The Curlew Store

This song (the tune) was written by Danny Rash, arranged by Ted Lombard (my music teacher) and I wrote the lyrics.  I have memories of walking, hot summer day, down to the Curlew Store, hoping there would be a letter waiting for me, as I was 14 and had a boyfriend in another state.  I lived and died for those letters.  That’s what this song is about.  About being a kid.  Experiencing a small town, experiencing something hoped for, and being let down.  A sweet memory of a tentative time.

 

Down to the store 
On a hot dusty day
Past the long wooden bench 
For waiting

It is cooler inside
Down the tall walls of goods
To the back of the store
The wall for mail

Turn the dial to the right 
Stop at 7, and then
Spin it round to the left
And I peer in

The letter I hoped would be there 
Had not made its way 
For waiting

The letter I hoped would be there 
Had not made its way 
On this hot dusty day 
Past the long wooden bench
For waiting

I’m waiting…..

 

By Danny Rash

Arranged by Ted Lombard

Lyrics Lisa Boyl-Davis

 

 

 

 

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Flipflop Blues

I’ve never experimented with writing children’s songs.  Here’s my first attempt.  The tune was written by Danny Rash, and arranged by Ted Lombard.  It has the sound of hurried feet headed out the door – off to go fishing:)

 

7 dusty flipflops go’n fish’n

7 tired flipflops headed home

7 lazy flipflops on the back porch

Where to find the other one?

Look’n under

Look’n over

Hunt’n clover

Where’s that shoe?

Look’n under

Look’n over

What’s a lonely foot to do?

7 muddy flipflops in the bathtub

7 shiney flipflops in the sun

7 flipflops ready for adventure

Where to find the other one?

Look’n under

Look’n over

Hunt’n clover

Where’s that shoe?

Look’n under

Look’n over

What’s a lonely foot to do?

Someone sing’n flipflop blues….

Oh ya:)

 

Song Written By Danny Rash

Lyrics By Lisa Boyl-Davis

Arranged by Ted Lombard

 

Biking Next To You

Evening summer

Passing shadows with you

 

When the sun drops down

Hiding all our troubles

Biking all our troubles far behind

Biking next to you

 

When the sun drops down

Hiding all our troubles

Biking all our troubles far behind

Biking next to you

 

This ole hill has blocked our view

so tired to the bone

You and me, we’re almost there

And now we’re coasting home

 

When the sun drops down

Hiding all our troubles

Biking all our troubles far behind

Biking next to you

 

Lyrics by Lisa Boyl-Davis

Music by Danny Rash

Arranged by Ted Lombard

African Rain Samba

The steady rains are here again

The washout wide across my path

Journey’s longer

Me and the downpour

and

tears

The steady rains are here again

The showers sting my feet

Journey’s longer

Me and the downpour and

tears

on

my

face

Rains came when

we

went

our

way

 

Rains came when we parted ways

Went our way

…Away

So far away

lyrics by lisa boyl-davis

 

Lyrics by me,

for a beautiful tune written by Danny Rash who plays one mean trombone,

arranged by Ted Lombard who plays some beautiful jazz piano.

Our Kids Are In Trouble

Our kids are in trouble

They killing each other

In an organized – thought out sorta way

And it’s all over

Cold hallway bloodbath

Dropn like flies

While we so smug

Hold onto our rights

I hold my ground

You hold yours

And now they’re gone

My right to choose any gun I like without a question

My right to watch what I wanna watch, without exception

Our kids at risk since a positive test

Their protection way down on the list

Both left and right

Responsible for this

And now they’re gone

Our kids are in trouble

We’re killing each other

In an organized – thought out sorta way

And it’s all over

Cold hallway bloodbath

Dropn like flies

While we so smug

Hold onto our rights

I hold my ground

You hold yours

And now they’re gone

by Lisa Boyl-Davis

Written Feb 22, 2018

 

 

 

 

Why I Don’t Write About ‘The 10 Best Ways To …..’

To put the cards out on the table, I’ll say out loud that some of you struggle with the floating essence of this blog and others like it, and are just straight up frustrated when you don’t get ‘The 10 Best Ways To ….’  Althought that’s what’s expected for an article to be sucessful, I want my readers to know why many writers are not able to live up to that expectation.  Here’s what’s going on.  

When an essay writer forms a thought, a poem, a blog – any sort of sharing – what is being offered up is a partial piece of something.  The writing might represent a feeling that comes up now and again, but not always the primary thought, and definitely not the only thought.  It is a form of writing that catches the random fleeting experiences that are rarely spoken of, and yet real, which if given words, might become important and pivotal heart things.  This form of writing is far removed from, say, cell phone manuals and the heavily digested step by step ‘how to’s.  The reason essay writing comes across to many as ‘fingernails on chalkboard’.  Mistrust the grays?  You won’t wish to hear thoughts at the parimeter, and are right now saying to yourself “What is she talking about?” 

