So what is alone..

Truly in a crowd of people I can be so alone and so content

Maybe it was the fact that Rod taught me to talk to myself

Today I'm with Suzanne as she takes me down to the river

I'm in a calm space while the worlds stresses out.

I do want to travel with the sun through seasons

And in the silence I want to reach out with my mind and

Embrace the body of a lover who will escape at dawn.

Then the streetlights will be dimming with the sunrise

And I'll walk along side the river by myself, alone and yet not.

Dave Schipper (c) 2015 Rose Riversongs

A new song is like a kitten

Officially I have written probably close to 100 songs, attested by the 196 posts on my prose blog, Zeman's Musings; but does that make me qualified to write about it?  Well my wife would tell you that I have little humility and of course I even sauntered into writing a blog on how to Songwriting though I haven't posted to that site since 2010 (not that the hints and techniques aren't ageless.)

So let's just say a new song has been welling up inside me and I have to explain it and the process.  You know like you get a new kitten and you have to keep playing with them.

First I had some time alone in the house; always important to me for thinking and writing not to have some one looking over my shoulder, and I found this old piece I wrote and it was my standard depressing wanting of a love that wouldn't happen, it started:

The dance of the life, the chance of time
Ages of man and woman have written
Pages and pages of nonsense to fill the subject

And you can read the rest at http://davezeman.blogspot.com/2012/03/dance.html

So I really wanted to write a gypsy type of song, a little rebellious, and some thing quick because I've been stuck in slow sad for too long.  I actually had a been spending some time in the Twitter world and discovered people who are taking identities of Downton Abbey characters.  In a previous post I might have mentioned that and I believe Lady Rose should have an affair with a gypsy lover, and maybe Mary too, why not Bohemians existed back then; plus we are great romantics.

So guitar in hand, a great bouncy beat the first verse went down with much of it borrowed from the 2012 piece:

The dance of the life, the chance of time

Ages of man women have written

Pages and pages filled with rhyme

Still the real bells and whistles simple

A wink of an eye, a glance from behind

To blink you’d miss it, a lover’s symbol

Now the chorus has to more dramatic, modulate it up (even if the voice can't) and DANCE!

So take this dance with me tonight

My hand gentle on your back

Keep me in your constant in your site

As we dance, we dance thru the night

A great writer John David Souther always said, "A good song is timeless" and I think dancing with the woman you love, with your hand on the sweet spot of her back, and her staring in your eyes is timeless.  As I playing it quick, I did attempt to soften up especially as I gently place my hand on her back.  Next up my other mentor, Pierce Pettis said, "Move the story alone"  First verse was the attraction, next has to have the action.  Here I draw off of my love for dark eyes, long neck of a woman with her hair up, and white complexion, ah easily this could be Michelle Dockery or Lady Mary.  Though I wrote it not to be specific makes a song much more compelling; and yes I married a woman with dark eyes and fair complexion over 30 years ago

You hair pulled high all the fabric pressed

The music begins and the crowd stirs a start

Cruising the floor in you red dress

Your skin so white, your eyes so dark

Unclench my soul be still my heart

I would be yours, please drop your guard. 

I really love this verse and thought at one point I might have stolen "Unclench my Soul" but Google did not return any hits to that line. (yet I need to make sure my song comes up HA)

Next up keep the story going, and this song of little over three minutes probably captures a half hour of elapsed time at most.  So the dance is over and a lady with wine and a man with his black and tan live happily ever after.

So mark the time …that song did end

A pregnant pause a silent bow

We left the floor hand in hand

A with a toast … our life began

A blend red a black and tan

We started life a lady and her man.

Now one might wonder if there really would be a sarcastic comment coming after the dance?  Well put two people together and I would claim that too many times we say something we regret saying, thus the  silence ensures the ending.

Now you know the story... hope you enjoyed it and the song.

Apple Blossom and Snow

On a snowy day in Wisconsin, you watch the birds outside with the cats.  

You dream about spring and the apple blossoms.

