Music Monday: “You’re So Dead Meat” by Anthony Green

musicmonday

Music Monday is a meme, created by Drew at The Tattooed Book Geek, where I focus on a song I absolutely love and feel needs to be shared.

Song: “You’re So Dead Meat”
Artist: Anthony Green
Album: Would You Still Be In Love (2018)


Continue reading “Music Monday: “You’re So Dead Meat” by Anthony Green”

Music Monday: “A Little Death” by Anthony Green

musicmonday

Music Monday is a meme, created by Drew at The Tattooed Book Geek, where I focus on a song I absolutely love and feel needs to be shared.

Song: “A Little Death”
Artist: Anthony Green
Album: Would You Still Be In Love (2018)

Continue reading “Music Monday: “A Little Death” by Anthony Green”

Music Monday: “When I Come Home (Reimagined)” by Anthony Green feat. Summer Swee-Singh

musicmonday

Music Monday is a meme, created by Drew at The Tattooed Book Geek, where I focus on a song I absolutely love and feel needs to be shared.

Song: “When I Come Home (Reimagined)”
Artist: Anthony Green featuring Summer Swee-Singh
Album: Would You Still Be With Strings (2019)

Continue reading “Music Monday: “When I Come Home (Reimagined)” by Anthony Green feat. Summer Swee-Singh”

Poetry

It’s the warmth of a summer sun
pressing through and pouring between the
gaps of illuminated tree leaves;
it’s the peaceful, calming noise of pouring rain that
trickles through gutter and pipe;
it is imagery conjured into something more real
than the spell of any grey-bearded sorcerer or
maiden, mother, and crone.

Attempts have been made to trap and categorize it;
free verse, rhyme, rhythm.
Something so primal, yet we
try to define and cage something
part of ourselves

Storytelling is written into the components of our DNA;
empathy is what sets us apart from the
teeming masses of inscrutable animals.
No matter the meter or method,
poetry is the thread that binds us.

by Erik Shinker

Phoenix

A relapse in regret;
a creature accustomed to
climbing currents of air
brought low by vice.

Death and rebirth occur;
a cycle caused by our condition.
How can we return alone from
this Endless afterlife where one
never recovers?
Not fully.

Listen for the whistling whispers, for
even ash will rise when blown by
a strong enough wind; soon to
soar once again,
buffeted by lover and
stranger alike.

by Erik Shinker