Where do I gather my inspiration?

Many of my friends never knew that I used to write song lyrics before my memoir (Myopia, a memoir) was published. It was one of my great joys when I lived in New York City in the early years. My friend, Guy Strobel, and I would sit for hours at his piano, up four flights in a walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen. An actor, writer, composer and singer, Guy has always made me laugh. He is not unlike Peter Pan, although he is quite mature. I think of him as a creative wood sprite who just happens to have lived most of his life in the Big Apple.

For several years, I lost track of Guy. We moved from NYC to Placitas, New Mexico, and I had stopped writing lyrics for several years prior. Smack dab in the middle of a bilateral knee replacement that I was undergoing, Guy telephoned my brother-in-law to see what had become of me. Once I was released and off pain medication, I called him to renew our friendship. We have always been somewhat psychic with one another.

Recently, on a trip to NYC, Guy took me on a private tour of Central Park. He showed me waterfalls alive with birds bathing in them. We ate blackberries plucked right from the bush. Guy showed me the peace sign he’d made in the park right after we declared war in Iraq (see below). He continues to maintain it. This led me to write a lyric for the first time in over twenty years. I’ve sent it to Guy to turn into music. Natural prompts are the best prompts!

Woman in the Window

by

Phyllis M Skoy

(July 14, 2018)

I

There is a woman in the window

She’s looking down on me

But when I try to wave to her

It’s clear she doesn’t see

II

She holds out a photograph

Have you seen this child?

She thrusts it out the prison bars

Her eyes too large, her hair blown wild

III

People stop to stare at her

And the photo floating down

“They stole him from me weeks ago

And now he can’t be found”

{Chorus}

Please is there anyone

Who can help me find my son

Is he well? Is he fed?

Is my hijo dead?

I

There’s a woman on the telephone

She’s screaming from her rage

She spots me through the prison bars

“And do you know his age?”

II

Now she whimpers in her cries

Baby where’d they take you to?

I don’t know how to answer her

I don’t know what to do

III

“Are you deaf or are you blind?

Do you even have a heart?

He is so small; he was not five

When they pulled our arms apart”

     {Chorus repeats}

I

There’s a woman reaching out to me

Hands are grasping in my dreams

“Please God, please send him back

I’ve fallen to my knees”

II

Woman, I am not your God

Please let me have my sleep

Why does your photo haunt me so?

Why does it make me weep?

III

Her image slowly fades away

And I wake to feel my fear

There is no one to help me now

Since I have left me there.

{Chorus repeats}