A parable has the capability of easily being twisted and turned – morphed into hideous suggestions on how to live, if taken in by someone who resists the wider scope of things.  A parable is only a part of the story and still Jesus himself used this form of communication.  As important as noticing the way he delivered information is to notice how he did not say things.  He did not give the outlined dissertation on faith, prayer and woman in leadership.  Why?  Because it is The Listener, The Curious, The Pondering Soul that is open, and from this, all of life becomes a teacher.    In other words, the simple big picture, if noticed, changes us.  I like Jesus’ style.  I also like the ways of poets, musicians and essay creators.  Speaking to the things rarely noticed awakes my fixated existence and gives me a toehold of hope and direction. 

And so for the one who wonders why I write on cancer when I am clearly not on my last breath, I say to you, cancer is not a destination, it is a hovering roommate –  moves in uninvited and shows up at will.  Leaves remote and occasional internal experiences that are less harmful when shared.

Why write about faith?  Because holy sightings of the unknown are brought to focus best when expressed. 

For the person who wonders why I write about parenting and marriage when I’m clearly still searching to know more, it’s because I learn most from the placement of writen word.  I share because we learn from each others mistakes and struggles.  I write with the hope that, in turn, you will share yourself.

Why write about burning dinner, as I would never write 10 Best Ways To Burn Dinner, although now that I think about it, I’ve got at least 100.  I say ‘tell me what you’re most ashamed of – we will find a closeness we’ve not known’. 

This is writing for me. 

A process of vulnerabilities,

of incomplete ideas,

of the unspoken. 

The choice I made when I started blogging. 

That great exchange. 

‘What Will Others Think’

verses

‘Wholeness’.  

There are no ’10 Best Ways’ for that.

And so I meander.  

 

Here’s That Rainy Day

Maybe
I should have saved
Those leftover dreams
Funny
But here’s that rainy day

Here’s that rainy day
They told me about
And I laughed at the thought
That it might turn out this way

Where is that worn out wish
That I threw aside
After it brought my love so near

Funny how love becomes
A cold rainy day
Funny
That rainy day is here

It’s funny
How love becomes
A cold rainy day

Funny
That rainy day is here

Written by Jimmy Van Heusen

Ugly Duckling and God

dsc_0493
To mock me is to mock God, for I am God Art.
To mock you is to shun what God has thought up, and formed, breathed into and had high hopes for.
To mock is to set myself as an equal with God.
I will not do that arrogant thing.
I will notice the beauty in me.
The loveliness and intrigue in you.
And when I do, I glance at God.
God Art.
God Offspring.
It is God who causes us to belong to each other.

A Challenge to the Actor

 

0431

My daughter Maley is a poet.  I’m posting her latest poetry on my blog, as I love the content and heart of what this contains.    

A word from Maley, and then her poem.

Poetry is a big thing in my family. Here is a poem I wrote that scratches the surface of some deep topics. It’s a challenge for myself and a challenge to others on this path. Blessing to each one He has called.

What makes a great actor? It’s an art that is tough.
So many people think they’ve got the stuff.
They see that they’re gifted, it’s what they so crave.
But it’s no gift at all if it’s selfish and grave.
It’s ruined, it’s lacking, it’s finished, it’s trivial.
It won’t find it’s mark in the history that’s pivotal.

To be a great actor’s no fortune or fame.
It’s the heart of the servant, to give without gain.
You see acting’s the art of bringing to life,
A character’s story of trial and strife.
It’s their realness of tears and the realness of laughter.
It’s putting their heart in the pain and the chatter.
Don’t you see, this cannot be accomplished?
With a heart that is numbed out, prideful or tarnished.

And what has become of the scripts that we write?
They take all our value for such a cheap price.
We fill it with crudity, violence— it’s cheesy.
Cause quality writing is truly not easy.
It takes extra money, it takes extra time.
We don’t have the patience; we say it’s just fine.
But decade by decade, the years slip away.
And the horrid sad truth is our children will pay.
For art paints the pathway of morals and logic,
It determines if we become holy or toxic.
It changes our ethics, the way that we vote.
Now that, don’t you think is worthy a note?

Sleep Apnea

dsc_1288

“The hose of solitude,”

he says

The tube that carries air to lungs

For tired body fast asleep

a-dreaming dreams forgets to breathe

“The hose of solitude”

he says

And so he leaves it lying there

And lays beside me

gasping hard

The man is breathing shallow snores

And now no breath

Long stretch of still

If I can wait

he’s got to breath

I can not take this sleepless night!

The moments pass

Before I dig

With elbow into silent side

The gasp

and now he starts again

He starts right up as my heart jumps

The hose of air

Might it be true

Could mean more left of me and you

Lisa Boyl-Davis

September 7, 2016