Lamb's Retreat For Songwriters

Birchwood Inn, Harbor Springs, Michigan —November 13-16, 2008

The Sweet-Talking Letters Suite

These songs were written during the 14th annual Lamb's Retreat for Songwriters, Nov 13-16, 2008.  
John D. Lamb assigned each attendee a song.  This weekend's theme is called The SweetTalking Letters Suite.  

Click on a songwriter to read their song assignment followed by the song they wrote at the retreat.

Steve Deasy
Alan Sturt
John Kumjian
Michael Lee Seiler
Rachel Alexander
Susan Pocklington
Dennis Kingsbury
Julianne
John Natiw
Dody Bedford
Hugh Fader
Bob Fawcett
Patricia Pettinga
Kathy Wieland
Andrew Johnson
John D. Lamb
Karen Mal
Jill Jack

Assignment:   Alan Sturt        You keep receiving an unsolicited weekly email newsletter.  The newsletter is full of information about where and when the guy’s next gigs are.  The e-rag contains unfunny jokes and asides.  You don’t know how you got on this guy’s email list.  Every time you get sucked into opening the email and perusing it even for less than a minute, you feel like he’s stolen valuable time from your day.  Two weeks in a row, you have replied to the disclaimer at the end of the newsletter.  Two weeks in a row you have asked that your name be taken off of this guy’s email list.  You wrote cancel in the subject line just like instructed.  The newsletter keeps on coming.  This time, when you reply, the subject will contain the word cancel in all capital letters.  And the body of the email will contain some more carefully chosen words, all in caps.

Cancel Me by Alan Sturt

So many years - so many tears - so many times - I looked for your face

So many times - I wanted you - to look at me - as I am - see my face
Was it too much to ask - to spend a little time - spend a little time with me

But you’re the travelling troubadour - here tonight and gone tomorrow
Town to town - hungry for the stage lights call


So tell me stories - of past glories - in the days - the days of your youth
And give me time - to be just mine - and no one else - and tell me the truth
Would it be too much to ask - to tell me that you love - tell me that you love me

But you’re the travelling troubadour - here tonight and gone tomorrow
Town to town - hungry for the stage lights glow

And so I waited and I waited for the time - I looked for your face
But all I get is your newsletters in my mail - it’s all got to end
It was too much to ask - to spend a little time - spend a little time with me

And so I type with caps key down - CANCEL - don’t come around
All you can spare is words in the air - CANCEL ME - you don’t care
Respectfully - respectfully - respectfully - your loving son                        
©Alan Sturt 2008

Assignment: Steve Deasy        You have a young female admirer.  She’s very attractive and she’s attracted to you.  The temptation of having a tryst or an affair with this girl is something to think about, indeed. But you know that it could only lead to trouble.  You want to explain this to her.  You want to tell her that she is a special girl who should spend her energies on more reasonable pursuits.  This ought to be done without sounding condescending or patronizing.  You must firm but gentle. 


Folkbabe by Steve Deasy
Intro (spoken)

Now folk stars have groupies, hard to believe, but its true
And Folkbabe, I know you’re out there, and this one’s for you

Verse One

Thanks for your kind words about my music, Folkbabe
When I read your note I grinned from ear to ear
And the pictures that you sent me they ain’t no joke babe
I haven’t felt this hot in nearly 30 years
No one could look better in that tight red angora sweater
And impure thoughts are swirling ’round my head
You spoke to me so sweetly, in love completely
But I never heard a single word you said

Chorus

Folkbabe
You are like a dream
And I’m not what I seem to be to you
I can’t fill a hole, in your soul
Folkbabe
I hope you realize
What a prize you are
Just not for this old fool
Folkbabe

Verse Two

When you posted on my YouTube you’d have my babies, Folkbabe
I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry
But I can tell you that it made my woman just about choke babe
I think I heard her say, “Die, MySpace bitches, die!”
I see you at my show; you always sit in the very first row
And you know all my lyrics by heart
You think I’m singing right to you, but darling, that just isn’t true
And this is something we can never start

