A Struggling Pianist's Ode to Rosin

Oh Rosin, sticky resin, you're in my thoughts today.
How I long to have your amber jewels to use to help me play.
You see it's playing black keys that gives me such a fright,
for when I go to play the black, I end up playing white.

Case in point, the piece I'm learning, A Major is the key.
Though my finger aims for C#, it slips off onto D.
C#'s are not the only keys I fumble with a thud.
What are written to be clean, crisp chords sound much more like... mud.

Oh, they say it isn't you, it's more practice that I need
to play those black keys soundly at metronomic speed.
That may be true, but as for now it's dreadful when I slip.
A little rosin on the pads might help to make them... grip.
(I wouldn't feel so foolish in what I think today
if I'd only seen a Rubinstein rosin up to play.)

You must know this is tongue in cheek
and nonsense through and through,
yet, in my weaker moments, I admit, I think of you.
So, Rosin, sticky resin, one question of you lingers...
If you're found on violinists' bows and prima ballerinas' toes,
why not on pianists' fingers?


c 1992 B Philp

the footwashing (lyrics)

He wrapped a towel about his waist, and then he washed their feet.
It was a servant's role to wash the dust from off the street.
How he longed to share this night with them before suffering before crucified.
So our Savior washed their feet the night before he died.

Isn't this the One, the great I AM, the central figure in God's plan,
who with clay upon His hands breathed life into the man?
Isn't He the One known as the Word, the Mighty God, the Light of Men,
who came from God and knew all things were given unto Him?

You know not now the things I do. Hereafter you shall see.
And if you do as I have done, how very blessed you'll be.
You call me Lord, and you say well. My servants should do as I do.
If I, your Master, wash your feet, wash one another's, too.

Isn't this the Lord God Omnipotent, King of Glory, Kings of Kings,
the Life, the Truth, the Son of God, Creator of all things?
Isn't He the One who is to come, First and Last, Beginning and the End,
the Alpha and Omega, before whom every knee shall bend?

Our Savior knew His hour was come. He knew what He must do.
He loved his own unto the end. He taught them, Love, as I've loved you.
How he longed to share this night with them before suffering before crucified.
So our Savior washed their feet the night before He died.

Yes, our Savior washed their feet...


c 2005 B Philp

Twenty-Two

What's a mother supposed to do
when her child turns twenty-two?
She's got to get it through her head
those simpler days are over,
of algebra and ballet and reminding
her to make her bed.

But even though she's twenty-two
there's so much more a mom can teach.
At twenty-two and on her own
she does not want to hear mom preach.

So what is a mother supposed to do
when her child turns twenty-two?

A mother still does all she can
to let her know that she's concerned,
to influence her not to stray
but stay upon the path she's learned.

I guess as long as I have life,
yes, even though she's twenty-two,
I'll share my deep concern and care.
That's what a mother's supposed to do...


c 2000 B Philp

Recital

White mousse grows in my hand... sticky, like a mother's love.

Miniature tutus that shine and itch...
eight all the same. Hair pieces
ceremoniously presented. Hold still
for lipstick. Backstage stories and snacks.
Third from the left. Blow a kiss.

Add water to the mousse. Blend in the palms of my hands.
Spread evenly to dampen all her hair.

Recital photos as yearly album markers.
Grandma comes to Texas. Eyes like
Aunt Eileen. Lilac and lace made
by hand. Now leading the babies.
Somewhere in Time, years pass.
Flipping pages... changing children.


Brush the hair away from her face. Form the pony tail into a bun. Cover with a net. Secure with pins. Not one
strand may stray.

Driving herself to class, rehearsal, class
rehearsal. Several costumes needed. Alter
body suits. Loosen elastic. Satin toe shoes.
Make-up in the mirror. Elegant opening poses.

Carefully shield her eyes. Apply finishing spray.



