Barbershop Poetry
Apple
Of Her Eye
Joe Hale, March 1976
All were eager to do
the show;
Basses and tenors too.
“We must memorize”, they
said to Midge,
“It's the only thing to do,
Get rid of the
books and spots right now;
No need for a crutch by side.”
So,
now she looked glad and thoughtful too,
This group was her joy
and pride.
This talented crew is filled with soul,
She thought
with lightning speed.
Some others may do their tasks quite
well,
But these guys are my friends, indeed!
This is the way
she visioned it . . . . .
But tell me truly, guy,
Are you
willing to put forth the effort to be,
The Apple of Her Eye?
Ode
To The Contestant
Author & Date: Unknown
Who's the
stranger, Mother dear?
Look! He knows us. Ain't he queer?
Hush,
my son! Don't talk that way.
It's your Dad - he's been
away.
Can't be, Mom. No way at all!
Daddy died way back
last fall.
Your father didn't die, my pet,
He joined a
Barbershop Quartet.
Now the contests are over, and so
He
has no other place to go.
His eyes are red and his voice is
hoarse -
Baggy pants, needs a shave, but no remorse.
Soon
he'll learn another ditty,
Then pack his bags for Atlantic
City,
So kiss him, he won't bite you, child,
All those quartet
guys look wild.
The
Barbershopper's Pride
Larry W. Brown 12/05/79
Tonight
we're not barhoppers
As one can plainly see ...
But we are
barbershoppers
With a ringing melody;
Keeping America
Singing ---
In voice as well as heart
Having fun, while
bringing
Some children a fresh start.
And though raised
eyebrows may occur
When we are heard to say
“I'm going the
the meeting, sir
Of SPEBSQSA “ ! ...
What better way to
undergird
America's tradition
Than let those favorite songs be
heard
In barbershop rendition !
Two
For All
By Joe Hale - October 1977
My ears perked up
the other night
When I heard someone admit
How he was filled
with sheer delight
To hear a chorus that was fit
To sing for
District Competition
Ring out some chords
At sweet
volition.
It sounded like a mighty throng
But counting
them, soon proved one wrong,
For five and twenty was the
count
That yielded sound which oft could mount
To volume like
a thunder clap,
Or the quiet of a noontime nap.
I thought
hos nice 'twould really be,
To have a chorus of seventy
seven
with a sound ascending clear to Heaven
From Behlmanns
Room Conquistador.
Well, this can happen, and even more
If
everyone who is now a member,
Will recruit two men before
December!
Carry
The Torch
By Joe Hale - August 1977
Among the things I
treasure most
I'd surely have to name,
An SPEBSQSA visitor to
host
To make him glad he came.
It seems of late, it's been
our fate
To have a bunch of guys,
Who've come to sing and
stayed quite late,
To make a chord arise.
You may recall
young Bob McDonnel
And his silver-throated tenor,
Or the
Counterpoints, and Al Cahill
Now truly, there's a winner.
And
if you're seeking a velvet blend
Jim White can lay it on!
Or,
than again, theres Michael Schwend
Whose bass is a satin
dawn.
Coming to join this jolly crew
Is the super basso,
Duaine,
Whose high resolve, and devotion true
Has caused him
to remain.
From the town of steel
Jim Turner comes, as our
fourteen
karat bari, And now we've all begun to feel,
It's
time for making merry.
This kindles anew deep desire
To
seek with greater ardor,
To find more men to billow the fire
We
all must seek them harder.
So carry the torch --- seek then
out
And our chapter will be better,
All these men deserve a
shout
Or a five inch felt block letter.
So give a cheer
for visitors here
And everybody bring one,
And never have a
single fear
With quality, they will sing one!
No
One's Perfect
By Joe Hale - March 1977
"No One's
Perfect"
Is my very favorite song
Amazingly, it points
out
How things will go wrong!
Just when you're
thinking
That you're the very best
You wind up singing
loudly
Through a two beat rest!
You feel you've really
made it
When, on the front row
Each man throws a gesture
Which
you forgot to throw.
Chagrined you stand there
Wondering
"what will be my fate"
If now, I try to throw it
Ten
seconds late.
Resolving not to show
Embarrassment a
Trifle
You stand there wishing
For your rusty old rifle -
To
use on the joker
In the very first row
Who smirked at your boo
boo
And nearly ruined your show.
But calling up the
courage
Of an old mother hen
You plaster wide across your
face
A Jimmy Carter grin.
The loud applause which
greets
The soon finished song
Quickly reassures you
Not
everything went wrong.
So then you sing a parody
Of an old
familiar tune
Dubbing in the original
Makes you feel like a
loon.
Then the notion strikes you
To become the first
defector
To get out fast
Ere killed by the director,
Then
fate comes to your rescue
As once again we're shown
That No
One's Perfect -
The Director one has blown!
God, laugh at
our foibles
But help us strive to be
What no one has yet
attained
Perfection, like to Thee!
I'm
Glad He's A Barbershopper
By Leota Watson
As the wife
of a Barbershopper, Who never missed one meeting,
In all of
nineteen seventy six, I send you this greeting.
How did he do it?
His secret I'll tell;
His whole hear was in it, And his wife's
heart as well!
Who do I support him? Thats easy to see;
His
barbershopping has made him, A better husband to me!
His step
has more spring, His spirit more zing!
His heart is much lighter,
He even hugs tighter.
His notes ring truer, His grumbles are
fewer;
His eyes look much bluer, Even his jokes now are
newer!
Weeks with him are less harried, His interests more
varied;
New friendships galore, Who could ask for more!
Who
wouldn't support such A good looking guy?
When his voice lifts
with others, Their limits the sky!
As they stand on the risers,
Bedecked in their splendor,
They're great harmonizers, As through
run through a blender!
I feel shivers down my neck, And all
through my spine,
And I am glad that Barbershopper, Is truly ...
ALL MINE!