03a-Written Verses

Songsmiths if any of you consider taking my words and putting them in a song this is an intriguing proposition.  Let's talk about the possibilities and potential.

Amie Mae


Oh Amie may we sing and play

Oh Amie Mae I want to stay

Here with you all day

Let me read to you

Just to be with you

And hold you

Amie Mae I want to hear you sing

“I want more, I want more”

Oh Amie Mae I love you dear

Wish we were close and near

Oh Amie may you always be that way

The way you are, you are so sweet

My heart takes a leap when you’re at my feet

With your little arms reaching up to me

I want to sweep you up

And drink from your cup

Of joy and happiness, hold my face with tenderness

                           Writers' Block

                        Pull up to a clean sheet of paper

                        with a freshly sharpened pencil.

                        Now your thoughts begin to taper

                        nothing to do but test the tensile.


                        Funny how a blank sheet of paper

                        can wipe out your mind.

                        Your thoughts were all a caper

                        now they've stopped you find.


                        So I put it away to do something else

                        ended up in the basement

                        cleaning the workbench and shelves

                        when I got an inspirational hint.


                        I charged upstairs to get something

                        to get this great thought down.

                        When I got ready there was nothing

                        to express but a frown.


                        No, I haven't got writers' block.

                        Any day now it is going to hit.

                        Then the editors will phone and knock

                        and they will offer money, lots of it.


                        Better clear all these cobwebs off

                        I know I will be writing soon.

                        Puff the dust, blow and cough;

                        make a face and hum a tune.


                        At the table sits a skeleton

                        with a pencil in hand loose and lank.

                        An appropriate epitaph to engrave on

                        his stone would be; ah, let's see, ah; would be blank!




                         a small part of me

                        a likeness I'd like to forget

                        crude but memorable

                        sculptured in the likeness of a man

                        but can I forget all that I am

                        and remember what I must be


                        do what U must

                        B kind I trust

                        if U

                        bury me N

                        F & G


                               Tales of Woe

                          (The Unlearned Lessons)


                        Frogs float on a lily pad boat

                        on an ocean of tranquility

                        Soon to find they're in a moat

                        circling it endlessly

                        The elephant trusts in its' tusks

                        his might and power command;

                        Regal, yet struggle it must,

                        for survival is not a given

                        The eagle cries in the sky

                        riding currents on its' wing

                        Surely the eagle must die

                        if it does no other thing

                        A school of fish make a wish

                        just once to swim alone

                        Justice is swift not squeamish

                        and takes them one by one to God's throne

                        The butterflies fly through the sky

                        pictures painted on their wing

                        Tears wet their cheeks as they cry

                        because they can not sing


                                Young Man


                        Young man, bright man

                        today is your day.

                        You need stay on your guard

                        and study ever so hard

                        and you have it made.


                        Young man, tentative man,

                        hidden in your shell.

                        I drew you out,

                        I removed your doubt;

                        stand up and sound your bell.


                        Young man, impressionable man

                        you need to seize the moment.

                        Life marches forward too fast

                        to let it slip from your grasp,

                        do not delay in torment.


                        Young man, achieving man,

                        you stray beyond the rules.

                        Your future is bright,

                        the oyster is yours tonight

                        as you sharpen your tools.


                        Young man, haunted man

                        you struggle so brave.

                        You give up the chase,

                        your future you can't face;

                        live up to your vows in the cave.


                        Young man, cowardly man

                        back against the wall.

                        You have found your voice,

                        you say there is no choice

                        cornered by it all.


                        Young man, desperate man

                        gun in your hand.

                        I know your dream,

                        I hear your scream,

                        does he not understand?


                        Young man, dead man

                        I sing you this requiem.

                        A young mans' dream is not met

                        therefore life he has forfeit;

                        family should sustain not condemn.


                        Young man, grieving man

                        gather at the river.

                        Your heart beats,

                        you know not defeat;

                        your eyes wet and lips quiver.


                        Old man, stubborn man

                        make them bow to your will.

                        You don't understand

                        how you play your hand

                        can help them live or kill.


                        Young man, struggling man

                        you were almost a goner.

                        You feel the strain

                        surging in your veins;

                        where is your honor?


                        Oh captain, my captain

                        you opened my eyes and made me see.

                        That the most important work a man can do

                        is what he does for himself not for you.

                        You have set my spirit and soul free.


