Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Within and around you

God is love and God is grace,
And I see her in your face.
Yet the devil sure can dance
And I see him in your glance.

Painted evenings, misty morns
A veiled glimpse beauty born
Within and around you.

A spark and wild flames ignite
With no shame I lose that fight
For solace in her soft fur
Until we both breathe and purr

Silent evenings, busy morns
The gift of grace you adorn
Within and around you.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

when you...

When you play within the lines,
but dream outside them
Then you harvest a wild imagination.

When you smirk at someone
but long for their touch
Then you produce a fine tension.

When you stop for the night to ponder
but end up writing instead.
Then you write a prose for retention.

By Dave Schipper © 2009

Monday, September 21, 2009

God looked down...

God looked down on a little tribe in the desert
With infinite knowledge and perception,
God planted the seed of the Bible in Moses words.

The future would bring those to oppose
But God hoped in time the simple stories
Would be understood as words of prose.

The great beasts help form the planet
Yet to explain that to weak of heart
Would bring out another idol of granite.

Now he wonders about the black and white
Why do some believers never see gray
She hopes some day more will see the light

Dave Schipper © 2007

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Folk Angel

Just a dead Sunday on a business trip
Found me in a park with my guitar
San Diego makes me feel like an old hick
I don’t care, just take a swig of something dark.

I grab a C chord and start a Greg Brown piece
Down the path I see blue eyes in a fine dopplebock
She passes, wow they could sell ads on those cheeks
Two steps along, she wirls around to look back

My innocent hands sweat and I expect a frown
She pops her ear buds out and smiles instead
“Were you just playing, “If I had known”?”
Ok smooth and graciously I say, “Yep”

She laughs to show me her ipod is playing “Early”
Surprised, “So you have great tastes for one so young”
“Oh I love listening to Greg when I’m lonely
For home back in Iowa or just my mum.”

“I know every Greg Brown song, True!
Now you, I’d expect a sappy Jack Johnson tune.”
That got us both laughing, I offered her a brew.
“Sure, but I really supposed to be back home soon.”

Stories shared about family’s divorce when she was one
Her dad ran off and made a success of himself.
“He sent checks but we were all but forgotten
I think Greg’s music saved mom’s mental health.”

I showed pictures of the family in Wisconsin
And recalled Greg in a chainsaw muscle shirt
“Aha” she blurted, “that was the reason”
Mom named me Steele, that’s it; it for sure.”

More common bonds formed like Bohemian roots
Both saw Greg and Garnett at the Great River Fest
Her mother brought him a jar of canned fruits
And Grandad’s Bluff provided plenty of rest.

We shared names, and myspace addresses
I mentioned my journey as a songwriter
“Let’s play the Poet Game behind the fences”
She winked, “Just kidding you could be my father”

An awkward silence followed, so I started playing.
We sang about that little Iowa town, “Early”
“It’s late, my roommate will start worrying.
You know if you were my Dad I’d love you dearly.”

She said, “If I had only known”
My real dad plays cool guitar, is cute
Aspires to sing and write like Master Brown
I’d howl to the moon, rooty toot toot.”

“You are a folk angel brought to me today.
We have to make this meeting only a start.”
She took my guitar and put it out of the way.
Kissed me whispering, “You sweet old fart”

Folk Angel by Dave Schipper © 2007 Rose Riversongs

San Diego park pic

Thursday, September 10, 2009


Willow look at yourself.
When you were born no one could have forseen.
You would turn out more like a scrub pine.

So you are not majestic.
Tall and stunning with long blonde branches
Hanging over a slow moving creek.

You live as a lone tree,
An individual on a grand mountain side.
Providing a source of life to many.

Willow you soften reality.
Basking in God’s glory, you’re a pillow
A small humble respite of joy.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs
Photo Credits

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

If I could...

If I could,
I would dress you.
The finest cotton
Soft peasant

If I could,
I would help braid
Your silken hair
A expose your

If I could,
I would kiss you
Once, twice, three times
Softly and longer each

My love.

Dave Schipper © 2007 Rose Riversongs

Friday, September 4, 2009

The fog of life

The fog changed everything
There went the plan for easy drive
Eyes fixed, margins razor thin.
Not the moment he craved

The wipers worked like shit
Fluid and defrosters deployed
Almost resembled his life a bit
Both stuck in a cold humid void.

The rearview mirror had the same fog.
The bathroom mirror had the same boy.
Miles away from the last hug
But like that the fog lifts, oh the joy.

A two mile respite is okay
To a life of snippets and texts.
So seize the day they say
Drive out of the foggy complex.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs