A Poem for “Something’s Up With Marsha” by Mending

The place once seemed exceptionally beautiful, but now felt quite cold and bleak — towering above her weary cheeks — the city had become a fiery inferno.

Great disdain she noticeably oozed for a place once covered in machinery and oil.

Like others — she thought I was strange. Still, she gave me a courteous nod and continued on her way.

In search of a dream, I had departed, but nothing ever seemed to fall into place, so back I went to face my fate.

But before I could leave, the snow began to melt, and little red cherries began to sprout.

You must now open your eyes — and get back to Wakerobin Hollow she told me.

So to Wakerobin Hollow I went — to care for a thing I thought I had tried to forget.

There were stalls selling apples, and Rhubarb in many shades — for work I tirelessly searched in vain.

I was greeted by peculiar smiles — they seemed to be rather cold, but smiled regardless of the foreign mold.

Before I could open my mouth, a peculiar woman said, “for you, I have something special.” And in her hand was bright red apple.

Mending is made up of singer songwriter Kate Adams who is based out of Chicago, and Joshua Dumas — an artist and composer out of New York. We Gathered at Wakerobin Hollow is a four hour, 40 song speculative narrative, and is being released in nine chapters over an 18 month period.


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[a narrative for] Information by SoundBath

“We’ve got some lovely information, I’ll give you a very fine price.”

The man blinked rapidly, thrice.

He seemed exceptionally brainy, for his manner was strangely uncanny. He wasn’t what I would call zany, but great disdain did he noticeably ooze.

Like others, he thought I was odd, still he gave me a courteous nod.

So in search of my goal did I depart, but before I could leave, the man came running.

“I can help you I believe… Information, you can get. You must now open your mind, and get to Tula, quick.”

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So to Tula I went, in search of a song I so desired.

The winds they did blow eerily, but I felt that the day could be more dire.

There were stalls selling guitars and seashells in many shades.

People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady. She seemed to be rather beautiful. But I wondered if she was at all very dutiful.

Before I could open my mouth, she shouted, “For you, I have a note!”

“But how did you know?” I asked.

“Do you want it or not?” she did say. But, she then vanished before I could look away.

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[a couplet for] Cider Palace by Miserable Chillers

Notice the heartache of the lonely artist. Feel his weary sadness as he meanders through the dark forest.

He finds it hard to see the forsaken land of a tale told long ago. Overshadowed by the green namesake of a lie so low.

Who is that strumming near the cider palace? Perhaps she’d like a sip from the golden chalice.

She is but a whimsical mistress, admired as she sits for awhile upon my insistence.

The artist shudders as he thinks of the nocturnal pond of loneliness.

He wants to leave but she yearns for a thing that seems to always be slipping into the shadow of neglected pestilence.

The full length album, Schoënblintsjia comes out 2/22 via Baby Blue!

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La Femme

La Femme is a French psych-pop outfit formed by keyboard player Marlon Magnée and guitarist Sacha Got in Biarritz. 

And now, a poem.

Roses are sad, violets are too, my only hope, is to melt into you. Orchids are white, ghosts are rarely blue, your smile is lovely, and so are you. Magnolias grow, with tiny buds of clay. The road is long, and so is the day.

Sunflowers reach, up to the night sky, as the red door awaits, the mockingbird cries. My eyes in her eyes. Her lips against mine. I melted like sunshine, and moved like a mime.

Foxes in hedges, surround the farm. Your body is slender, and so are her arms. Daisies are pretty and daffodils are mild, but the hibiscus flower will never fade out of style.

The day is warm, and so is your smile. My angel from Saturn. My nocturnal desire. Never leave, or I’ll drown in the wild.

An ocean so beautiful, lights up the night sky, the neon light burns a lucid hole through her eyes.

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Lucille Furs

Lucille Furs is a psychedelic indie pop outfit out of the Windy City of Chicago, Illinois.

And now, a poem.

Like a lucid rainbow, I watched euphrosyne laugh so i said hello. She gave her vibrant paint a quick shake and laughed until her belly stopped to ache. The only other sound was a filthy rat as distant birds and bees drew ever back.

The paint was blue and full of yellow but she had no time to keep the colors neat nor mellow, so after cake and an enormous amount of the late night fate — the sweetest of dreams visited her in the depth of sleep.

As she awoke from her soft bed with thoughts of sweet lullabies and unicorns in her head — she ate her jam with lots of bread, now ready for the lucid day ahead.

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