Repeat Chorus
© 2008 Steve Deasy


Assignment:   John Kumjian        A former music student of yours from ten years ago writes to you.  At first, you don’t recall his face.  He reminds you that he played clarinet in band class and that you flunked him.  Because you’ve only flunked one student in your teaching career, now you remember.   He was the most untalented and unruly student you ever had. The former student admits he deserved to be flunked and more.  He tells you that, upon reflection, he considers your class the most life-changing experience of his high school days.  He lets it slip that he his now a multi-millionaire hip-hop star and he lives in a Beverly Hills mansion.  He closes his letter by saying that he just wanted to send his thanks for being an inspiration and if you’re ever out in LA, look him up.  You are chair of the fundraising committee for the annual high school orchestra trip to Europe fund.  You write this ex-student of yours a chummy letter that slowly gets around to asking the guy for a fat donation.

YOUR’E A STAR! by John Kumjian

I read your letter this morning
Took a while to remember you
Ten long years passed us by
Down life’s long avenue

There’s a vision of you in my classroom
Hiding behind that old music stand
Not knowing where you’re going
Living in a dreamland

I remember that I failed you
The only one in twenty one years
Yet you thank me for the moments,
that help shaped your career.

You’re a Star! You’re a Star!
It’s so good to know who you really are.
After all you’ve been through, you’ve gone so far
My best to you, you’re a Star!

I understand you’ve won a Grammy
A million record sales and more
A big mansion in the valley
could you really ask for more

You’ve go fame, you’ve go fortune
You’re name is engraved in stone
We never knew that you would make it
And make us proud back home

You’re a Star! You’re a Star!
It’s so good to know who you really are.
After all you’ve been through, you’ve gone so far
My best to you, you’re a Star!

Have pride for what you’ve done
And I’m not afraid to say
Sometimes life’s little failures
Help us make our way

When I come to California
Maybe sometime next year
We should try to get together
We could catch up on the years

Be a Star! Be a Star!
You know that’s what you really are.
You deserve to go so far
My best to you, be a Star!
My best to you, be a Star!
© 2008 John Kumjian

Assignment: Michael Lee Seiler        Up until now, you have never written a letter to the editor of a newspaper.  You’ve just read an inflammatory article about your great grandfather, founder of your hometown’s First United Methodist Church.  The article states that new findings prove that your great grandfather built that church with money made from bootlegging.  Great grandpas smuggled liquor from nearby Canada by driving across the frozen Detroit River somewhere near Monroe.  You know that this is true but you feel a responsibility, for the good of your family name, to speak out on his behalf.  You don’t refute great grandpa’s bootlegging rap but the newspaper neglected to mention all the good he had done.  You make the case that his good works and deeds far outweigh the damage his lawlessness may have caused.  You ask for an apology and a retraction.

GREATER GOOD by Michael Lee Seiler  
I don’t understand your reason’s, but your self-righteousness is clear,

My Father’s father’s deeds, you disagree

My anger’s turned to sorrow, your story cut too deep,

Bootleg whiskey built a church, but the good you could not see.

Chorus:

How quickly we forget all the things that have been done.

For the greater good, over the needs of just the one.

When Selfless acts of love, endanger those who try to bring a little piece of Heaven,

Here on Earth, before they die.

In deep darkness and alone, as fast as he could go,

‘Cross that barely frozen , he would fly.

He risked his life , both here on Earth, and for eternity,

To find a way to build a church, before he died.

(chorus)

Bridge:

He knew how much we needed, a house to worship in,

The only way to get it, involved a little sin.

Please look past the old man’s faults, and the way he got things done.

Forgive the deeds and focus on the truth.

Your place is not to judge, that right belongs only to God.

It’s up to Him to decide just what to do.

(chorus)

I write these words, in the hope you understand,

No matter what you think, he was just a man.

We’re all born in sin, but still we have to try ,

To bring a little piece of Heaven, here on Earth, before we die.

(Chorus)
© 2008 Michael Lee Seiler


Assignment:   Rachel Alexander        Write a letter to George W. Bush.  Tell him your sorry to see him go.  Tell him that these last eight years have been some of the best years of your life.  Go on and on about how grateful you are for the tax relief money you got this year.  Describe to him all of the nice things you bought with the $300.  After that, let him have it. 

