The Coffee Shop

Coffee Shop II by Dave Schipper © 2008 Rose Riversongs

In a small café she smiled from over the counter

Life is good, and God invented the doughnut.

There was time; different place, life was simpler.

Thank goodness someone invented sprinkles and nuts.

Now she warms her hands on the black cup and waits

Until she smiles and says good morning again

The doughnut gone but I pick the crumbs on the plate

Savor the French Roast and wonder where she’s been.

It’s just stories over coffee again

A warm place where smiles begin

We get lost in the troubles of the day

But treat each other in just the right way.

This morning did she wake next to a lover or a pet?

Did she stress over a test or just fluff her hair non-stop?

Too bad I couldn’t connect this morning, but

Life is good, and God invented the coffee shop.

It’s just stories over coffee again

A warm place where smiles begin

We get lost in the troubles of the day

But treat each other in just the right way.

Now it’s time to go, I’ll release her this time.

Let her escape my psyche until I think it over.

Yes claim that a stranger inspired this strange rhyme,

But I’m sure she’s someone’s lucky lover.

It’s just stories over coffee again

A warm place where smiles begin

We get lost in the troubles of the day

But treat each other in just the right way.

Front Page of the Wall St. June 9th

...© 2005 by Dave Schipper

Printed in black and white
Words of news so concise
Be it trials or stock climbs
Turbulence seems the line

What can this reality be?
What is it that God sees?
His people lost in sin
Or asking where to begin.

Stars with their own lines
Countries with no peace signs
Agendas and denials take shape
Yet more hunger and rape

Are we fatally flawed
As the news would conclude
Or we in desperate need
Of Christ’s love indeed.

Fold up neatly the Wall St.
A life is never complete
Commit yourself to love
All as the one above.

Question?

Don’t we all grow restless?
Like waiting for Santa,
Love, jobs, hope; it’s ageless.

I am waiting also
For answers in my life
Then the questions will slow.

Ok, that’s a pipedream.
Life is a puzzlement
No hard answers to gleen.

Should I be frustrated?
Feel lost in a quagmire?
Or just be comforted.

The sun will rise and set.
Love will answer it all,
And questions? I forget.

Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs

That Voice

Photo Credit








There’s that voice inside me again.
Why does is always know where to begin?
It preys on my deepest regrets and desires
It has no tack, and doesn’t get tired.

Write, call, change, and wake up it commands.
But I’ve got this built in muffler on hand.
It keeps me sheltered from what’s right
Leaving me no guilt to party through the night.

No wonder I wary of the quiet places,
All of the sudden the voice starts having a face.
Real enough to make an ache in my heart start
Facing reality is what they say, “the hardest part.”

I will find my way to mute that voice again.
But today I can hear it loud, and I understand.
Act this way and that way, make your mother proud.
Be nice to people, and blend into the crowd.

by Dave Schipper © 2007 Rose Riversongs

She

She by Dave Schipper © 2007 Rose Riversongs

She can shift colors
Like a fine Ferrari racer
She can shed lovers
As clothes off a high priced escort

She can melt strangers
With a voice so hot yet tender
She will not linger
In a town known for danger

Panic striken,
she sees only voids
Often remote
with a choice of boys
Drawn and cornered,
she screams to the crowd
“Damn you cheaters”
She roars back so proud.
“You too Promoter”
In a reverb loud
She is now over
In a fatal cloud.

She did shift colors
And crashed like a NASCAR racer
She shed good lovers
As clothes off a cheap hotel hooker

She did melt strangers
With a voice so hot as cinders
She will still linger
In a town known for danger

Dear Boss

For St. Pat's here's a traditional musing ... Go Erin.