And you update both blogs you maintain, and the other one is : 

http://davezeman.blogspot.com/

You just might recognize the new background.

Little inspirations.

Snow falling, I look down to see this Lady Olivia sleeping under the tree and the first two lines were written.  On a day when we reflected on a Blue Christmas at church, the feeling of peace among friends was strong.  Thus I shouldn't be surprised that I composed my first Christmas song.

Lyrics at the other blog.

The muse returns!

I've been feeling dry lately... a lack of words though not a lack of passion.

The other day I was humming Leonard Cohen's masterpiece, Hallelujah, and noted the structure, 8, 8, 10, with the 10 rhyming through out the entire song.  As a challenge, I decide to write a piece in that structure.  My Fantasy  is of course fitting my style of dreaming.  It is not merely one woman in this fantasy but a blend of many over my 55 years of eating lunch alone at a variety of places.

Then this weird world of Twitter has people who play the part of characters.  I ended up being followed by Lady Rose MacClare, and I was just being playful saying I wrote a piece for Mary but anything for Rose may end up being a little sassy.  She blew me a kiss, what was I to do but write something.  Ah... that feels good.

Denise you are my inspiration too.

Guess who is in love with Denise, beside John Moray... yep me, but come on any warm blooded male who is charmed by the female orientation should be.  They appropriately named the character, Denise LOVETT.  The Paradise has captured me differently from Downton Abbey, it's more of a novel about a small city of people and based on a retail store.  I love it and have become hooked on watching all the episodes on YouTube before PBS shows them; if you missed the show start with Episode ONE

If clicking on the video photo doesn't work, here a link what is this with all the prohibiting embedding?

And here's another I couldn't embed but this I love the video on CORSETS to hear Denise (Joanna Vanderham) talk about her little watch is cool and gives you a feel for the details that go into a show like this.  Just to hear her talk actually, I love to listen.

Again if the picture link doesn't work, here's the link  http://youtu.be/0cSwzM3gbB8

Of course many of my blog readers know I like to find time to write, truly Denise did end up being my inspiration:

Denise,

You are my inspiration

A muse,

Unbounded exhilaration.

Your smile

Demure yet accented by

Those eyes

A window to bold intrigue

I pause

Though you are three steps ahead

With plans

Fabric in Venetian red

You reach

For my hand and say quickly

What if,

But I’m lost completely

Alas

You are my inspiration,

Though near

I fight for inhalation.

For Denise Lovett on The Paradise

By Dave Schipper  © Rose Riversongs 2013 

Also posted in my Musings blog.  http://davezeman.blogspot.com/

I'll take a sandwich and a side of romance

It is always this time of year that the writing bug strikes me.  Winter chills?  Gracious it's not that women in Wisconsin or Minnesota dress scantily to entice me... it just takes kindness.  A flash of tender caring eyes, or just hearing them be nice to another soul.  I could die tomorrow, and I would feel confident that the world has enough love in it.. never sure if it's shared enough... here's my short little piece tonight to get you thinking...

http://davezeman.blogspot.com/2013/02/coffee-house.html

For a dancer... Angel in Disguise

I loved the song, "For a Dancer" by Jackson Browne growing up.  Maybe that's why seven years ago I wrote this melody and the lyric at my prose site, for a young teenage dancer.  She looked so much like a little Natalie Portman.  All I could think of was how precious, and my prayer would be the good Lord watches over this little Angel.  With all the sadness that pours out in violence to young women and of course the random killings like Newton, just brings remorse.  We should rejoice that there are many a dancers that grow into fine young women, who have little dancers of their own.

Grace gives mercy

Recently I've working again on a tune I wrote awhile back.  The video is a mix I made.  I have this habit of sometimes having too much time on my hands and layer many other instruments on the first vocal and guitar track... Hope you like it.  Thanks

Grace by Dave Schipper © 2005 Rose Riversongs

She was a zesty mix of latin princess and call girl

A spicy whiplash with long flowing black  hair

Courted by all the boys within a hundred miles

She ropes them all and then frees them with a smile.

