Wednesday, February 22, 2017

my grandfather's guitar

i didn’t get your frame 
i didn’t get your height
i might've got your courage 
but i didn’t get your fight 
one things for sure 
one things to stay 
i got my grandfather’s voice
when i play 
my grandfather’s guitar

four fingers on your right hand 
you lost your thumb on the farm 
south of calgary alberta 
canada at heart 
the blood in you 
is the blood in me 
i got my grandfather’s heart 
when i play 
my grandfather’s guitar 

“throw nothing away 
always clean your plate
fishing and a hard days work 
we wake up early and we come home late” 
the years roll on 
still these remain 
i hear my grandfather’s voice 
when i play 
my grandfather’s guitar

driving all four windows down 
hypoluxo to old dixie
your 76 lincoln continental 
and the lantana florida breeze 
turning up the radio 
we’d all hum along 
i hear my grandfather sing 
when i play 
my grandfather’s guitar

i was just a boy 
when heaven called you home 
too young to understand 
too young to know 
but i hope you can see me now 
standing tall to say 
i got my grandfather’s voice 
when i play 
my grandfather’s guitar

Sunday, February 12, 2017

infinite

infinite,
sounds too few a number 
for the times over 
and the skies under 
which I have thought her most beautiful. 
i try to count them with each breath from my cigarette,
each exhale into the chilly los angeles night, 
the smoke from my lungs.
the warmth of my breath, 
like the waning of her voice
and her still fullness in my memory,
floating on and up through the branches
another drag 
another smoke
another exhale
another hope 
that still tonight, 
the countless clouds 
floating above los angeles, 
hang as reminders of just how beautiful she is, 
and remind her that i
am still counting.