A glance at the program. Time for her solo.
Light accentuates her features. Translucence
reveals her form and grace. Liberating crescendos
engage the spirit. The interpretation... all her own.


c 2003 B Philp

this ground

Following several days of quiet rain
the grassy cover gleamed in the lowering light.
The newly cloudless sky glowed incandescent blue.
Silhouettes of stone and iron stretched
their darkened angles toward the East.
War had long been silent. But an unexpected
sadness disturbed and awakened the memory...

Unwilling to be numbered as brothers
they courted differing equalities.
The nation became soiled with unforgiveness.
And they were divided as garments on wash day.

Their battered feet struggled to reach the Altar of Freedom.
As they fell there they never smelled the aroma of
its incense. Only the piercing stench of battle.
They never sensed the smoothness of its stone. Only
the ripping and shredding of flesh.
They never heard the words repeated from the Book.
Only the dying young bleating for their mothers.

Though their life blood, poured out
and sprinkled, hallows these fields,
though their honor and glory hover here in triumph,
mercy and truth refuse to be buried alongside them.


c 2000 B Philp

Nicotine

We see them almost every day. We silently and helplessly stand by as they
perform their sacrificial rituals. We look on as the mesmerizing, dancing
ribbons of smoke ascend as sweet incense from their instruments of worship, anachronistic remnants of an ancient primitive culture. It is in this smoke
the god they serve lives and breathes and has his being. And so they deeply
breathe it in, to lungs once pink and perfect.

He is never far from them, enticing them to his altars... at the ceremonial
rising of the sun, as the sun assumes its rightful place, as the shadows of
evening lengthen, in the night watches... whenever they hear his call they
willingly submit and bow down before him. Some have said he is a harsh god, but they choose not to listen. Yes, he commands self sacrifice, but in return he imparts his presence. And in that presence they find hope to carry on...

Other interests slowly fade. They have no other gods before him. Those who
remain faithful are anointed high priests. Their eyes now dull and lifeless,
their skin now grey and blotched and thin, they repeat their sacred mantras
with pursed lips and raspy voices, gasping for air between words.

They have sacrificed their souls and strength and children to him, but he
is not satisfied. He is a selfish god. And theirs, a strange salvation. They
realize, too late, there is no one to redeem them. They realize, too late,
no one has died in their stead...


c 2000 B Philp

Society/Marriage

marriage
changing times
getting a raw deal
badmouthed
devalued
losing its appeal
old fashioned
outdated
judged by many just not cool
a lifetime with one mate?
you've got to be a fool
an honest look around
age of marriage past?
commitment disappearing
precious few will last
marriage - the bad guy?
constant through the years
something more at work here
causing hurt and tears
forces all around us
enough to fill a book
identify and study them
we said, an honest look
no more marriage?
so what happens?
society goes down
end of so-called family life
go ahead then
sleep around
who's your father?
I don't know
just some guy my mother knew
she said once he was kinda tall
his eyes were kinda blue
that's all you know about him?
yeah, but I don't really care
I don't need a father
pass me that rifle over there...


c 1999 B Philp

Richly Blessed - A Tribute

It's not so easy finding words to honor someone loved so much,
someone who is treasured, someone with that special touch.
Whose life has been so rich and full, and been a shining, guiding light.
Whose hands, though soft and gentle, do things with all their might.

Call a lonely friend, and let them know you care.
Make bread and buns and muffins because you love to share.
Send a card, send an email, you know the one, from grandmapyle.
Words that bring encouragement and healing, that's her style.

She always thinks of others, such a natural way to share her joy.
Young or old, man or woman, friend or stranger, girl or boy.
Her love of friends and family, her love of God, are very clear.
She knows to share His perfect love shows others He is near.

She's woven gold and silver threads through seasons and through time.
Her prayers and faith and thankfulness, so beautifully expressed in rhyme.
She stands in awe of nature, of the grandeur of creation.
She sees within a lovely flower the promise of salvation.

She sees the poignant beauty that's hidden in a trial.
She knows the soothing comfort of kind words and a smile.
In her long life, she's learned of joy. She's also learned of sorrow.
She knows the weaving of the two prepares us for tomorrow.