She is Grace, (4x)

Her daddy was assumed killed in a gang fight

The street adopted her and raised her right.

Now the all grown up girl stands tall

A ghetto flower in a world of asphalt

The hands of Grace filled with mercy

A gentle place, nothing fancy

To be with her is a blessing

Come unsure,  leave rejoicing

She has a crucifix right next to the tv

She’s known to grab your hand and weep

On the hallway wall is a shrine to her father

Pictures of wasted man but no mother

Days she spends her time at the soup kitchen

Nights she brightens  up the street with passion

She has the cred of the silent and the deadly

She gives more than a hand out, she give mercy

Hepburn moment

Now it's a song:



Here is where it started:

She walked slowly by the pieces of the past
Scarf wrapped up to her short-cropped hair
Somewhat out of place with Hepburn flair
Stubbornly, She’s stuck with a style that lasts.

She made her way to the café window table
Oblivious to her surroundings she went on-line
Reading, renewing and restoring lives entwined
Only pausing for an infrequent nibble on a bagel

He pictured her in front of bustling Paris street,
Much easier to finish the plot without any words
And on cue the music switched to jig on a dulcimer
He needed to leave and folded up his vision complete.

There you go, strangers at noon and never love.
He looked back and she was gone from her chair
Chuckled to himself, “was it real or just a dare”
The devil had dialed up one that would fit like a glove.

By Dave Schipper

Sitting at the Acoustic Cafe... their internet was down.. the store from across the street was the first line, the blonde getting out of a car the second, then it got revised as a beautiful woman sat down across from me. Internet came back up for me to find that Audrey Hepburn was incredibly quotable, and she helped fill out the story.

Lot of reference and fun reading from:

http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/692403.Audrey_Hepburn


Why change? Everyone has his own style. When you have found it, you should stick to it."
— Audrey Hepburn

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone."
— Audrey Hepburn

"I'm half-Irish, half-Dutch, and I was born in Belgium. If I was a dog, I'd be in a hell of a mess!"
— Audrey Hepburn

"For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed; never throw out anyone.

Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of each of your arms.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mode but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives the passion that she shows. The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years."
— Audrey Hepburn

people, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone."
— Audrey Hepburn

It is finished

Last night I felt tired of writing happy songs and I had this overwhelming passion to create a song inspired by Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I grabbed my son's electric guitar and started composing.

Ok, so true to his tweaking of King David's Bathsheba story, I thought about the road to Damascus and thought why not find a moment when true love was found NOT to be true. Wow... then I had the words "It is finished" run through my head. Kim will read this so I do tread on blasphemy, but she knows I'm a true believer. Who knows that God isn't inspiring me to use the words to open up the Bible to new ears. I digress but these things do flow through your mind.

So know I had a parts of the puzzle, I was determined it would not sound like another song I've written. So I plugged in Dustin's electric guitar, turned the patch to "METAL STACK", and then words and melody collided. I started with It is Finished... knew it was the chorus immediately. Remember the Chorus has to be the best part of the song, though if the rest is weak it'll be forgotten quickly. Then down my Damascus, but unlike Paul my revelation was that I was blinded by love.

What I love about it so far is that it can swing either voice, but I'm not crazy that I took the plunge to use Text. Such a modern phrase. I might stick with some and offend others. Now for the treat... I recorded the rift so that I can go back to work tomorrow without trying to remember it. It promises to be a busy week so I might now re-visit this for a while. Now I'll remember it later. The video starts with the chorus's melody line.

Finally yes some might find tangents in Dustin's current love life, but truly if it's in there so are many other pieces and parts from other love lives that I've ran into over the last 52 years.

