She Chose Nashville Over Me      [Part 1 of My Tennessee Trilogy]

 

Original song lyrics by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro

 

Structure scheme:  Accent points align for all 5 verses.

 

Please read along to my Spoken Verse Performance

 

 

VERSE 1

 

There's a place called

 

Middle Tennessee.

 

Where streets are gold,

 

And the fruit's always ripe.

 

But the dangers are numerous,

 

And I doubt you'll find it humorous, 

 

When your love leaves you for the hype.

 

 

VERSE 2

 

Next to third base,

 

Every single game,

 

In Atlanta,

 

Where the Braves play ball.

 

But my summer’s not sunny,

 

After hearing from my honey.

 

Concerning her plans for the Fall.

 

 

VERSE 3

 

We were seniors,

 

And we “ruled the school”.

 

Me, All-District,

 

Her, a leader of cheer,

 

But it’s all just a memory.

 

After saying no to Emory,

 

Where will she spend her freshman year?

 

A napkin from the Western Room at The Embers building on Printers Alley in Nashville, Tennessee.

 

CHORUS

 

She chose Nashville over me.

 

She chose Nashville over me.

 

My girl would write the tune.

 

While I helped out with the verses. 

 

Now I'm howlin’ at the moon,

 

While each night she rehearses,

 

On what's left of Printer's Alley.

 

Yeah, she choose Nashville over me.

 

 

BRIDGE

 

I just received

 

A goodbye kiss,

 

Said she’s bereaved,

 

And I’ll be missed.

 

But still she go-ooo-o-ooo-oes…

 

 

BRIDGE #2 - A soulful instrumental

 

 

BRIDGE #3 - Optional, spoken verse

 

So she picked Nashville, Tennessee?

 

If she's in Nashville, why not me?

 

Behold, my ACT standardized test results for a test taken in 1974.

If I helped myself, so would the Lord.

 

But Vandy's dean was not impressed.

 

And the Belmont folks wished I had scored,

 

A whole lot higher on my English test.

 

But my college ambitions,

 

Meant a school that's first rate.

 

So I met with admissions,

 

At noted Nashville State.

 

Who said, "Maybe next year, we'll see."

 

So she'll do Nashville without me?

 

 

Taken during one of my regular trips to Tennessee, here is a photo of the author standing at the entrance of the office of financial aid at Vanderbilt University. I chose this building because it was close to the road, and because the English Department seems to all be in the Science Building, which some how messed with the vibe, or so it seemed on that lovely September day.

Hell no!  I'd never throw in the towel,

 

Not with Murfreesboro being so close.

 

But my reading there was received with a scowl,

 

Is "Blood Red Moon" really all that gross?

 

 

Got to meet with the Pres, at UT Martin.

 

Assured him that no one would be offended.

 

But "Grandpa Power" has a verse about fartin',

 

So my full ride offer was rescinded.

 

 

Things looked good at Fisk. After spittin' some flows,

 

Got to hang with their writer in residence.

 

But then she explained how they favor prose,

 

And feared I might set a bad precedence.

 

 

Felt my prospects better at Tennessee Tech,

 

But on their one to ten scale, I got a six.

 

Claimed my command of our language was suspect.

 

Ain't that what college is supposed to fix?

 

 

"Not one mention of a clit or a nipple!"

 

The Lipscomb dean lauded: "A sign of good taste!"

 

Hey, it's not that I'm an erotic cripple.

 

I just haven't gotten past first base.

 

 

Rhodes knew I killed at Poetry Out Loud.

 

Read them Gales' lyrics: "Handwriting On The Wall".

 

Then heard: "Son, you have every right to be proud.

 

But this is English.  Theater Arts is down the hall."

 

 

Knocked 'em out at Memphis, with a haiku,

 

Which the department chair added to his playlist.

 

But my last eight girlfriends had eyes of sky blue,

 

Which suggested I could be a racist.

 

 

The Chattanooga dean opened his door,

 

"Lake Sakakawea" got his toe tappin'.

 

My fashion works made him roll on the floor.

 

His decision: "It's not gonna happen."

 

 

Stopped off in Knoxville, with a letter from Satan.

 

Yeah, their admissions demands are mighty hard.

 

But Mom misread the form.  It said a letter from Peyton.

 

Thanks, Mom!  I could have been the Volunteer Bard.

 

 

Now I'm back home, with a heart that's broken.

 

Suspecting true love is out of reach.

 

Then I recall the words my Pa had spoken:

 

"Go on and pick another Georgia Peach."

 

 

VERSE 4

 

She would close out,

 

With a rockin’ song.

 

My lyrics fresh,

 

But she stole all the chords.

 

And her class mates made fun of her,

 

Cause she borrowed “One World's tablature.

 

So said the music overlords.

 

Ms. Paula Hahnert of Louisville, Kentucky standing before a sign at the entrance of Hattie B's Hot Chicken in Nashville, Tennessee.

 

VERSE 5

 

Got a heads up.

 

So I texted her,

 

That she still was,

 

The one this man adores.

 

Then I asked: “What’s ya doin’?”

 

Said she knew she'd be a Bruin.

 

For at least four years, maybe more.

 

 

CHORUS

 

She chose Nashville over me.

 

She chose Nashville over me.

 

My babe would write the tune.

 

While I helped out with the verses. 

 

Now I'm howlin’ at the moon,

 

While each night she rehearses,

 

On what's left of Printer's Alley.

 

Yeah, she choose Nashville over me.

 

 

THE END

 

 

Copyright © Michael Kimbro 2016.  All rights reserved.

 

 

After many of my efforts, I list the verses which didn't make the final cut.  I call these 'poetic remnants'.

 

Here are a few poetic remnants from this piece, all originally intended to be part of the spoken verse bridge.

 

First there's:

 

 

For the "Man of Letters" title I yearned.

 

It's bestowed on Sigma Tau Delta leaders. 

 

But the Lane College faculty were very concerned,

 

That my last book read was "My Weekly Reader".

 

 

and then there's:

 

 

The chair at King liked my dissertation plan.

 

It's title: "Milton - Through the Red Neck Lens."

 

When he said a better fit might be Carson-Newman,

 

I knew then I hadn't made any friends.

 

 

and finally:

 

 

While not sure from where I'll be an alumni,

 

My minor is certain:  Bourbon Mixology.

 

Which means that I probably shouldn't apply,

 

Where classes begin with "The Doxology."

 

 

Thanks for your time and consideration.

 

 

Keywords:  Poems about Nashville, Song lyrics about Atlanta, Poetry inspired by Nic Gonzales of the band Salvador, Poetry inspired by 19 college campus visits with my daughter in search of a soccer scholarship.