Though now she needs a steady hand to stand and walk along,
her faith and trust and hope in God have never stood as strong.
She knows whatever happens, she'll trust in God for He knows best.
We thank you, Lord, for Alvah Pyle, for through the richness of her life,
our lives have all been richly blessed...


c 2008 B Philp

Impressions of Impeachment

1
When shall we all meet again
in thunder, lightening or in rain? (1)
When will we join and tell the tale?
Will they believe or think insane
the secrets of the White Knight's reign?

2
Yellow, yellow, flushed-face fellow,
tongue and finger wagging, flagging,
denying, denying, lying? lying?
yet standing tall and proud.
"I never... I never... that woman... that woman."
That woman? Yes, that young woman,
disbelieving such deceiving, crying, crying,
slowly dying down by Watergate.

3
Endless twisting, endless spinning,
spewing from the great White Knight.
A sinister, right conspiracy accused
to keep the innocent confused,
and some perverted souls amused.

4
Then out of darkness comes a light,
a bright and shining Starr!
The evil secrets long concealed
in brightness of the Starr revealed.
More than one would need to know,
much more than one would want...

5
Ah yes, ah yes! The dress, the dress!
The telling dress, the telling dress
that made the great White Knight confess.
Were it not for that damned spot
they might have never proved his plot.
That woman kept the telling dress
per chance to make the White Knight tripp.
Ah yes, that woman kept the dress
which made the White Knight helpless
to give anyone... the slip.

6
Such complexities of speech!
Such secrets locked inside a word!
No longer trust the ear to hear.
No longer trust a word thus heard.
To learn the murky myst'ry lurking deep inside a thought,
one must define just what is is, and just what is is not.
Convention has it is is is, and is not is is not.
But, to some, is is not is, and so is not is not is not.
And if it be is is not is then there remains the mystery.
Then there remains the question... Is is to be or not to be?

7
And oh, the polls, yes, oh, the polls,
the polls, the ever present polls.
The common people sell their souls.
Economy, a faithless friend, while Rule of Law stands true.

8
There sit the colleagues, so esteemed,
lined up in even rows.
Banter, banter, back and forth,
each saying what the other knows.
Few minds are changed... perhaps just one,
but after all is said and done,
friends retain their friends, and foes remain their foes.

9
Will the gentle lady yield?
"I will not yield, I will not yield
till all the charges be appealed.
'Tis clear to me it was not he
who had the gifts to be concealed."
(They say 'twas underneath a bed.
'Twas at the foot or at the head,
it is not known. It was not said.)

10
Are there not any witnesses to stand up for his name?
Will not one witness come forth to clear him of his shame?

11
And where is he whom I presume?
And where the tongue and eye of Newt?
They are no longer in out midst.
Their dance is to another flute.

12
The vote is in. He is impeached.
His place in history is marred.
The vote is in. He is impeached.
His legacy, forever scarred.

13
Some think thirteen unlucky.
'Tis only twelve plus one.
Consider tribes, and colonies, and stripes,
and arrows in the eagle's claw.
Consider thirteen valiant men
who formed their plan to take their stand
defending Rule of Law,
who formed their plan to take their stand
to battle on the Senate floor...

14
Riveting eloquence and elegant arguments
from both sides of the aisle.
But beware of twisting of the truth,
of cunning and of guile,
of virulent agendas cloaked by skillful words.
Beware of the deception that lies beneath the smile.

15
And nightly edicts from the king
with all his merry men.
Some shooting straight and some not so,
but all have an opinion. Yes, all have an opinion.

16
Except for him out on the street.
Why should he care? His life is sweet.
He mutters, "Let's move on."
He does not comprehend the awe
we must have for the Rule of Law.

17
Hear ye the words of Henry Hyde --
healing, swelling, so compelling.
Words that reach to depths inside,
stirring in one's spirit all feeling of forgotten pride.
Such freeing words, so rare of late,
words which made this nation great,
expressing precious thoughts
for which tens of thousands bravely fought,
expressing precious thoughts
for which tens of thousands proudly died.