                            Inspired by the movie "Dead Poets Society"

                                                                               1985 & 1992


                            Moon Clock

                          (Luna Ticking)


                        I wanna see ya pitch a fit


                        I wanna hear you laugh


                        I wanna hear you scream,

                        "Is this a dream?"

                        Let me see if you can hide

                        from suicide.

                        I wanna see you squirm

                        like a slimy worm.

                        I wanna see you scared,

                        see your soul bared.

                        I know that you have lied

                        about genocide.


                        Would you like to cop a plea

                        of insanity?


                        You're some kind of cannibal;

                        you're an animal.

                        You're no amateur

                        you murderer.

                        You grow geraniums

                        in the craniums.

                        You use the tanned skins

                        for your whims.

                          Life in a Jar - Part 1

                        No matter where you are

                        life is better there than life in a jar.


                        Think of where you are

                        things could be worse

                        than life in a jar.

                        Insulated by glass walls

                        from the pain of it all.

                        Sheltered and protected

                        and sometimes neglected.

                        Can't get out but you can wish.

                        You have the same dreams as a goldfish.

                        Hope to be free,

                        just like me.

                        Then what will you be,

                        on the loose, an escapee?

                        The thought can be haunting,

                        free for life but left wanting.

                          Life in a Jar - Part 2

                        Life in a jar

                        beating your limbs against the glass.

                        You can see through but you can not pass.

                        Life from afar.


                        Through a telescope

                        it appears remote.

                        From a distance,

                        through binoculars,

                        life is solitary.

                        Life is singular.

                        A lonely existence

                        Life in a jar.

                        Your freedom has been confiscated.

                        You can't breathe you're being suffocated.

                        Life without a guiding star.


                          Life in a Jar - Part 3

                        Is this separation from the nation

                        a dividing line just in my mind?

                        Is it just a question under my hat

                        or is there more to it than that?

                                  Life in a Jar - Part 4

                        No place left to hide

                        when your trapped inside

                        a jar.

                        It is like a clear cocoon

                        with no elbow room

                        in a jar.

                        You are a firefly

                        too soon, too dire, die

                        in a jar.


                          Life in a Jar - Part 5

                        No place left to hide

                        when your trapped inside

                        a jar

                        It is like a clear cocoon

                        Without any elbow room

                        in a jar

                        I am a firefly

                        too soon I will die

                        in a jar


                                Proud as the 4th of July


                        July 4th, 1990, Wednesday

                        The crowds milled

                        waiting to be thrilled by fireworks.

                        I looked out over the sea,

                        the faces of humanity, stretched out on

                        lawn chairs and blankets.

                        The display began

                        I was proud to be an American especially today.


                        July 8th 1990, Sunday

                        Sat in church today

                        bowed my head to pray with the congregation.

                        Opened the songbook,

                        at hymn 340 I looked and began to sing

                        "The Star Spangled Banner".

                        I was impacted in a different manner, far beyond

                        the July 4th proud

                        with tears in my eyes I sang loud, the real meaning

                        of the 4th was clearer

                        I held this country even dearer to my heart.


                                   Multi-Purpose Couch


                        The three children played on the couch all

                        at the same time, immersed in their own reverie.

                        To one it was a sailing boat plowing through

                        a stormy sea with waves crashing and splashing.

                        To the second it was a large truck hauling

                        a huge load up and around a curving road

                        requiring great skill not to lose the load.

                        To the third child it was a fire engine

                        racing to the scene of a roaring fire

                        where a flaming building awaited rescue.


                        The tired mother sweeps into the room

                        and declares, "Alright!

                        Everybody off the couch.

                        I want to sit down and rest."


                        Broken from their reveries three children

                        chorus, "Oh, Mom!"

                        then head to the bedroom

                        to use the bed for their respective;

                        boat, truck and fire engine.

There is a silver line in my mind

Drawn with my imagination


Tried to imagine the clouds with that line

But it just divided them into two groups

The dark and the light

And it started a fight

Throwing puffy punches


They cast the shadow’s line upon the ground

And divided up the country

Into what’s yours and what’s mine

But in the end we find that everything is everyone’s

There is not any official owner

The whole of life is a loaner


There are no rich and poor, only those who think they should have more

And they are so mistaken; the goal and gold are fake and

It is only a mind game making us believe it

An elaborate game which will deceive it

And make us think that they have more, when their hearts and souls are so poor


This work is automatically protected the moment it is written down it does not have to be "registered" for a copyright for it to be valid.

All rights and permissions are reserved by the Author, David Alan Binder and may not be reproduced except with permission.



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