From 44 to 43, with thanks by Rachel Alexander

Today … today
Today is the 20th day of January
Of January
And so today I thank you
I thank you
Thank you, 43
For handing it all over to me
To me – 44
How can I thank you for all you’ve done for us?

How can I express
How I feel about the mess
You’ve left this country in?
How can you sleep at night
When you’ve given us
This frightful legacy?

I can’t even begin
To list the sins
Committed under your watch
Your watch
So thank you and goodbye
Goodbye
©2008 Rachel Alexander

Assignment:   Susan Pocklington        Your mom still lives in the house you grew up in.  You helped your mom put away the yard this fall.  As you were digging up the geraniums, your shovel hit something hard in the ground.  It didn’t sound like rock so you kept digging. What you found was an old Maxwell House Coffee can, one you had put there when you were a girl of 15.  The memories come flooding back of the time you and your brother decided to make a time capsule.  You unseal the tape around the coffee can lid and you open it.  The contents are laid upon your mom’s kitchen table.  There’s a faded photo of your pet dog, some of your brother’s baseball cards, a Hot Wheels miniature Corvette, and a letter written by you.  You unseal the letter and you read it.

TIME CAPSULE by Susan Pocklington
 
Verse 1
The crusty leaves blew around my feet
As I dug in the dirt on old Ross Street
Where I grew up - the youngest of four.
 
From my home up north four hours away
I came to help Mom that Autumn day
Put the garden to bed - 'cuz winter's on its way.
 
But my shovel hit hard 'bout 3 feet down
A time capsule buried in the ground
By my brother and me - when I was just fifteen.
 
CHORUS:
I found myself in that old tin can
From the words of a letter
Penned in my own hand
Reminding me - to remember who I am.
 
Verse 2
I opened the letter folded and smeared
The words sank deep, my eyes filled with tears
As I held my breath, my own voice spoke to me.
 
I hope you're happy, that your life is on track
You have what you want and you never look back
Your heart and soul are filled and satisfied.
 
I can't wait to see what your life will be
A concert flutist or a mother of three
Or maybe even more than you believed.
 
CHORUS
 
Verse 3
The honest truth is that my life's been good.
I can't complain, but maybe I should
I've neglected my soul - afraid of what's inside.
 
I knew in that moment the time is now
No more waiting or asking how
The day's at hand and the answer is clear
 
CHORUS:
I found myself in an old tin can
In the words of a letter penned by my own hand
Reminding me to remember who I am
Reminding me to remember who I am
I remember who I am.
©2008 Susan Pocklington

Assignment:   Dennis Kingsbury    So you finally write this girl back.  You know, the one who’s been leaving you all these nasty messages.  You tell her, hey, you’re the one said you don’t want to speak with me anymore.  By the level of abuse I’m receiving, I’m beginning to suspect you’re in love with me.  If I agree to talk to you, can I get any kind of guarantee you’re not going to be a crazy bitch?

Talk Too Much by Dennis Kingsbury
 
I’ll tell you a story, a couple years ago
I was sitting in a bar, feeling kind of low
I spied a little blonde, sitting on a stool
It was a little bit dark and she looked pretty cool
 
The band was playing something with a smokey little groove
I made my little plan then I made my little move
 
She must have seen me coming she turned in my direction
In the smokey blue light she was the image of perfection
Then I noticed in her hand, there was a telephone in it
She said “hold on tight, I’ll be with you in a minute”
Fifteen minutes later she’s still talking on the phone
If I’d only been sober, I would have known
 
Chorus 1:
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She’ll be alright if I could get her home
She quiet down if I get her all alone  but she
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She talk … too much
 
I’m still cool, I was not to be denied
I sat on the stool and waited by her side
I could tell she was mad her talk was pretty mean
She was talking to her man’s answering machine
She really let him have it, really let it fly
Another twenty minutes she still hadn’t said good-bye
 
I heard her say “This time, we’re really gonna break up
Pick up that phone if you really wanna make up”
She was really cutting loose, blistering his hide
She still kept going when her battery died
I wrote my number on a napkin at the bar
Said call me later then I went out to my car
 
