My Grandfather's Guitar

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

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. 

the light of today, is all yours

i don't blame you 

for taking all the wind out of my sails.

we both know i would've found a way toward you 

had you given me even the faintest of breezes.

my ship was never the steadiest of vessels,

and yet somehow we always found our way to your shores.

now i'm searching all its bends and curves 

for a way to make them still feel like my own. 

so i climbed as high as i could

and lit thirty candles 

with the sun for a flame

on the the wicks of the Los Angeles skyline.

i wished on every last one

for you to find the strength to embrace all the happiness in the world you have always deserved. 

happy birthday to wherever you are. 

i wrapped up the sun,

tied it with a string,

and sent it once around the earth like a balloon, 

hoping it will find you in the morning. 

the light of today, is all yours.

high and low

los angeles is a carnival ride, 

photographed like a day in the park. 

a constant progression of highs and lows, 

fasts and slows, 

with a selfie in between, 

looking like the time of our lives. 

los angeles is the time of our lives 

and always promises the best seat to see the stars, 

only with a sparkle in their eye,

on every street corner and, 

from across the bar. 

i’ll have another drink please,

and one more chance

to make a good impression,

on every constellation

they swore was at the bottom of the glass. 

los angeles is the bottom of the glass, 

one you don’t always bounce back from right away, 

but mean to stick around for a little while. 

a bottom that’ll make you believe you’re standing on a ledge 

and you’ll need to be reminded that we have no where to jump to. 

los angeles can leave you looking like you already did. 

but i’m sorry to any of you who dressed up for a funeral, those church bells were ringing to announce my marriage to my optimism. but please, i hope you're still coming to the reception, i can’t promise i won’t miss some steps, but the dancing has already started in all our favorite memories, and i can promise you, that our glass will always be half-full.