The Saturday, 11/14 2020 November Chapbook Challenge prompt over at Writers Digest was to write a memory piece...
As Jack Webb shoulda said, the following is a true story, the names, and a couple of details, have been changed to protect the ignorant...
BETWEEN PONTCHARTRAIN AND THE RIVER
(c) 2020 G. Smith (BMI)
~~~•~~~
I pulled into New Orleans in the middle of July;
The rain had stopped and Bourbon Street was already dry.
Katie lived in Kenner, twelve miles further west,
And I’d come to meet her parents, at their request.
Her daddy ran a dairy plant for some big company,
Her mama worked at home, that’s the way things used to be.
Katie was a draftsman for a downtown engineer,
A summer job at home between her first and second year.
I rode with her to work each day, and left her at the door,
Then spent the mornings wandering, looking to explore.
The Vieux Carre, the District,
Lee Circle and the Dome,
We’d meet for lunch and then again, in time to go back home.
Dinners with her parents, a Bond flick at the mall,
An evening looking at the lake, atop the levee wall.
The days flew by the way they do,
And I headed back to Georgia when the week down there was trough.
Between Pontchartrain and the river,
I learned more than I planned;
I was young and somewhat foolish,
Was gonna ask her for her hand.
But the moment never felt the way they say that it should feel,
And to this day I wonder if anything was real.
She married three years later, and moved to Galveston,
And had a pair of daughters, before she gave him a son.
Work takes me to New Orleans, every now and then,
And sometimes on Canal I wonder, what might have been.
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G. C. Smith / Blog
AS BIG AS THE GRAND CANYON
The 11/25 prompt at Write Better Poetry’s 2020 Poem-A-Day November Chapbook Challenge was to write an EXAGGERATED piece~
Here’s my attempt ~
AS BIG AS THE GRAND CANYON (c) 2020 G. Smith (BMI) ~•~•~•~ I was, Flying high, A mile in the sky; My feet were never, ever gonna, Touch the ground. You were the, Reason why, And I ain’t gonna lie, You were the best thing I had ever found.
My world spun faster, No way, I could master, My pulse; it raced just like a, Bullet train. Folks said, “You should ask her!” But it turned to a disaster, When you walked away, And all you left me was the pain,
Of a, Heartache as big as the, Grand Canyon; As heavy as the Titanic, on the bottom of the sea. As cold as the snows on, Kilimanjaro, Since you ended things with me, with me; Since you ended things with me.
My life’s as empty as the, Moons of Saturn, There’s no rhyme Or pattern To the things that I do. It’s no small thing, The light you used to bring, Was brighter than the sunrise on the, Morning dew.
You left me with a, Heartache as big as the, Grand Canyon; As heavy as the Titanic, on the bottom of the sea. As cold as the snows on, Kilimanjaro, Since you ended things with me, with me; Since you ended things with me.
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FOREVER GRATEFUL
Been kinda slow sledding here lately, but here’s my response to today’s 2020 Write Better Poetry November PAD Chapbook Challenge – appropriately enough, it being Thanksgiving and all – THANKFUL...
FOREVER GRATEFUL (c) 2020 G. Smith (BMI) ::::–:::: Sitting on the bottom step, Watching you cooking; Wanting to lend a hand, But enjoying the looking.
You’re mixing and blending, And stirring and shaking. The house is so full of the Smell of your baking.
I can’t help in the kitchen, But I’ll do what I’m able. I head to the dining room, And start setting the table.
Family and friends, Will be here in a while. You turn and see me; I love how you smile.
And it’s not just today, That I’m thankful for you; For all that you are, And all that you do. Others may set aside, One day of the year; But each day’s Thanksgiving, Whenever you’re near.
So pass the gravy; Leave room for some pie; I’ll be ever grateful for you, ‘Til the day that I die; Forever grateful; ‘Til the day that I die.
–•–•– All that said (or sung?), aside– here’s hoping you and yours had a tasty and safe gathering with family and friends today ~
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TELL THE SUN NOT TO COME UP TOMORROW
The Saturday, 11/21, 2020 November PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt was “TELL (BLANK).