(chorus 1)
 
My telephone rings in the middle of the night
I said "what a surprise," I was trying to be polite
She talked about her man, and all his petty crimes
She said “I I I me me me” about a thousand times
I couldn’t get a sentence, hell I couldn’t get a word
If you were a fly on the wall, this is what you would have heard
 
Mm hmm, yep, yeah, you don’t say, mm hmm yep, yeah
OK, yep, whatever you say, OK, Ok, Ok…
I got to walk the dog now
The dog wants’ to walk
That dog gonna walk whether I take him or not
 
I’m not sure what the next thing she said
‘cause I set down the phone, walked the dog and went to bed
 
I finally went and bought a caller ID
Cause I need to know when it’s her calling me
She can cuss she can yell she can vent her freakin spleen
The only thing that hears is my answering machine
Now when she calls I just let her talk
And I’m still free to take the dog for a walk
 
Chorus 2:
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She said she just wants some Stimulating conversation
Oh how a little alcohol clouds your observation
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She talk, she talk, she talk too much
She talk … too much
 
So if you wonder why your calls are always getting my recorder
I won’t answer you at all until your messages are shorter…
because: You talk….. too much
© 2008 Dennis Kingsbury

Assignment:   Julianne        You write to a man you thought was your friend.  You met him one morning while standing in line at Starbucks.  He is a married man.  It was one of the first things he told you about himself.  No harm, you thought, he’s easy to talk with. You bumped into him a couple other mornings.  Someone suggested sharing a table.  One day the line at Starbucks was long so he suggested another place with better coffee.    He took you to the Raven Café.  It became your new favorite morning meeting place.  No big deal really, plus he doesn’t even seem married.  Maybe he made it up.  What’s the harm?  You liked starting the day with the guy.  One day he doesn’t show up.  And he doesn’t come into the Raven Cafe the next day or the day after that.   All those meetings and you never gave him your phone number.  But he gave you have his business card.  It has an email address.

Raven Café Song By Julianne 

Hey you,
I thought I’d send you a quick message
Just to see if everything’s ok.
you don’t owe me any explanation, or anything,
but I got used to our coffee everyday

these  last two weeks my mornings’ve been brighter
I look forward to drivin out of my way
to the Raven where I meet up with your smiling face
and it’s not because you never let me pay.

Now I know I shouldn’t feel this way about you,     (Chorus)
Other people would say this ain’t right
But you’re  missing from my morning cup of coffee  
And now my days  don’t seem
to start out right

I know that you said that you’re married
But you never talk about your wife
Which makes me realize, I don’t know that much about you
Or anything about your life.

It’s not like it’s it’s a crime to share a table
Last time I checked this was a public place.
Is this about that comment that we made a cute pair?
Or do you better like how Starbucks taste?

(Chorus)

No need for you send me back an answer
I just thought I’d let you know how I feel              (Bridge)
It was just a half an hour, out of your day
But for me it was something real.

(Chorus)

No my day’s don’t seem
Yeah my day’s don’t seem
To start out right.
© 2008 Julianne


Assignment: John D. Lamb (2 assignments combined in one song)
From Joel Mabus: You’ve got a job in Mackinaw City. Every day you pass a candy shop with fudge and other sweets.  You notice a beautiful girl behind the counter.  You walk in and buy a treat from her and strike up a flirtatious conversation.  The next day you do the same. Being a shy person, you keep up this routine for 2 years.  You have never asked her out but you continue to buy fudge from her every day she is there.  Now your doctor has diagnosed you with Type 2 Diabetes.  You are forbidden your daily dose of sugar.  Now what will you do?  You write her a letter telling her how you feel about her and why you can no longer buy her excellent fudge, but would like to sample “other sweets.”
From Michael Camp:
You are turning 50 today and receive a letter in the mail.  The envelope is yellowed and old-looking.  The handwriting is vaguely familiar.  When you begin to read the letter it’s obvious that the w4riter has/had great expectations of you, and is asking you to account for your failures and accomplishments, to describe where you plan to end up in life, and to write a letter that they won’t receive until your 60th birthday, 10 years from today.  And then you realize, as you recognize the handwriting,  that the letter you received is one you wrote to yourself on your 40th birthday.  What does your new letter say?