It is Finished

Every night I wait for a text
And I cling to every word
Replies that leave me so perplex
Just feeling like a nerd

Then there is a glimpse of hope
A new life again after death
Only to find a new tight rope
We have drawn our last breath

It is finished, we are through
I beg forgiveness to the Lord
For you know not what you do
In the guise of loving true

Today I found my Damascus path
And my eyes were suddenly clear
Words you said too gift wrapped
I see there were just chevalier

Today I see I was on your strings
Trained to stay somewhere near
So say goodbye to your plaything
You’ve lost a treasure dear

It is finished, we are through
I beg forgiveness to the Lord
For you know not what you do
In the guise of loving true

By Dave Schipper © 2010 Rose Riversongs

Confession of a true romantic, happy Father's day

Here's a new piece and an old piece from me for Father's Day. My dad died awhile ago but when is not really important. Truly it is more sad when a child doesn't out live his parents. I was lucky to be raised by intensely passionate parents. Rich in work ethic, but never would I describe them as Saints. As I've grown, I've understood the patchwork that God loves in us... the deep navies and the trouble corduroys are right next to the rich flannel and the bright silk. So for Father's Day I go back to something he passed me that I can't erase, romance. Say what you will about Dad, but he raised seven children while flirting with every pretty woman I ever saw him close to at a wedding or family get together.

First a song I wrote for Dad back in 2005...

Me and Dad never talked to much
He pounded nails for a paltry pay
We were just Catholic White Trash
Goin to church but not actin’ that way

Now I’m walkin’ with the ghost of my old man
I live his purgatory today
Refresh his soul from his bigotry
I am walkin’ in his footsteps everyday.
I am walkin’ in his footsteps everyday.

Dad had an eye on pretty girls,
He had sparkle eyes when he flirted
Now over 40 and I do the same
But like Dad, we never cheated

Your craft made wood come to life
Red River Valley was a hymn to you
Now I make the guitar wood sing
And I hasten to bid you adieu

Now I’m walkin’ with the ghost of my old man
I live his purgatory today
Refresh his soul from his bigotry
I am walkin’ in his footsteps everyday.
I am walkin’ in his footsteps everyday.

Footsteps Everyday by Dave Schipper © RoseRiversongs 2005

Next is just a fresh piece of prose with many inspirations from Leonard Cohen, Harry Chapin, and Rod McKuen ... so a guy's got to write about he knows sometimes '-) and I doubt if it will become a song like the last one. Of course, I do think it has potential if I write a cool chorus.. (eternal optimist ... yep I would think Dad first for an influence on that one.)

It is with dread I tell my story; my confession.
As I open myself to the honesty of consequences.
Addicted, I must avoid the public places of life
Anytime I sit in the open, it’s mere moments
And I’m lost in romance of another stranger.

These novelettes are one sided but each unique.
The cotton print of the blushing brunette
The piercing eyes of the gray hair beauty
The pug braid accentuating her long neck
And I’m lost in the unfolding love and danger.

The vulnerability is my haunting pleasure
These souls don’t realize their power over me
I’d be on bended knee in a flash if they knew.
A mere sentence or two would pierce a shy armor
Bleeding passion profusely, a life changer.

Though no one is hurt, scar tissue is growing.
Not that this play has no acts or scenes set,
It’s just that the reality of a few minutes
Is dwarfed by the epic played out in my head.
I’m just lost again in romance and I linger.

But drag me through the gutter; I do go on.
And I must admit my saviors are the angels.
I must only be attracted to the true golden ones.
They see this halo of a ring I wear proudly
And treat me as some else’s gift and tender.

Well a leopard can’t change his spots, nor I.
I am blanketed in love from a special woman.
One who knows me for the gypsy lover within
So my heart will skip a beat for sparkling eyes
And I’ll be lost in romance with another stranger.

But I sleep at peace with my true love
With a smile on my face.

(c) by Dave Schipper 2010 Rose Riversongs

ok maybe I have read way too much Rod McKuen in my youth... Happy Father's day to all.. and I hope that your boys grow up to be romantics in love with every woman they see.

Julia

Angie drove deep in my soul a few years back. Such an angel, and she left to prop her family in Colorado leaving me with the inspiration for this song.

Seven Bridges, Seven Tales

Originally posted June 26, 2009; I thought this was perfect way to remember the fallen soldiers, and the ones that came home and lived with the war a little bit longs. This is likely my most researched piece, down to knowing that Albert is buried in a cemetary just a mile from my house. The Richie Havens story is a little embellished, but it could have happened.


