Sharing

Check out the new song by Rachael Chatoor. It reminded me of some lyrics I wrote several years ago. I also did the music but wasn't really happy with it. If Rachael wants to do music for it, she can have the lyrics. (Anyone else, please ask first. It's copyrighted.)

Paper in the Wind
(Song Lyrics)
By the Grandpa

[A]
The music stopped while I was dancing
On a street all by myself,
And all the questions I’d been asking
Felt like dust inside my mouth

[B]
The friends I had around me
Are like paper in the wind
Their faces lost in shadows
Of other places I have been

[Chorus]
I tried to call from San Francisco,
I got caught in your damn machine
It said
Leave a message, sorry we missed you.
Our son’s gone off to chase his dream.

And I can’t tell you where I’ve been

[B]
Each morning I wake hungry
But nothing’s left to do
Too late to say I’m sorry
Too late for missing you

[Chorus]
I tried to call from San Francisco,
I got caught in your damn machine
It said
Leave a message, sorry we missed you.
Our son’s gone off to chase his dream.

And I can’t tell you where I’ve been

[C—Waltz time]
I dreamed I danced with my mother,
A song from another day.
We held each other tight
Her smile made the music play.
I dreamed I walked with my father.
We talked along the way
By the time we got home
We had nothing left to say.

[A]
Too many miles between us
I’ve done things you cannot know
Nothing stays the way it was
I’d talk longer but I’ve got to go

[Chorus]
I tried to call from San Francisco,
I got caught in your damn machine
It said
Leave a message, sorry we missed you.
Our son’s gone off to chase his dream.

Why can’t I tell you where I’ve been?

[B]
Sometimes I hear the music echo
And turn to greet a friend
Nothing but my shadow
And paper in the wind
Nothing but my shadow
And paper in the wind

© copyright 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.
All rights reserved.

Letters to Caroline

(The title refers to the poem that comes after after the note. The note is to the people in the Blogosphere, not Caroline.)

Note: I'm feeling a little guilty because I haven't been able to spend as much time as I would like in the blogosphere for a couple of weeks now. The first week I was on vacation. This one I'm trying to catch up on my work after being on vacation. The good news is I'm almost caught up and I'll be able to respond to people's comments again pretty soon. Just don't give up on me. You guys leave the greatest comments. They make me feel good. (It's great to feel that way without having to use some foreign substance.)

One more thing. We had a visitor at our house a couple days before Christmas. He was in the neighborhood and just wanted to stop by and say "hey" because he's often too busy this time of year. But it was good to see my old friend Nick and get caught up on what he's been doing.

Letters to Caroline

1.
We've been a month without snow.
Last month, it seemed it would never stop;
now the ground in spots is bare.

Since we've stopped talking, we've lived side by side,
lying in the same bed without touching,
so well we've learned the impenetrable zones,
even in our sleep.

2.
Only a month of winter left,
but then no real spring,
only weeks of mud
and unfulfilled promise.

I remember the cat standing at your feet
in front of the couch
while you read the newspaper. If you'd put the page
down and let it,
it would have leaped on your lap. It stood watching you,
wanting, as cats want,
to be touched, then gave up and lay beside
the rocker.

Snow's predicted tomorrow night,
twenty-four hours
too late to help the skiing.

3.
If I asked about him, would you tell me he listens?
That he leaves messages at your terminal?
That you like the way he laughs?

And that he doesn't need and so
makes you young again?

4.
Two suns in our morning skies;
five days in parallel worlds,
we expand and contract, knowing neither
what blue nor gray winds fill
the other's days.

Then at night, I cruise the space between,
seeking light from familiar stars that inhabit both
our skies: Evidence of love we can both remember.

5.
The usually clear walk was strewn with pebbles
thrown up by the tide. You pointed it out
as we looked for words to break the silence.

Kids playing with kites ran over the rocks
at Odiorne Point, through the winds that blew in along the shore
and mastered the land in a way the waves
only pretended to do.

But it was the waves, Caroline,
charging, pounding, I felt rip my heart.

Low tide and no boats.
We could see the Isles of Shoals.
We could hear the waves.

Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.

© copyright 2004, 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.

All rights reserved.

The Rose

Caroline, the rose dropped its head.
Petals still unopened already dead.
Too fragile flower. I dropped it in a bag
And wiped rings from the table with rags.

Had it been music it might have lasted
After the playing stopped, much like bubbled glass
Can hold delicate butterfly wings
Or preserve youthful blooms from spring
That were snipped too soon from vines
And never tasted the bitter aging wines.

Things die with time, a poisonous dart
That neither rhythm nor rhyme can stay.
All our days, Caroline, begin in darkness.
All our days end that way.

Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.

© copyright 2004, 2008 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.

All rights reserved.