Ten Years From Now by John D. Lamb  11-14-08

Ten years from now you won’t see me ‘round
I hate this job; I hate the smell of this town
But I love my fudge. I eat it by the pound.
The horses, the tourists, they make me sick
If it wasn’t for this one girl who works on the strip
You wouldn’t see me ‘round
Ten years from now, no how.

She give me sugar, she give me all I ask
I’m in the store; she’s behind the glass
Where all the fudge can be found
Ten years from now I’m gonna be fifty
If I don’t get that girl, if she don’t go with me
If she don’t budge, you won’t see me ‘round
Ten years from now, no how.

Well, ten years it’s been, here I am
Here I am with that girl again
She like to make fudge, she make me eat my mound
I put it in my salad I put it in my Wheaties
‘Less I get some diabetes, I wolf it down
Ten years from now, no how

Ten years from now, who’s gonna miss me?
Doctor says I’ll never make sixty
Cause I love her so much, I’m goin’ down in the ground
Tell the horses, the tourists, the fudge made me sick
Tell that woman who works up on the strip
See you ‘round
Ten years from now, no how.
Ten years from now, no how.
© 2008 John D. Lamb

Assignment:    John Natiw        You will write a separate letter to each of your four sons.  It will consist of four verses.  You will describe the ways in which each son distinguishes himself from his brother.  You will list the good things that make you proud of them and you will list the faults that make you shake your head and chuckle.  You will tell each boy that he is your favorite and you love him the most.

Better Man by John Natiw

Billy had some trouble with that bully down the street
But this time he stood his ground
And even though the taste of victory was sweet
Those stars were spinnin’ all around

Later on he felt that poundin’ in his head
His father smiled at him and said…

You’re a better man than I have ever been
You took the worst in life and faced it with a grin
By your actions you have made your daddy proud
You’re a better man than I have ever been
Son, you’re a better man than I have ever been

Some years later Billy walked into a room
Where his father’s body lay
One old mem’ry seemed to cut right through the gloom
The day a young man found his way

He drew a breath and felt that poundin’ in his head
Then looked down at him and said…

You’re a better man than I have ever been
You took the worst in life and faced it with a grin
By your actions you have made your family proud
You’re a better man than I have ever been
Dad, you’re a better man than I have ever been

Boys can be so very hard to raise these days
But teach ‘em well and maybe someday you will say…

You’re a better man than I have ever been
You took the worst in life and faced it with a grin
By your actions you have made your family proud
You’re a better man than I have ever been
Yeah, you’re a better man than I have ever been
© 2008 John Natiw

Assignment:    Dody Bedford    You are a painter who wants to sing songs.  You want to paint with words.  Words are colors.  The word sky looks like blue and the word cloud looks like white.  What color is the word love in a song?  When you want the person you’re singing to, to understand your song they need to know which colors insinuate love.  This letter that you write to yourself is a list of the words that conjure the colors of the palette you will use to sing-paint the kind of love you feel for your beloved.

The Color of Love  by Dody Bedford

My face flushes red    when you look at me
My arms feel cool   when you try to break free
You pull me up closer    and offer a kiss
How's a girl to know   when she ought to resist

CHORUS:
You ask me to dinner   you say it's no date
A date is call Tues   I'll see you at 8:00
You plant me a kiss    and make your escape
The meter is running is     Just sealing your fate

VERSE
The pallett of love    is all  colors, too
It's all mixed up    with my feelings for you
The touch of your hand    The spark in your eyes
A rainbow of colors   I've been so surprised

Repeat chorus
Scat
Chorus
© 2008 Dody Bedford

Assignment:  Hugh Fader        She’s been out of the picture for 5 years.  The last time you saw her was at the courthouse when you finalized the divorce.  Since then, you’ve gone on a few dates but nothing ever panned out.  Since the divorce, no other woman has been able to make you forget your ex-wife.  It was your idea to split.  Since the divorce, your ex-wife has remarried.  You want to find out how she’s doing.  You’re kind of hoping she’s not doing so well.  You have her work address.  Write her there.

