Deeper

 I've been waiting so long.

I said, I've been waiting so long.

But like every man or woman that ever has been, you're running late.

You never call, never phone or write. 

You just don't show up for our date.

No, no.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted 

Was One Good Man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love

That's deeper.

So I met a poet at the Chelsea, he said

"I'll be your Bobby, you can be my Brigitte"

So I lent him my head and he gave me a hand, baby

Get It While You Can. He

Promised me poems. I said, "Catch Me Daddy!

Go read to old ladies instead!" 

Yeah yeah. 

All I ever wanted, ever wanted Was

One good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted Was

A love

That's deeper.

I'm just A Woman Left Lonely

Singing in this empty room.

I've gotta Try (Just A Little Bit Harder) to wait

My cigarettes burned out too soon.

So I'm out here walking in the rain

Little Girl Blue with her Ball and Chain.

What Good Can Drinking Do? Oh.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was one good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love, a love a love, a love

That's deeper, yeah. 

So I found myself a new man.

He's tall and he's thin.

Not much of a looker.

His countenance is grim.

He's only got one outfit, his smile is wide.

No Mercedes Benz, just a horse to ride.

Under this Half Moon it's finally time

To stop my Misery'n. Oh! 

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was one good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love, that's deeper. Yeah.

So this Summertime

I've found my love

I've got one good man!

And he's the Reaper. 

New poem, new song. 

Find it online:  Empire of - Deeper. 

Listen here: https://on.soundcloud.com/pjvTD

Download/stream everywhere now.

A New Direction

 

https://on.soundcloud.com/LR83k

Some of you may have been wondering why I have been quiet recently. 

I have been busily working on a new project, which is starting to come to fruition. 

Above is a link to the first track of my forthcoming album. Check it out and let me know what you think. 

Love always. Xx

Lyrical Living

So I’ve been to all these gigs

and listened to the bands

and heard how nobody understands

the loss they feel,

the heartbreak, the pain.

It’s the same old story Sam,

sing it again.

I’ve heard all the fills, like

“Oh, baby, yeah”

Did you run out of words to fill that space there?

Am I getting old?

Or just getting pickier?

Or perhaps, with experience, cynical and bitterer?

It’s just that all this monotonous crap

as about as profound as clickbait video soundtrack.

Calculatedly sentimental,

as irrelevant as Blockbuster video rental

to the age we are living in and the way I experience

emotional ambush and unspoken inference.

Blandy McBlanderson.

Selected generic

when we lives in such interesting times.

LED screens on with lightshows mesmeric

to distract from the mundane straight rhyme.

That’s not to say I don’t love it.

Dancing is pure bliss.

Eyes-closed-bass-pounding-through-my-chest-my-arms-a-twist.

Exchange of energies intense,

connection of rhythm and chord and cadence.

Dance for sorrow.

Dance for rage.

Dance for anxiety.

Dance for tomorrow

belongs to those that can see it coming.

Dance because knowing what’s going to happen isn’t always a blessing.

Dance when you feel powerless. In

some small way you’ll feel better.

And whether you know it or not

the shot of joy I feel,

knees buckling after a night on the tiles

is the same depth of smile

I get

from poetry.

And so, although I seem

ungrateful

I’m really not.

I’ve had a summer of music never to be forgot.

And from my depths, thank you

for you’ve all heartily moved me.

It’s just that if I’m honest

I’d rather be at poetry.

                                                                                                                    

This was one of my entries for the Manx Lit Fest Poetry Slam this year. One young man mistook my friend for me. He asked her at the interval what her problem with modern music was. To him, I say two things: 1) Wrong tall dark-haired girl. and 2) You've totally missed the point of the poem. 

Much love. X

Roundhouse, London, 12/07/2013

I steamed and spun one London night,
As trains did long ago.
Euphoria; experimental;
Honesty and woe.
My facial vines of eyeliner
mystified the wasted
and a one-off song from Palmer's tongue
set straight the rag-most-hated.
Unexpected overwhelm
and floodgates rattled open.
Lost and then the Bed Song
un-numbed my heart so broken.
The gift she gave - an awesome show.
An unguarded performance.
The gift I took - the strength to glow
and keep on moving forwards.