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    For Whom the Troubadour Sings
    For Whom the Troubadour Sings
    For Whom the Troubadour Sings
    Ebook207 pages1 hour

    For Whom the Troubadour Sings

    By Dawud Wharnsby

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    About this ebook

    "Wharnsby's message is substantive, and his vocals are compelling—similar in style to Peter Yarrow and Paul Simon."—Dallas Morning News

    Dawud Wharnsby's unconventional approach to writing and religion challenges how we look at our lives and the world through which we all journey.

    There was nothing more to say.
    There was sun-snow as I drove away.
    Back home was the only place to go,
    and I did not know,
    I would never see her after that day.

    Canadian-born Dawud Wharnsby began writing poetry, composing music, and performing in his teens. Since then he has become a voice for socially conscious and spiritually minded individuals in the twenty-first century.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKube Publishing Ltd
    Release dateMay 14, 2015
    ISBN9781847740861
    For Whom the Troubadour Sings

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      Book preview

      For Whom the Troubadour Sings - Dawud Wharnsby

      PART I

      SONGS OF THE JOURNEY

      White Moon

      White moon in a blue sky,

      across from a red eye,

      sinking fast as day goes past

      and night will quietly lie.

      White moon in a black sky,

      across from a red eye,

      rising fast as night goes past

      and children rub their waking eyes.

      Little Boy

      Little boy,

      locked out of your house,

      how will you get inside?

      The handle is too high.

      You’ve stood on the stoop

      to reach and push and try.

      There’s someone there you know –

      but they don’t hear your call.

      Maybe they’ll forget,

      and you’ll never get in again?

      Little boy,

      locked out of your house,

      how will you get inside?

      The handle is too high.

      You’ve stood on the stoop,

      to reach and push and cry.

      Secret Friend

      It is warm.

      I like the sun.

      Won’t you get your bicycle?

      We can have a race.

      We will ride away.

      Come to my yard,

      I’ve a swing there.

      We can swing and I will push you.

      You can push me too.

      We will fly all day.

      We can fly away.

      There’s a box,

      in my garage,

      we can paint it up real fancy.

      It will be our fort,

      for a secret club to meet.

      My dog’s nice,

      and he’s so strong.

      Let’s tie him to my wooden wagon.

      You say ‘Mush’ and he

      can pull us down the street.

      Do you like hot dogs for supper?

      I don’t think I like them either.

      Not the wiener,

      just the bun.

      We like rain,

      best with thunder.

      It used to make us cry before,

      but now,

      we think it’s fun.

      All those kids,

      who yell those bad words,

      make me mad.

      I want to hit them.

      But you and I,

      will run away.

      You don’t laugh

      at my new glasses.

      You think Secord is a nice name.

      I’m glad

      I met you today.

      My Mom gets mad,

      when I say,

      that you are my very best friend.

      She tells me,

      not to lie.

      Boy, I wish

      that she could meet you,

      but she says that she can’t see you.

      Very strange.

      I don’t know why.

      You know what?

      I think you’re cool.

      You make me laugh,

      I really like you.

      Sleep at my house,

      foreverynight.

      What to hear

      a secret Friend?

      Sometimes I still cry when there’s thunder.

      Always hold my hand tight.

      Boy, I wish

      my Mom would meet you,

      but she says that she can’t see you.

      Very strange.

      I don’t know why.

      Very strange.

      And I don’t lie.

      Always hold my hand tight.

      Friend.

      Antisocialsong

      You’ve asked if I’m OK eleven times now.

      I’ve told you I feel fine.

      Yes, I like the table you’ve chosen.

      Yes, I’m having a good time.

      No, I don’t want a sip of your beer.

      No, the music is not too loud.

      Yes, I’m happy to be sitting here,

      I just like to watch the crowd.

      You could call me antisocial,

      I’ve called myself that sometimes too,

      but I just prefer to be alone,

      and that’s nothing against you.

      You could call and there’s no answer,

      chances are I’m not home.

      You could call and there’s no answer,

      chances are I’m just not answering my phone.

      You could call me antisocial,

      I’ve called myself that a time or two,

      but I just prefer to be alone,

      and that’s nothing against you.

