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Amanda M. Blake

~ Of fairy tales and tentacles

Amanda M. Blake

Tag Archives: Poetry

Fools

26 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

environmentalism, lyrics, not a poet, Poetry, songwriting

white stone

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Everything else is feeling too close to home right now, so I’m pulling out “Fools.” I wrote it while half-listening to Sandra McCracken’s “Fool’s Gold” (nothing like this song, just saying), but it’s always sounded more Patty Griffin in my head.

It was another attempt at an extended metaphor that ended up working in two directions. Because I can only talk about things that matter to me in the most indirect way possible, don’t you know.

FOOLS

They carve through the earth
Through granite and curse
Searching for something to make it worthwhile.
Under pressure and birth
The chisels all hurt
Cutting through veins with a wink and a smile.

The men are all strapped
They point and they laugh
Boasting that any time they’ll strike it rich.
The more cunning the craft
The more they rush past
Leaving behind nothing but holes left unstitched.

The girl don’t shine bright enough in the dark
In searching for gold, they’ve torn her apart
And when they move on, she still takes it hard
‘Cause only fools find gold after piercing a heart.

She tries so to glitter
But it’s all only glass
The soil tastes bitter
Down under the grass
The tools have all scarred her
Above and below
And Midas can’t touch
Where the red rivers flow.

For crystals and stone
They’ve left her alone
She’s cold and she’s empty with nothing to lose
The gold in their bones
She’ll save for her own
When everything they gain can no longer be used.

The girl don’t shine bright enough in the dark
In searching for gold, they’ve torn her apart
And when they move on, she still takes it hard
‘Cause only fools find gold after piercing a heart.

Vultures

18 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

class warfare, lyrics, not a poet, Poetry, politics, racism, social commentary, song, songwriting, vultures

closeup photo of vulture

Photo by Markus Spiske freeforcommercialuse.net on Pexels.com

(I have a review of TEETH that’s been sitting in my notebook since April, but I just haven’t had a hot second to transcribe it. I’m going to try to get that in this weekend, maybe?)

“Vultures” is one of the first pieces I wrote, so naturally I wanted to do something ambitious by doing a full social commentary metaphor, because why ease into this new thing I’d never done before? But I do that a lot now to channel anger in an indirect way.

If I had to provide a style comparison for “Vultures,” it would probably lean early Sarah McLachlan.

(Apologies to actual vultures, who are awesome.)

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?

Music Box

11 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

adulting, depression, lyrics, not a poet, Poetry, songwriting

person holding pen leaning on table

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Another simple lyric. Since it’s called “Music Box,” I’m guessing you know what it’s supposed to sound like. It’s been another hard week.

MUSIC BOX

I rise when they raise me
I sleep when they close
Round, Rosie, round
When I stop, no one knows.

Lullaby dancer, princess ballet
I turn and I spin, pirouette and sway.
Round, Rosie, round
Forever and ever I’ll stay.

My music turned on
By someone else’s hand
Wind me up, winding down,
Still as a statue I stand.

Silhouette on a mirror
Glitter trapped in my eye
Reflection ‘comes clearer
Too porcelain to cry.

I’ll dance to your music
And bow when you close
Round, Rosie, round
When I stop, no one knows.

I’ll guard all your treasures
For here I have none
No pain and no pleasures
My music is done.

My Captain

04 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

captain america, filk, independence day, lyrics, not a poet, Poetry

white and red flag

Photo by Aaron Schwartz on Pexels.com

A few of my friends know I was irrationally upset by the new Cap story line in the comics. Which is silly, because I don’t even read the comics. I’m a movie!verse fan.

I can’t imagine it was a symbolic way of dealing with other feelings I’ve been having or anything, since I process better through fiction. That’s just ridiculous.

Anyway, I wrote this because I just have a lot of feelings still, even after the storyline in the comics resolved itself. Must be nice.

MY CAPTAIN

O Captain, My Captain
Emblem of an anthem left long behind
The last living legend, ice and time confined
Willing to walk that harrowing line
O Captain, My Captain
She has your heart, so you can use mine.

O Captain, My Captain
Ideal icon of the land that I love
Is it too much that we’re asking you of?
Land of the warhawk, while you hold a dove
O Captain, My Captain
We don’t deserve, but you’re never enough.

Bridge:
You’re everything we dreamed we could be
You stand for all we should be
But until we know why we made thee
Fight for what we thought we would be.

O Captain, My Captain
Betrayal hurt more than I could have known
False idol, false friend, forging a false throne
The one in your place denied, to fight alone
O Captain, My Captain
Tell me, what have we done?
O Captain, My Captain
Tell me what we have become.

Anything But a Diamond

29 Friday Jun 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

love song, lyrics, Music, Poetry, romance, romantic

pexels-photo-168927.jpeg

Photo by lalesh aldarwish on Pexels.com

I’ve decided to start sharing some of these songwriting pieces as I go, in part because writing wants to be shared. I’m also scared to share, but I need to get over that if I don’t want to be an absolute wreck every time I put out a book. (I lost it a few times while putting out Nocturne.)

So…starting small with one of my first pieces. The style is meant to be something quiet that Miranda Lambert might sing. If this is my version of romantic, I’m going to have a heck of a time trying to write typical love songs. That’s okay. Plenty of other people out there to do it better.

ANYTHING BUT A DIAMOND

Stay away from candlelight
Don’t get down on one knee
No violins serenading
Anything but a diamond, please.

No kiss under a bright full moon
No soft island breeze
I don’t need angels standing by
Anything but a diamond, please.

I never asked for forever
All I asked for was now
All I wanted was you and me together
I never wanted a vow.

At my best I was never romantic
I kept expectations low
When the fairy tale waits too long to come by
It’s too easy to choose the devil you know.

I don’t want a fairy tale ending
No happily ever after for me
If you love me, then just say it out loud
Anything but a diamond, please.

Organ Donor

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by amandamblake in Poetry

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Tags

horror, not a poet, poem, Poetry, romance, valentine's day, zombie

heart-love-romance-valentine.jpg

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I am a zombie.
Let me make you one, too.
BRAAAAAAAINS!

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