Sunday Original Song Challenge

Here is week 5 in the challenge. This song comes out of what I think everyone has gone or is going through. Words are many things, but the hardest ones are ones left unspoken.

Words D.Brint, April 10, 2021

Words are fickle things, the easy way they fall from our lips

And words can be heavy things, smooth and dark as a stone on the tongue

Words are wasted things, tossed like pennies in a shallow pool

Or locked down deep inside, till the last breath from our lungs

Words can come too late, thinking we have the time

To voice the things that’s in our hearts

To say the things we meant to say

And I am here, but you’re not here to hear the words I have for you

They’re grounded like wounded bird

Whose colours have turned to grey

Sunday Original Song Challenge

I believe this 4th song in my challenge constitutes as a Ditty, in that it’s short, simple (and I think, a little cute). The inspiration for it came when my husband was reading inscriptions from his parent’s wedding guest book from 1948 the other day. Reg, just home from WW2, and Florence, a young accomplished bagpiper, were both born and raised and living in Parry Sound Ontario, where they remained after marrying, raised their children, and died in old age. Some of the entries in the guest book, I’m yours until butter flies, and, Yours until the kitchen sinks, written by their friends piqued my sweetness bone and I thought, why not a song with those play on words? So I did.

I’m Yours D.Brint April 4, 2021

From the moment my eyes fell upon your face

Is the moment I knew my heart had found its place

My world stopped the day you took my hand

Birds sang, flowers bloomed, there was peace upon the land

I’m yours till butter flies, until the bed springs

Till thunder storms and Niagara falls

Until tulips kiss and the kitchen sinks

When hot dogs bark and the barn dances

As the years gather and the road behind us long

There’ll be no doubt in our hearts it’s here where we belong

I wouldn’t change a thing in this life I have with you

And I count my blessings it’s me you took a shine to

I’m yours till butter flies, until the bed springs

Till thunder storms and Niagara falls

Until tulips kiss and the kitchen sinks

Till hot dogs bark and the barn dances

Sunday Original Song Challenge

A childhood event was the inspiration here. The idea for this song was initially different than what actually came out when I began writing, and it came in one day. Interesting how the writing process works, like the of writing a story that seems to take on a life of its own, sometimes it dictates what will be written despite your intention. I’m including the lyrics under the videos now, thanks to a suggestion from a follower.

Susan

Susan was new to the neighbourhood, we walked to school

Picking oranges from a grove marked for demolition

She had no mother, lived with her dad,

Grade five, California, 1967

He was never home until the end of the day

But Susan had her own key to the front door

And she wasn’t allowed to play down the street

I guess it was his way to see her safe and secure

I’d go to her house most day’s after school

We’d eat captain crunch and watch national velvet

Or turn the radio up loud and make up crazy dances

Doing our best to imitate Elvis

I remember a pool table stood where a dining table should be

And stacks of country albums in rows on the floor

I remember her dad and his short, black, shiny hair

And the cans of beer he bought from the corner liquor store

We started out as friends but for reasons I didn’t understand

She became cruel and condescending

I became the target of her hurtful remarks

By the time the school year was ending

By summertime a white moving van parked in front of her house on the road

And I saw men carry out the pool table, and boxes of everything they owned

I could see Susan in the passenger seat of the station wagon

Her dad beside her at the wheel

She never looked or waved at me standing, stared straight ahead

never let on how she feels about

Leaving another home, leaving another town,

leaving another school, leaving another friend

Sunday Song Challenge

Ok, here goes, first song of the challenge. I’m not sure if I have the kinks ironed out regarding posting videos on my blog. My first attempt failed yesterday and I pulled the post because the video wouldn’t display, and please let me know if there is an issue on your end. ( Thanks Marilee! ) This is a project I have been wanting to launch for some time; I’ve challenged myself with an overly ambitious exercise to write one original song a week, for as many weeks as I can, and post it. This might, no, I’m certain, will result in some lame ass material, so, goofy or not, you’re welcome to watch me fumble through.

This song is in response to the front line workers over the past year. Seven Bells is 7 pm when we all went out on our balconies and decks to give our thanks ~

HERO’S D. Brint, 2021

In the light that’s slowly fading, over empty city streets

Another shift is starting, shuffled in on tired feet

And they’re close to collapsing, from long hours on the line

And they crave what their heart’s thirsting

Just an end to these hard times

Marches and angry hollers, holding out their flags of doom

Their rhetorics hard to swallow, while we drown in this monsoon

But the giving that you’re giving, all the hearts that you have won

What will shine as bright as ever, is the work that you have done

A mother without her child, a husband without his wife

Behind these walls they’re exiled, In their last moments of life

And it’s you who held their hand, when no one could be there

We’re walking through a wasteland

Littered with our thoughts and prayers

Seven Bells called us out of hiding

With shouts of praise, this war that you’re fighting

Sound the drum for the bullets that you’re biting

You’ll walk the boulevard as hero’s