@mozactab: Thanks so much! And glad to see (hear!) that you are still sharing your own creations with us... some gems in there, for sure! :D

your voice carries the emotion of the story here - the piano is a faithful partner to lean on as it all unfolds - great track man, I'd say more raw than rudimentary.  this has it where it counts.  enjoyed this

I accidentally learned this on guitar yesterday while writing and full throttle belly busted into the line "orange waves crash then gooo"

you have quite the touch on the keys, and you have a wonderful voice.  it is cool hearing it stretched out here a bit.

excellent refrain. does have that middle age folk feel. wonderful performance. your voice is great and comforting! pianoplaying is solid gold!

love how the chord extensions add a new context to the melodies

Something more traditional/folksy I've been chipping away at for a bit, struggling to flesh it out with more instrumentation. However, the more I listen to its currently bare-cupboard, acoustic vocals+piano arrangement, maybe it's simply *meant* to remain rough and rudimentary?

So please pay no attention to the little finger flubs here and there, and just let yourself get washed over by the orange waves of the Northumberland Strait, where I grew up and where my childish heart still beats.

***

Orange waves crash then go
Stealing sand with its ebb and flow
Holes dotting cliffsides' red clay
Where the swallows sleeping lay

Beyond green edge a homestead puffs away
Hurls hardwood smoke through cold blue
Rocking chairs paired, slowly rotting grey

Island smiles from across the way
Thin dark line splits Strait and sky
It flickers ghostly, hovers fey
Once Ile Saint-Jean, now PEI

Each flat stone we throw from the beach
With dreams to skip, perhaps to fly
All doomed to sink, the island never reached
Drowning jealous of the driftwood swimming by

As full moon flirts with blushing tide
Salt waters sink and sandbars swell
Before they change their minds and hide
I take their path to Mount Carmel

Beyond green edge a homestead puffs away
Hurls hardwood smoke through cold blue
Rocking chairs paired, slowly rotting grey

At Trois-Ruisseaux I wait for you
At Trois-Ruisseaux I wait for you
Trois-Ruisseaux

Orange Waves (acoustic rough)

Worst poet wanna-being worster singsong-person. 

Lost to learning. Living the attempt.

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