Coffee house

You’re behind the counter,

And you have no choice

So you’re instinctively pure

And use a pleasant voice.

I’m on the other side and coy

Yes I know what I want

And besides you, oh boy

Cup of soup and croissant.

This coffee dance goes on

From sea to shiny sea.

Coffeehouse’s best patrons

Are lovers who inside plea

For more intensity than

Caffeine.

© 2013 Dave Schipper Rose Riversongs.

Dedicated to Natalie, Keelie, Callie, Kate, Michelle and numerous baristas and people who have been friendly to me in my life. I wish I knew all your names as I know your faces and feel the love of the smile you shared.

Pure Fiction

I’m not alone with my thoughts lately.
You are there each time.
And there is no reason for this.
While I find you sublime
Its pure fiction if you know I exist.

Your deep brown eyes are intoxicating.
The dimple when you smile
Your Arabian skin,
Highlight an understated style,
And makes me long to be in

In the inner circle to hear your voice
Social media can picture a slice
Provide context, place, and time
But no plot or script device
Just the red herring kind

So alone with my thoughts I write.
A storyline with plain words
One where two souls listen
Then laugh at the absurd.
Alas it merely, pure fiction.

By Dave Schipper © 2012 Rose Riversongs.

River Kate

We’re struck by the moon, listenin to the loon
A backwater tune that leaves us to soon

Oh River Kate
Let’s stay out to late, says the moon and the lake.
Oh River Kate
Got some time to wait, It’s sure no mistake.

The stories to tell, neath the old willow.
They got the same feel, as our own pillow.
Leave the bills behind, you don’t need a dime
I’ve got some wine, and we’re doin’ fine.

Midnight eyes, tender sighs
Warm embrace, little lace

Oh River Kate
Let’s stay out to late, says the moon and the lake.
Oh River Kate
Got some time to wait, It’s sure no mistake.

So we’re just moon struck, sittin in the truck
Whistlin with the loon, then leavin to soon.

River Kate by Dave Schipper © Rose River Songs 2004

The Dance

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

Still the real bells and whistles are not simple
Complicated motions seen, not seen, ventured
And not ventured because they are imagined.

So is the dance a waltz with the windows today?
Is it a solo piece targeted for solemn attention?
As long as the dance continues the story goes on.

So mark the time that the sonata ended
Depart the performance gallery until next time
Was the performance real or just for show.

© Dave Schipper Rose Riversongs. 2012

Lady Mary & Matthew Crawley spring reading

The tree

The tree on Fourth and Main
Will turn 80 next week.
Of course the passerby’s
Don’t know or care;
But she did just like
Yesterday.

She was turning 87
Next week and feeling
A step away from heaven
Yet the memory is fresh
Right after school the first
Warm day.

Eighty years ago in spring
Dad said, “We need a tree
Out there this year.”
Mom wanted blossoms
Something purple
And bright.

Dad wanted just a steady oak,
She exclaimed “no shade for years,
And just attracts squirrels”
Ah but we’re here
For the long haul and
He won.

Dad nurtured the tree making
It stronger every year until
It stands tall in a city
Still small overlooking the
Mighty Mississippi
From a hill

So she sighs looking out the window
Its cloudy and no one will come
No visitors today but that’s ok,
Alone like that oak
She sits tall and ponders
Her history.

By Dave Schipper © 2012 Rose Riversongs

Ten Second Memory

Today a chapter played though my head
During the ten seconds our eyes met.
The story moved from tense to intense
But conversation stayed at nonsense.

Why is it that people can’t scream outloud
The feelings they hold so proud.
Yes, we’ll go one working the same
But smile when we hear each other’s name.

So today you’ve made a memory
With eyes like polished emery
It leaves me only to ponder
If my brown eyes made you wonder


By Dave Schipper © 2007 Rose Riversongs

The Eyes of March waltz

The eyes of this March morn
Are the eyes of a sultress
A lady, and an actress

Her picture captured the day
The grays were there
But sparkled so aware

Spin, spoon, sing to June
March will move on
So April, be gone.

Spin, Spoon, sing this tune
To March’s gray eyes
The smiles, the sighs.

Her eyes danced up to me
With her smile she protrayed
The promise of a spring day

She bloomed pinks and blues
The grays were gone
Replaced with sweet song

Spin, spoon, sing to June
March will move on
So April, be gone.

Spin, Spoon, sing this tune
To March’s gray eyes
The smiles, the sighs.

by Dave Schipper (c) 2012/2009 Rose Riversongs

Photo of Lady Grantham or Elizabeth McGovern

Rising Eagle

Earth’s heart beat pulses inside
The century’s stories are etched in stone.
The sky is within my arm’s reach
While I walk my spiritual path alone.

Pierce my heart
Release the stars
My spirit’s found
My hidden path
Pierce my heart
And I will start
Singing songs
All journey long

I listen to the choir of nature.
Surrounded in smoke from a distant fire
I take on wings and ascend high
Above the pines and mighty fir

Above the trees I see the truth
The great one is in harmony with us
She’s writing a story in epic length
But I worry we’ve lost her trust.


by Dave Schipper © 2007 Rose Riversongs

Wounded Heart

Your warming smile is light, in the morn, in the morn.
Forbidden love is planted and born.
What secrets your dark eyes, reveal thru your disguise.
My wounded heart rests in your arms, in your arms.
My wounded heart rests in your arms.

Love is a soft light,
A wind in the night
Words can be a call
The softest of all.
But you in the end
Are lover and friend.
But you in the end
Are lover and friend.

Time is a fleeting wind, thru my soul, thru my soul.
Just grains of sand to try and hold.
Was it yesterday, when you asked me to stay
My wounded heart has no control, no control.
My wounded heart has no control

My wounded heart
was not torn apart
But batter’d bruised
right from the start.
Now in your eyes
A glint a spark
Ignite a new fire
in this wounded heart.

Love is a soft light,
A wind in the night
Words can be a call
The softest of all.
But we in the end
Are lovers and friends.
But we in the end
Are lovers and friends.

by Dave Schipper © 2006 Rose Riversongs

Graceful & Grand

Graceful and grand is your beauty
Tender and soft is your white skin
I gaze into your deep dark eyes
To lose myself once again.

There but a moment when we met
You fashioned my heart
In your alchemy

Casted a spell to tear me apart.
You fashioned my heart
In your alchemy

Graceful and grand is your beauty
Tender and soft is your white skin
I gaze into your deep dark eyes
To lose myself once again.

A season must pass until we meet
You stay in my mind
Each night and day

To renew a love more replete
You stay in my mind
Each night and day

Graceful and grand is your beauty
Tender and soft is your white skin
I gaze into your deep dark eyes
To lose myself once again.

By Dave Schipper © 2012 Rose Riversongs
dedicated to Lady Mary Crawley

Graceful

Belong

I really don’t belong in this crowd
Ha, I fit don’t get me wrong
I’m not their age, and when they turn
They know I don’t belong
In this side of town.

So let’s cut through the chase
I don’t plan on leaving soon.
Maybe it’s my age, I don’t easily spurn
So hey if I don’t belong
There’s a stranger in your town.

By Dave Schipper © 2012 Rose Riversong.

A high definition world.

I know Jerry and Hawk like big brothers
I’ve kissed Pam more deeply than Jim has
I wander aimlessly through the channels
Storing memories.

Sadly their lives have more definition
Than the ones I meet face to face each day.
Yet don’t hear any contrition in my word
Stories are alive.

I fill in blanks, rewind the looks, retell the lines
Wondering inside what heart really resides
In the real daily passion in their eyes.
Storms and all.

By Dave Schipper © 2012 Rose Riversongs