18
One hundred men and women
make the dictates of their conscience known.
'Tis true the deeds were dastardly,
despicable, debasing, indelibly demoralizing,
detestably dehumanizing, disgracing and dismaying,
defrauding and displaying lack of judgment on his part.
Yet, in the noble Senate's eyes, to the level of high crimes
these deeds just simply do not rise.
To overturn the people's will, there must be deeds more treacherous still...

19
Is the whole head sick? Is the whole heart faint?
Is there no soundness found,
but wounds and bruises and putrefying sores,
not closed nor mollified nor bound? (2)
There is no truth nor judgment there
where fair is foul and foul play fair.

20
Now the hurly-burly's done.
Now the battle's lost and won.
But reality has slipped all a slighting twist of fate...
for they are really vanquished who think the battle won.
The losers are triumphant, the winners are undone.

21
Some say the Knight ruled well,
'twas integrity he lacked (he could
have been the victor with integrity intact).
But History, a ruthless judge,
will bring all things to light.
Then all will know the secrets
of the dark reign of the great White Knight.


c 1999 B Philp

(1) Quoted from MacBeth, Wm Shakespeare
(2) Quoted from Isaiah

Good-bye for Now

They shared a poem,
they shared a song,
they shared a twinkle in the eye.

They hadn't known each other long,
and yet they found it difficult
to just let go, to say good-bye.

Their life paths crossed,
their spirits touched.
I think that God sent you to me.

One went away enriched and changed,
the other to her destiny...


c 2002 B Philp

Stitches in My Chin

No, these are not whiskers that you see on my chin.
Actually they're stitches that the doctor has sewn in.
No, it's not the first time. I've had stitches in my chin before.
That time I had on flippery socks. Before I knew what happened,
I'd flipped and my chin hit the floor.

This time it was toys, not socks, that made me trip the other day.
(Now I know why Mommy says to always put my toys away.)
I hope this is the last time that I slip and hit and split my skin.
I hope this is the last time that I'll need a stitch or two or three
or four or five put in my chin.

Though I really do like doctors and appreciate the things they do,
I think I'd rather spend my time visiting the animals and feeding
fishies at the zoo...

c 2002 B Philp

Play Me Some Country (lyrics)

Play me some country, like country used to be.
Sing me those lyrics with a lilting melody.
I want to hear some country. I want to feel that harmony.
Play me some country, like country used to be.

Play me some country. Play me Patsy Cline.
Sing me those love songs where we memorize each line.
I want to hear Hank Williams. I'm so lonesome I could cry.
Play me some Gene or Roy! Just promise me you'll try.

Yesterday life was simple. We all were family.
And singin' round the radio's my fondest memory...

Play me Hank Thompson. Play me Lefty Frizell.
Sing me the heartache that Tammy sang so well.
Play me some mighty Merle. I want to hear my favorite songs.
I'd love to hear the Everlys so I can sing along.

Yesterday life was simple. We all were family.
And singin' round the radio's my fondest memory...

Sing me some Brenda Lee. Sing me Dottie West.
I'd love to hear some steel guitar that country does the best.
Can you play me a fiddle? Can you play Bob Wills for me?
I want to hear some country, like country used to be.
Play me some country, like country used to be.


c 2002 B Philp

Have Mercy on Our Land (lyrics)

I've been judged and been found guilty, but with no trial, no crime.
No choice for this unwanted one. No time for hope. No hope for time.
Is no one there to plead for me? Does no one hear my cry?
I want to live, to laugh, to love... I want my life. Don't let me die!

How can they take my precious life and forfeit my first breath?
They know that I have done no wrong. Still, they sentence me to death.
I've never seen them face to face. I wonder who they are.
Their hearts, once tender, now are hard. A nation's glory sadly marred...

Have mercy on our land... mercy on our land.
The blood of innocence cries out.
It's on our hearts. It's on our hands.

As they stumbled in the darkness, they crossed the Danger Line.
More lives may now be sacrificed as tragically as they take mine...

Have mercy on our land... mercy on our land.
The blood of innocence cries out.
It's on our hearts. It's on our hands.
It's on our hearts. It's on our hands.


c 2006 B Philp