were people we didn’t need to save
Sacrificed because they had the wrong name
Because they didn’t play the right game
Or didn’t resist wrong the right way.
I never thought I’d see the day
Until the day I knew it had been here all along
Trails of tears, trails of blood
Stepping on the bodies of innocents
To climb to the top and tell ourselves
It’s our day, our sun
Because we’re the ones casting the shadow
We never put down the sword or the word
There was never depth too low for us to go
As we cursed those casting shade in the shadow we made.
Because here I thought we were trying
Instead of lying and calling it truth
Instead of executions called justice out of court
Instead of pride for an American way
That’s always been the American way.
I knew we were bad. I thought we were better.
We are the villains in too many stories
And not just those of those we condemn
We think power makes us strong
And strength gives us the right to win.
That because we are strong, we must be good
That because we are good, we must be free
But look at what we do, look at what we’ve made of you and me
We are the enemy.
30 Wednesday Dec 2020
I haven’t gotten many songs written this year, because I’ve felt too strongly for anything to coalesce into something substantial. But I managed to put something into words, things I’m afraid of saying, but it’s done. The sickness hasn’t quite left my chest yet, but it’s done.
WE ARE THE ENEMY
We thought we were heroes
We tried to be
We wanted to be
We said we were good
We said we were free
Free to be good
Free to be bad
We could choose the we that we wanted to be
We made the choice
We decided not to see
We made it from the start
We were and are and ever will be
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.
We’re the heroes of our story
The greatest country
In the smallest world
Built with blood money
Grown from flesh seeds
Of brown cocoa
And black coffee
Of corn and cotton under a chopped cherry tree
We deny responsibility
If it wasn’t personally
When under other names
Still degradation of humanity
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.
Never villains of our story
Inconceivable that we’d ever be
Treason to even claim
Unpatriotic, unthinkable treachery
That means we won’t listen
No longer have to hear
No longer have to see
We’re villains if our villains do the same things
We condemn the evil deeds
In a mirror, cry deniability
If we say it enough times
We think everyone will believe
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.
Stab a knife in the high ground
And dig two graves
One the bed we made
The other the dead we laid
Layers and layers tall
We say they make us feel small
And that the bed we made
Isn’t comfortable at all
There’s only so many times
To deny that we fall
And to pretend that we would never
Have been a villain, too, through it all.
If we say it enough times
We think everyone will believe
In what we say
Instead of what they see
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.
05 Friday Jun 2020
Tags
lyrics, not a poet, oppression, poem, racism, social commentary, social justice, songwriting, systemic racism
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?
08 Friday May 2020
Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com
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?
01 Friday May 2020
Posted in Music, Poetry, Uncategorized
Photo by Flora Westbrook on Pexels.com
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.
24 Friday Apr 2020
Tags
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com
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.
Amanda M. Blake 