In seven minutes, seven miles breeze by
To my right, the old road beckons
Seven bridges, and seven stories
For my delight, if I just listen.

Lizzy,
Lizzy paid no attention to crickets
But that gun shot made her jump.
Crazy Bill McGilvary shouted
“Dem swamp rattlers!
Liz listen up next time
They sound just like crickets!”







7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.






Davey,
Davey just had an itch to fish
But he had chores galore.
Ma’s fresh pie served as a bribe
And little Jim, he won’t mind
He’ll do the chores just fine
While he finds time to fish.






7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.





Joanie
Joanie had a hankerin for fun
Like a red shouldered hawk
She swooped in on Henry
“Kee Year” she mimicked.
In the bottomland grass,
She rolled with her new hun.





7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.




Billy,
Billy cursed that bridge from hell.
Clinton embossed the back of his neck
As he hung motionless from the A frame.
Damn riverboat gamblers
Took his life savings
So he hung there a spell.








7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.







Tommy,
Tommy never really came back
So he made these swamps his home.
Nam killed more than his hearing
He lost trust in people
They say the lost site of him
As waded out in the river named Black.








7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.



Ritchie
Ritchie mumbled “How did this happen?
Rental piece of shit,” but he hated flying.
Aw a strawberry stand, and a latin beauty.
“Two bits for sweet carazon.”
“Precious what’s your name”
“Oh they call me Donna”






7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.




Albert,
Albert was nineteen in 1865
At the Spanish Fort battle in ‘Bama.
He was 90 when they laid him down
Four miles from the bridge
He and Rynert used to fish
Sure wished he would have survived.












In seven minute, seven miles breezed by
To my right, the old road beckoned
Seven bridges, and seven stories
For your delight, if you listened.





by Dave Zeman (c) 2009 Rose Riversongs





Story behind the song can be read at http://songwriting202.blogspot.com

Photo Credits

Swamp Rattler -massasauga, Red Shouldered Hawk, Historical Marker, Ritchie Valens, Green Mound Cemetary, Bridges & Swamp, Riverboat Gambler

Not to be....

The signs abound with shouts of Super Syn and Clean 7500
Oh well, I just need routine maintenance and you weren’t here.
There is no crying in this world for guys who are brain dead.
Just more signs that it’s your money where they really care.

An old guy passed saying “that it ain’t bad ‘cept the wind”
Yep and he kept walking and I kept wondering about you.
Did you notice that I started show up again and again?
You acted like I didn’t exist, or was that just being shrewd?

So it is not to be,
And it never was.
A bubble burst you see
Just another day.

I turned a page and was taken back to an ordinary day,
Picking you up from work, watching you stride to the car.
Funny it’s that memory, but not when we parted ways
Still I wonder on a Saturday afternoon, where you are?

There is a God; and she didn’t want us to be after all,
Such a joy ride, such despair; we had moments at the top
Yet where is the great writing, foreplay, climax, after fall
I’m left with wondering if the real right move was to stop.

So it is not to be,
And it never was.
A bubble burst you see
Just another day.

An email arrives and another parent of a friend has died.
Where is the fit to my life, and do I have two, ten, or twenty left?
I can stop and wallow in dread of life, or honestly say I tried.
A line, a contact, a comment on a blog, oh I sound bereft.

But the grace of friends and the Holy Spirit above lift me
To a life that I have no earthly merit to inherit
Yet here I am in the midst of the life with no marquee
So I pause, raise a glass, and of course grin and bear it.

So it is not to be,
And it never was.
A bubble burst you see
Just another day.

By Dave Schipper © 2010 Rose Riversongs

Baker Street

The window glows on the 2nd floor
At 2204 Baker Street.
It’s been on for months, but no one notices
Life goes on to the same beat.

Can some one live without any one else?
Even to hear a stranger’s hi?
She neatly sits as the silence grows
Barely a whispered sigh.