One New Message by Hugh Fader

Well I hear you got a new name now
Yeah I heard it from a friend of a friend
Wish I could say
I hope that you're OK
Now that the picture by your phone
Ain't the one of you and me
No that picture by your phone
Ain't the one of you and me

Want to know about your friends and family
Want to hear about your highs and your lows
So take some time
To say what's on your mind
Now that the picture by your phone
Ain't the one of you and me
No that picture by your phone
Ain't the one of you and me

Do you ever get lonely?
Do you ever let that feeling show?
What would your life be like if only I hadn't
Walked out on you so long ago?

Well I suppose you only want to blame me
No I wouldn't be surprised if you do
Don't think that I
Expect you will reply
Because that picture by your phone
Ain't the one of you and me
No that picture by your phone
Ain't the one of you and me

Well I hear you got a new name now
© 2008 Hugh Fader

Assignment:   Bob Fawcett        You write to a sex advice columnist for advice on sex.  There are some new activities taking place in your marital bed.  Your wife is asking you to perform maneuvers you hadn’t imagined.  Where in the world did she come up with these ideas?  She says that she’s been meaning to ask you to do this for over 20 years.   It’s only recently that she worked up the nerve to tell you.  You aren’t sure whether to jump for joy about the new administration or be concerned that change may not always be a good thing.  

Dr. Ruth by Bob Fawcett

Dr. Ruth Dr Ruth I need your advice
Help me help me please dr ruth
My problem with sex
is making me a wreck
And you can help me sort out the truth

On a hot and sultry summer night
The dog days of July
My wife climbs into bed and says
There’s stuff she wants to try

She takes me through a new rendition
exotic strokes and strange positions
She adds some kinky new manuevers
I felt just like an upright Hoover

Dr. Ruth, Dr. Ruth I need your advice
Help me , help me please Dr. Ruth
I know you’re the lexus of advisors to the sexes
And you can help me sort out the truth

Tell me doc what your advice is
Is this just her midlife crisis?
Does menopause bring on this lust
There’s just one thing I cannot trust..

Our bathroom was repaired this summer
By a guy named Joe the Plumber
 while I’m gone from dawn til dark
His roto rooter sought its mark

Is this a case of a philanderer?
Or does my wife have something glandular
Do I join a KamaSutra study group
Or grab that Joe and beat the poop...

Dr. Ruth, Dr. Ruth I need your advice
Help me , help me please Dr. Ruth
I know you’re the lexus of advisors to the sexes
And you can help me sort out the truth.

The bathroom now has long been finished
But spousal ardour’s undiminshed
There has not been a trace of Joe
Perhaps I’’l just go with the flow..

Dr. Ruth, Dr. Ruth I need your advice
Help me , help me please Dr. Ruth
I know you’re the lexus of advisors to the sexes
But sometimes you can’t get the whole truth
Yeah sometimes you don’t need the whole truth
© 2008 Bob Fawcett


Assignment:    Patricia Pettinga        You keep breaking up with this guy.  You tell him that you don’t care about him in the least.  You tell him not to call you anymore.  After a couple of days, you realize that you really weren’t done giving him a piece of your mind.  You try to call him but he hangs up and it keeps going right to voice mail.  You leave voice mail after voice mail expressing your anger with this guy.  You call him every name in the book.  You tell him that you are glad he’s not answering the phone because you wouldn’t lower yourself to speak to scum like him.  He doesn’t return any of your voice messages.  You write him an email letter that continues along the same vein.  What do you want from me?

Where You Been? by Patricia Pettinga

I guess I made it clear to you that we were really, really through.
I know you must have found that kind of tough.
But as the days go drifting by, I find it very clear that I
Do not believe you’re suffering quite enough.

I have some feelings to express, some issues to get off my chest,
Some things to which I think you should be listening.
How typical of you, my dear, that when I really need you near,
I find you are conspicuously missing.

Baby, baby, where you been.
I haven’t seen you since who knows when.
I hope you haven’t found somebody new,
‘Cause I’m not finished breaking up with you.