After drawing one, here’s what came to mind on a drive back from Chattanooga this evening ~
TELL THE SUN NOT TO COME UP TOMORROW (c) 2020 G. Smith (BMI) Oo===::: Katie that first night in your parents’ yard, Watching the stars overhead; When your dad left the back porch light on, Before going off to bed. If you’ll look at the life we’ve woven since then, You’ll see this is the very first thread. Of all of the things we’ve talked of since then, Do you remember what I said?
Tell that alarm clock not to ring in the morning, Tell that rooster not to crow; Tell the sun not to come up tomorrow, So I won’t have to go, No, So I won’t have to go.
At the end of the summer after high school, By the light the Waffle House sign, We talked about what the next day would bring, A future together? Or just yours and just mine? You going off to college, Me staying at work behind; We talked through the night, promised we would write, Knowing things would always be fine.
Still saying, Tell that alarm clock not to ring in the morning, Tell that rooster not to crow; Tell the sun not to come up tomorrow, So you won’t have to go, No, So you won’t have to go.
We made it, and here we are now, Our son a lieutenant in the Corps; Ending his leave to return overseas, And we find ourselves saying those words once more...
Tell that alarm clock not to ring in the morning, Tell that rooster not to crow; Tell the sun not to come up tomorrow, So he won’t have to go, No, So he won’t have to go.
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BETWEEN PONTCHARTRAIN AND THE RIVER
The Saturday, 11/14 2020 November Chapbook Challenge prompt over at Writers Digest was to write a memory piece...
As Jack Webb shoulda said, the following is a true story, the names, and a couple of details, have been changed to protect the ignorant...
BETWEEN PONTCHARTRAIN AND THE RIVER (c) 2020 G. Smith (BMI) ~~~•~~~ I pulled into New Orleans in the middle of July; The rain had stopped and Bourbon Street was already dry. Katie lived in Kenner, twelve miles further west, And I’d come to meet her parents, at their request.
Her daddy ran a dairy plant for some big company, Her mama worked at home, that’s the way things used to be. Katie was a draftsman for a downtown engineer, A summer job at home between her first and second year.
I rode with her to work each day, and left her at the door, Then spent the mornings wandering, looking to explore. The Vieux Carre, the District, Lee Circle and the Dome, We’d meet for lunch and then again, in time to go back home.
Dinners with her parents, a Bond flick at the mall, An evening looking at the lake, atop the levee wall. The days flew by the way they do, And I headed back to Georgia when the week down there was trough.
Between Pontchartrain and the river, I learned more than I planned; I was young and somewhat foolish, Was gonna ask her for her hand. But the moment never felt the way they say that it should feel, And to this day I wonder if anything was real.
She married three years later, and moved to Galveston, And had a pair of daughters, before she gave him a son. Work takes me to New Orleans, every now and then, And sometimes on Canal I wonder, what might have been.
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CHORUS 1113
So the Write Better Poetry PAD challenge yesterday (11/13 – Friday the thirteenth), was to write about LUCK, and any and everything I tried to work around the following just didn’t fit, and I liked it enough to not wanna “treat it” disrespectfully...
CHORUS 1113 G. Smith (BMI) ====•*•==== Was it luck, or fate, That made, me wait? And catch that later flight? Either way, All I can say, Is my life was changed that night.
If something surfaces, I’ll letcha know... likewise, if something comes to your mind, let’s see if we can work together...😁
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THREE
Hadda write something with a number in title for the Write Better Poetry 2020 November Poem-A-Day Chapbook Challenge... Hope the following counts~ 🙄
THREE G. Smith (BMI) =•=•=•= Three in the morning, Halfway to dawn, The house is so empty, Whenever you’re gone. Still I walk the line, That we both have drawn; At three in the morning, Halfway to dawn.
After two broken hearts, Third time’s the charm; Still it’s three strikes and you’re out, They send you back to the farm. And three on a match, Brings somebody harm; But after two broken hearts, Maybe third time’s the charm.
Three little words, That changed everything, The first time I hear ‘em, They made my heart sing. Said from the heart, They led to this ring. Three little words, That change everything.
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THE STRENGTH
It being Tuesday, the Write Better Poetry November PAD Chapbook Challenge was a 2-fer as per usual ~ Write a HARD piece or an EASY piece...