The only ones who take note are the children
Mischief-makers to many
But they are the ones who seek her out;
They look for the old Granny.

Old, that eternally changing yardstick
She picks up the Big 5-0- card
A single card, and no call in two weeks
When reality hits, it hits hard.

Too many think they turned to bottle
To self-destruct or just give up.
She opened her wine like a brothel
And she poured her queen’s cup.

The window glows on the 2nd floor
And the gentlemen are about
All the wealth and glamour she adores.
Just about then she blacked out.

The window glows on the 2nd floor
At 2204 Baker Street.
It’s been on for months, but no one notices
Life goes on to the same beat.

By Dave Schipper © 2010 Rose Riversongs

I finished this dark piece the other night, and thought I would share the odd connections that can be weaved into a lyric. The Baker Street from Scotland was no where in my mind; there is a Baker Street six blocks away from work. 2204 is my street address from childhood, and the old houses in Winona have always made me wonder about someone being in there and forgotten about. The twist from, "tonight the bottle let me down" was inevitable for a sad departure; but this woman had a flair for life and just never let anyone in. Or so it would seem.

Playlist

Each verse has a different song in each line... it was a blast to write.... iPod playlists and hearing a song in a bar that reminded me of an old girlfriend was the inspiration.


Playlist © Dave Schipper 2005 Rose Riversongs

The same old songs are on my play list
Each song is tied to a time and place
And too many paint a picture of your face.
The one I lost along the way

Longing for a passionate kiss
Jimi’s Angel Flying in the skies
With brown eyes that Van describes.
Your my Paradise

From the start we were born to run
Unabashed on carefree highways
Now I think you were still the one
Or am I just crazy. Chorus

Can’t forget our moondance
Washed in the midnight hour
You didn’t save the last dance
And sweet dream did sour

Now I’m down by the river
Alone and so blue
Love could be around the corner
But I sing this song for you. Chorus

Time to color my world anew
Start listening to new music
Get drunk, find someone to screw
And start the dance they pick Chorus

Josie Mae

Chorus:
Oh Josie, Josie Mae,
Cute as pie, they all say
When you dance and look their way
Oh Josie, Josie Mae,

Oh Josie, sway & swing
Your baby’s due late next spring
When you smile at your gold ring
Oh Josie flap your angel wings

Oh Josie, take your man downtown
You won’t tease your lovin’ clown
When you stand in your weddin’ gown
Oh Josie you should wear a crown.

Oh Josie, put a flower in her hair
You’ll take her to the county fair
When you say your mama’s prayer
Oh Josie she gets tender care.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs


Ah... a bluegrass piece written and dedicated to a friend who is with child... I wish the happy couple the best of life together with the new life God is send their way next May.

Counting Words...

Recently I recounted that a while back a friend of mine laughed at my creative ability with numbers, the joke became that my natvie American name would be "Dances with Numbers".... that must have influenced the following... HA.



You’ve got me counting words,
Analyzing lines and extrapolating whys.
Baby you know I think too much
But you give me data for thought.
In the silence I ponder each word
Each phrase has many meanings.
Oh sure I could be dancing
Creating new definitions and context.
Yet at the end of my analysis
Is a positive view of you; and I smile.

by Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs

Killing me softly with hard food

by Dave Schipper © 2005 Rose Riversongs

Strokin my fur with his fingers
Singin my life with my purrs
Killing me softly with hard food x2
Telling him always to buy soft food
Killing me softly with hard food

Yea yea yea do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do

I heard he has a good job,
I know he lives in style,
And so I came to see him and purr for a while
And there it was this food bowl
Stranger to my eyes

Chorus:
Strokin my fur with his fingers
Singin my life with my purrs
Killing me softly with hard food x2
Telling him always to buy soft food
Killing me softly with hard food

I felt all flushed with fever
Embarrased by the bowl,
I bet he’ll find my paws and understand the growl,
I pray he wasn’t so cheap
But he just walked away

Repeat chorus

Meowwwwa ohhhhhhhhhh graaaa la la la la la la ohhh la lmrrow