      Today’s a sweet day to get away.

      Perhaps I might go for a walk.

      I can hear those corn fields calling me.

      Funny, but I didn’t think a corn field could talk.

      I don’t think that I will bathe today,

      I think I smell alright to me.

      I think I’ll find a forest and take off all my clothes

      and lie down naked in the leaves.

      You could call me antisocial,

      I’ve called myself that a time or two,

      but I just prefer to be alone,

      and that’s nothing against you.

      Assess Your Life

      Sit down, assess your life.

      You say you want to experience everything.

      But you have made your choice –

      you have left now you must stay away.

      Where is your logic, can’t you see that you cannot do everything?

      Your art and morals drip away.

      Try to catch them if you can.

      You can’t.

      Change the world with your coffee and your cup,

      from the café where you sit and philosophize.

      Your little friends won’t help you when your time is up,

      but you can call me if need be,

      and I’ll try not to act surprised.

      She loosens up your mind but she straps your morals down,

      face it – you don’t know who she is

      and you’ll wake up next to her and find I’m right.

      Don’t be offended, but I don’t think you know who you are either anymore.

      I wish you’d hurry back I miss you.

      It’s been so long, since where we were before.

      Save the world with your coffee and your cup,

      from the café where you sit and theorize.

      Your little friends won’t help you when your time is up,

      but you can call me if need be, and I’ll try not to

      act surprised.

      And we’re sick of this trap.

      And we’re sick of this crap.

      And I miss you.

      And you miss you too.

      Screw the world with a bottle and a smoke,

      from the hardwood floor where you lay and rub your eyes.

      Those pseudo artists, they are really quite a joke.

      So we’ll both sit and laugh a while,

      ’cause we’re really not surprised.

      I Just Wanna Sing

      Don’t be surprised, don’t rub your eyes,

      if your confused about what you see,

      in a smokey cafe that you happen in one day,

      when suddenly you stumble upon me.

      I’ll be singin’ lazy jazz or the truest of the blues,

      with a band of maybe two or three.

      There won’t be no admission fee, no label will commission me,

      ’cause music faith and knowledge should be free.

      I just wanna sing,

      I’ve never known why, I just always did.

      I’ve just sort of always had a song, since I was a kid.

      I cannot understand it and I never really planned it.

      How could somethin’ so sweet and so good

      leave a simple singin’ man like me,

      misunderstood?

      If your car breaks down near a forgotten little town,

      like Rawalpindi, Timbuktu, Brigadoon –

      you’ll be in for quite a stun, when you find that I’m the one,

      serving burgers at the local greasy spoon.

      I’ll be content while I’m workin’, fryin’ fries and soda jerkin’,

      scoopin’ ice cream, taking orders for tea.

      ’Cause I’ll be singin’ with each order I’ll be bringin’,

      I’ll be ketchup stained and care free.

      I just wanna sing,

      I’ve never known why, I just always did.

      I’ve just sort of always had a song, since I was a kid.

      I cannot understand it and I never really planned it.

      How could somethin’ so sweet and so good

      leave a simple singin’ man like me,

      misunderstood?

      Put some songs on a CD,

      with the hope that other people’d wanna sing along with me.

      Producers came…the price of fame…

      changed my life and stole my name…

      Agents and friends with personal gain.

      People goin’ crazy, drivin’ me insane.

      ‘Where’s the next show?’, ‘Why don’t you make a video?’,

      ‘Put on these beads and clothes and the bling, bling!’

      Well, if that’s all it’s about than I think that I want out,

      of a career that won’t just let me sing.

      So if you’re ever all alone, in the mountains far from home,

      humming as you hike so quietly,

      don’t be overcome with shock or lose your footing off your rocker

      if you hear a distant harmony.

      I’ll be a hermit in those trees farming charming honey bees,

      having left the music business willfully.

      Songs will be my life – I’ll raise a family with my wife,

      ’cause music faith and knowledge should be free.

      I just wanna sing,

      I’ve never known why, I just always did.

      I’ve just sort of always had a song, since I was a kid.

      I cannot understand it and I never really planned it.

      How could somethin’

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