Being who I am, I hadda do ‘em both together...
THE STRENGTH (c) 2020 - G. Smith (BMI) ~=~=~ It’s hard to take it easy, When your world is burning down; When it seems like everything’s gone up in flames. When it feels like it’s a matter, Of life or death, life or death, But folks treat it like it’s fun and games, fun and games.
Yeah, it’s hard to take it easy, When you’re running out of gas, When you’re broken down on the shoulder of the road; When nothing wants to start up, And no other ride’s in sight, in sight, And you’re carrying a load, a heavy load.
Is the light at the end of the tunnel, Just an oncoming train? Is the cloud on the horizon, Bringing winds and heavy rain? I can try to white-knuckle things, Back into their place; But then I hear His quiet voice, And I feel His saving grace.
Yes, it’s hard to take it easy, When you try it on your own; When you’re feeling all alone; Weary from the burden; Yet He’s got the strength to lift me, the strength that, Rolled away the stone, the strength I’ve always known, to heal me soul and bone, and that rolled, Away the stone,
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OUR YOUNG’NS
The Writers Digest/Write Better Poetry PAD Chapbook Challenge daily prompt was another “fill in the blank,” as on OUR (BLANK).
Here’s how I filled it out~
OUR YOUNG’NS (c) 2020 - G. Smith (BMI) ===•••=== Our young’ns are ours, But they’re definitely themselves; Just look at their pictures; Up there on the shelves.
Our oldest one looks, A little like me, ‘Round his chin and his nose, It’s easy to see.
His smile and his dimples, Are hers through and through, And his easy going style, Match her eyes of light blue.
Our youngest boy’s slender, With red spikey hair; A gentle kind spirit, And he’s strong as a bear.
He loves hunting and fishing, And hiking the trails. Old country music, And shaggy dog tales.
Our young’ns, our young’ns, Are steeped in our past; And they’re growing, they’re growing, They’re growing much too fast.
The one in between them, Defines middle child, Where his brothers are calm, She’s a little bit wild.
She’s the spark in our engine, Keeps things running along; Holds her own without flinching, And sings her own kind of song.
Our young’ns, our young’ns, Are steeped in our past; And they’re growing, they’re growing, They’re growing much too fast.
They’re growing, they’re growing, They’re growing up too fast.
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THIS TIME
The 11/7 Write Better Poetry 2020 November PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt was THIS TIME.
This time I drafted:
THIS TIME G. Smith (BMI) –•–•–•– I made a mistake, Like so often before; This time you met me, At the front door.
You made your points, I completely agreed; This time I committed, To meeting your needs.
One more try, One more shot, This time this chance, Is all I’ve got.
So, This time I’ll try harder, This time I’ll get it right; This time I’ll pay attention, To the darkness and the light.
This time I’ll remember, This time I won’t forget; This time I’ll do the best I can, And live with no regret.
This time I’ll ask forgiveness, This time I’ll take a knee; This time I’ll think of you alone, With little thought for me.
It won’t be easy, Only need one question in mind; Who am I fooling, This time?
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NEXT TO ME
Today’s Writing Better Poetry PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write something “in media res” or already in the middle of the action...
Lemme know what ya think...
NEXT TO ME (c) 2020 – G. Smith (BMI) •=•=•=• On the road, on my own, Walking in the rain; With a load, all alone, Burdened by the pain; Of having to travel, This path in the cold, Face in the wind, And feeling so old.
And here you come, Right in the middle of the storm; Offering your heart so safe and warm. What came before doesn’t matter any more, What comes next we’ll have and see, But I know that I can face it, If I have you, Next to me.
I had stumbled, tumbled, With just myself to blame; I fumbled, and mumbled, Something about the shame, Of failing the ones, Who matter the most; By leaving their lives, Like a ghost, like a ghost.
Yet here you come, Right in the middle of the storm; Offering your heart so safe and warm. What came before doesn’t matter any more, What comes next we’ll have and see, But I know that I can face it, If I have you, Next to me.
Here you come, Right in the middle of the storm; Offering your heart so safe and warm. What came before doesn’t matter any more, What comes next we’ll have and see, But I know that I can face it, If I have you, Next to me.
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