I called your number on the telephone.
You picked it up and told me you weren’t home.
I got the feeling you were not alone.
Is there somebody taking up with you?

You just better watch your step; don’t you step out on me.
I just need to reconnect before I set you free.
You are such a stubborn cuss. Give yourself a break.
What we need is a little give and take.

You can’t escape me on the Internet.
You can erase me, but you can’t forget.
We had some bad times, but some good times too, and
I’m not finished breaking up with you.

You’re gonna find me knocking on your door.
I’ll make a racket that you can’t ignore.
You better listen ’cause you know it’s true.
It’s not over ‘til I’m over you…
It’s not over ‘til I’m over you…
It’s not over…‘til I’m over you.
© 2008 Patricia Pettinga      


Assignment:    Kathy Wieland         You have a friend who has been on many vacation tours and cruises.  This friend has sent you at least a postcard or two a year from various exotic destinations.  Her writing is always breezy, “The weather is to die for, and we dined at the finest restaurant ever last night.  Wish you were here.”  Blah, blah, blah.  You are so annoyed by these postcards that upon receiving them now, as soon as you see her name, you toss them in the wastebasket without even reading them.  You and your husband are on the first vacation you have taken in five years.  You buy a postcard.  This is your chance.  The one you’ve been waiting for.  You have her address.  Now get writing.

SAIL AWAY by Kathy Wieland
 
The mailman brought a postcard  from some island in the sun.
It was signed with hugs and kisses, said they're having lots of fun.
I felt a twinge of envy but I took it on the chin,
For, I know one day our ship is coming in.
 
chorus
Sail away on a ship out on the sea.
Sail away, there'll be time for you and me.
We'll throw our cares and troubles way out to  the wind.
We're sailing on to better times again.
 
They say that life's a journey from the cradle to the grave.
For some the trip is scenic and the road is always paved.
For us the roads been rocky and we're wearing work out shoes,
But, someday we'll enjoy a better view.
 
If we had a dime for every time our lucks run out,
We'd buy some tickets on a ship and take the southern route.
Then pack our bags and board that ship and sail out towards the sun,
Knowing that the good times had begun.
© 2008 Kathy Wileland


Assignment:    Karen Mal        A man says to you:  “When I’m on the road we talk by cell phone ten times a day.  Then when we hang up and all of the words we spoke just seem to vanish in the air.  I want you to write me a letter.  I want it to be a document of your feelings for me.  I want it to be statements that I can keep as proof that you had the wherewithal and the gumption, the audacity and the premeditation, to pick up a pen and apply ink to paper, to express lucid thoughts laid out for posterity, true for this moment in your life.”  You attempt to write him.  You are careful not reveal any damning evidence in the event this letter should ever fall into the wrong hands.  You will sign the letter only with your first initial.  Your P.S. will indicate that after this one letter you would prefer to communicate solely by phone.

HALFWAY HOME  written by Karen Mal, elicited by John D. Lamb

When I see your face
Lighting up on my caller ID
I catch myself catching my breath
At the thought of you calling for me

You’re out on the road again
And I won’t get to see you today
But I tell myself just talking will do
And you’re only half mine anyway

Halfway home
Halfway to surrender
I will not give in wholeheartedly
But I’ll meet you halfway home

I see your wavy black hair
All a mess against white hotel sheets
We can close up the drapes and I’ll open my arms
And pretend once again that you’re free

And I’ll reach for you
And I’ll give my whole heart for the day
Then you’ll go back to your world and I back to mine
Til the next time you meet me halfway

Halfway home
Halfway to surrender
I will not give in wholeheartedly
But I’ll meet you halfway home
© 2008 Karen Mal


Assignment:    Jill Jack        You’ve been trying to reconnect with a boy you used to date in high school.  He was your sweetheart.  When you went off to college, the two of you drifted apart and you met someone else whom you married.  You and your husband moved to California, had no kids and divorced after 7 years.  Last year, you moved back to Michigan so you could be near your parents.  You’ve been thinking a lot about your high school boyfriend.  You ask around but no one seems to know where he is or whether he ever married.  You look in the phone book and find no sign of him, but you do notice that his older brother still lives in the area.  You write a breezy letter to the older brother.  You tell him what you’ve been up to all these years.  You ask how he’s doing.  Then you tell him that you very much want to get back in touch with his younger brother.  Any help would be much appreciated.