Dear Boss, I write this note to tell you of my plight
And at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly gray
And I hope you understand why Paddy's not at work today

While working on the fourteenth floor, some bricks I had to clear
And to throw them down from off the top seemed quite a good idea
But the foreman wasn't very pleased, he was an awful sod
He said I had to cart them down the ladder in me hod

Well clearing all those bricks by hand, it seemed so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks is heavier than me

So when I had untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead
I took off like a rocket and to my dismay I found
That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down

Well the barrel broke my shoulder as to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with me head
I held on tight, though numb with shock from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half its load fourteen floors below

Now when those building bricks fell from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel so I started down once more
I held on tightly to the rope as I flew to the ground
And I landed on those building bricks that were all scattered 'round

Now as I lay there on the deck I thought I'd passed the worst
But when the barrel reached the top, that's when the bottom burst
A shower of bricks came down on me, and I didn't have a hope
And as I was losing conciousness, I let go the bloody rope

The barrel being heavier, it started down once more
And landed right on top of me as I lay there on the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today

Old Shoes

Old shoes, old shoes
Been with you for a time or two
Old shoes, old shoes
Wouldn’t trade them for a pair that’s new

The leather laces have been replaced
Your wife says they are a disgrace
But they’re with you at the start of the day
A nothing else feels the right way, except

Old shoes, old shoes
Been with you for a time or two
Old shoes, old shoes
Wouldn’t trade them for a pair that’s new

As I walk I avoid the puddles of life
Just hop and skip on my daily hike
I smile to the ones I meet on my way
Though I stepped in pile of HEY..

Old shoes, old shoes
Been with you for a time or two
Old shoes, old shoes
Wouldn’t trade them for a pair that’s new

You can judge people by the shoes they wear
Just like you could by their underwear
But right down there for everyone to see
Are my old shoes smiling at me, they’re just

Old shoes, old shoes
Been with you for a time or two
Old shoes, old shoes
Wouldn’t trade them for a pair that’s new


© by Dave Schipper Rose Riversongs 2009

photo credit

So Why?

As I sit here in the middle of a fast food nation,
I can not fathom life in the middle east desert.
The sounds, the smells, the assault on the senses.
Could they fathom my life a good world apart?

I need to find words, ambition and opportunities
They cry to find peace, freedom and equality.
In the end we’re not much different you see.
But our culture has formed our assumed reality.

So I sit with a full belly and free woman around me
While they wander from one check point to another
I might be the evil person that they perceive
But equal religions, races, and sexes are the right order.

So how do I reconcile Law or Cultural Tradition
Do I find right words in the Torah, Bible or the Koran?
I suspect that these great books have the direction
Live humbly with love for others as a plan.

So why are we still fighting?

Dave Zeman © 2009 RR


Photo Credits

I'm waiting

I'm waiting, aren't you?
Ok mine are so minor
But they layer up like an old tree
50 years in making.

I'm waiting for a hug.
One again my adopted niece
All I can do is pray for her
And email winky smiles.

I'm waiting for Lisa.
Why did she zip in and out?
It doesn't seem fair, but life
Is weird in cyberspace.

I'm waiting for permission.
I know easier to ask forgiveness
For me it'll be
My style to wait.

I'm waiting for the song.
Not THE song but a song
That's covered in loving respect
And I'm sent a real small check.

I'm waiting for a sign.
That my pictures work
For selling lori ella jewelry
Yes it'll come in time.

I'm waiting to die
The hope is greater than I
But I recognize time
Could go for another 50.

So I'm waiting, aren't you?

Dave (c) 2008
Photo Credits

The laws...

The laws of science paused;
And the power of the motion pictures took over.
A narrow tunnel of silence surrounded her.
It wasn’t the first time to happen, but again
She was oblivious to the repeat event.

The laws of passion caused,
A momentary void, a time continuum rift.
Yes, age old passion makes the mind drift.
What can reel it back in? Absolute fear.
Life changing, yes maybe someone would hear.

The laws of nature unchanged.
The stalker carves out his silent territory
Writes the beginning and end to his story,
Oblivious if he has all the details right.
He’s confident that he needs to stay out of sight.

The laws of love unchallenged.
So he drags himself back into the sunlight
Hiding any wounds from his last fight.
Determined not to fight and lose again
He kept silent and instead picked up his pen.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs

Picture credits