What a team, a very special and amazing group of men,

Seems like just yesterday they were here now a memory so fine.

They were the Lakers with quickness and speed,

Down the floor they would run, no one like them could there be.

They could pass the ball with such finesse,

Wizards of the court when they were at their best.

Something special each one would have to give,

Together they were an orchestra, like music so fine.

Destroy their opponent each battle they would do,

These talented sportsmen to the world all knew.

Magic their leader, on the floor there was nothing he couldn’t do,

A man called big game James as fast and quick with the things he could do.

One they called Cooper for his Coop-a-loop,

Beside him there was Byron whom could shoot the ball too,

Don’t forget A.C. Green whom fought for his dream.

Of course in the middle now in the hall of fame,

King Kareem was their giant with his hook so mean.

Let’s nor forget Superman, Kurt Rambis a big part,

Whom fought for his team with such a great heart.

Los Angeles Lakers,

Greatness in the eighties. Keith Garrett



Walk these streets, sidewalks of wood,

Where men wear boots, hats, and guns.

Women wear dresses of an earlier time,

Some of morals, others work men for a dime.

A sheriff, a deputy, to keep peace and order,

Jail is for those who can’t follow the law.

A school house, a church, places of good,

Children learn lessons, a house of god.

A saloon is a place of drink and games,

A piano heard, upstairs, women of the night.

In a western town there are many things,

A stable for horses, a gunfight to end one’s day,

Once upon a time in a western town.

Keith Garrett



Let me tighten your brains, he would say,

I’ll give you a wallop, this way he would play.

Memories of a man, a dear and wise soul,

Italian all the way, left and went away some time ago.

A player of the cards, a trick or to win the game,

He worked in the shipyard, hard at it everyday.

Born in nineteen eighteen, Louis John Cordischi,

Remember with me, grandpa Louie,

He has a home in heaven, shared with loved ones today.

As I write these words of a man far away,

I see his face and his smile, his voice heard by me.

Keith Garrett



A man searching for something, always searching,

He travels through the desert, a town in his sight.

On a horse he rides, the sun upon his back,

Dressed in western clothing of the time.

What he wants is a bed for the night,

A warm meal that satisfies, a bath much-needed.

He heads for the saloon, a drink in his thoughts,

Sit down for a game of cards with faces of a town.

Just passing through, a man and his horse,

Both bedded down for the night,

When the sun rises, his search will continue.

Keith Garrett



On the porch she sits, telling us stories from her life,

Times and places of difference, tales from long ago.

She likes to knit watching life go on around her everyday,

Playing games with the children, watching a show, baking.

She does not walk the same, as once when she was a younger lady,

Eyes that do not see the same wear glasses that make scenes clear.

Hair of a color so different from the dark, flowing that once was,

Aches and pains from a lifetime of once energy and much play.

Grandmother, you were once a young girl just like me, a picture I see,

You have had such a life from many stories sitting on the porch, told to me.

You are grandmother, one day I shall be like you, telling stories of my own life,

Different times, I will age and have had a life, I will be one day grandmother.

Keith Garrett