A Song for Sal Written by Jill Jack at Lamb’s 2008 Retreat

I’ve been California Dreamin’
For oh so long
It’s good to finally be
On solid ground
Sure they say
That home is where your heart is
That’s why getting home
Is where I’m bound

No, life didn’t quite work out
The way I’d planned
Well, isn’t that the way
The story goes?
But coming home to where
I once learned how to stand
I needed to return to all I know

Tell me, how ya been?
How’s your brother?
Do his eyes still melt like chocolate
When he sings a sad, sad song?
Tell me, how ya been?
How’s your brother?
If you get a chance to mention,
I’m back in town

Oh that sandy blue eyed boy
Had my heart strings
And we did those midnight walks
Along the shore

But like every sunset fades
Down at our feet
We both walked away
Wanting more

Yeah, it’s great to be back home
With Mom and Dad
But, oh how they’ve weathered
Through the years
Walking thru their doors
I gotta tell ya man,
It took all I had
To fight back the tears

Tell me, how ya been?
How’s your brother?
Do his eyes still melt like chocolate
When he sings a sad, sad song?
Tell me, how ya been?
How’s your brother?
If you get a chance to mention,
I’m back….

Back to where I’ll find
What I was made of
Back to where I’ll be among my friends
Back to answer questions of
What might have been
Back to where I may find love again

So I’m taking baby steps
To learn to walk again
Like I said, it’s good to be on solid ground
And given time I’m sure someday
My heart will mend
Where love was lost
It’s bound to be found

Tell me, how ya been?
How’s your brother?
Do his eyes still melt like chocolate
When he sings a sad, sad song?
Tell me, how ya been?
How’s your brother?
If you get a chance to mention,
I’m back in town
© 2008 Jill Jack


Assignment:    Andrew Johnson    If you are a songwriter, you want to write good songs.  Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t.  Depends on the assignment you give yourself.  It helps if you study and work on craft.  Your father is a painter.  He knows his craft.  He made a family.  He performed work that offered guaranteed pay.  He pays the bills.  Your dad is a very good painter and an artist.  After this weekend is done, you will tell him this.  

SHADES OF TIME By: Andrew Johnson

Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Hickory Dickory
Dickory Dock

My childhood rhymes,
they died with the times,
When an artist was still
 just a friend of mine

He had time in his pockets,
 and color in swatches
His ears were open to hear,
me cry-y-y-y.
Cry-y-y-y.

Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock

A cuckoo clock,
it just can't stop,
Singin' its crazy
 jailbird song,

The door of its mind,
 locked all day long.
Ratchets and barrels
make rhythm and time,

Where insanity lurks
across the line.
Just leave him alone,
 and he'll be fine.

Nothing heals old scars,
like ti-i-i-ime.
Ti-i-i-ime.

(Chorus)

Father Time
be kind to me.
I know the years
make it hard to see.
I'm proud to live in
your legacy,
and of odd similarities.
Age old brushes
 and colored rhyme.
Notes Of value,
 in signature time.
A face that mocks
your wrinkled lines.
There's shades of grey,
on the head of ti-i-ime.

On the head of ti-i-i-ime
(interlude)

Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
A Grand, Father clock

Is patiently Waiting
 for all time to stop.
For whom the bell tolls
 is trapped in his mind

His waning hands
 keep loosing their time.
Faded colors
with no trace of rhyme
There's no one left
to hear his cry-y-y-y.
Cry-y-y-y.

(Chorus)

Father Time
be kind to me.
I know the years
make it hard to see.
I'm proud to live in
your legacy,
and of odd similarities.
Age old brushes
 and colored rhyme.
Notes Of value,
 in signature time.
A face that mocks
your wrinkled lines.
There's shades of grey,
on the head of ti-i-ime.

On the head of ti-i-i-ime.

On the head of TIME!


Tick Tock....
© 2008 Andrew Johnson




chat rooms