A GAME THAT BOTH CAN WIN

The Tueaday, 4/16 PAD 2-fer prompt at Poetic Asides (writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides), is either/and Catch and/or Release.

Here's what I'm pitching.

A GAME THAT BOTH CAN WIN © 2019 - G. Smith (BMI) =======°======= It starts out, In early spring, A toss or two, And then a fling, Over the head, Across the yard; A crazy throw, And kinda hard.

It took a while, For me to learn, It wasn’t always, About my turn. They were young, I should’ve known; Sometimes a wild pitch, Would be thrown.

Still I’d say, “Grab your ball, “Grab your glove; “Time to practice, “A little love. “Back and forth “That’s how you play, “Sometimes one “Will get away. “Just chase it down, “And start again, “It’s a game, “That has no end.”

There might be curves, Or in the dirt, Or high and tight, And those might hurt.

Time to be patient, Time to be kind, When the ball’s in the tall weeds, It can be hard to find.

It’s all in the wind-up, In how you throw, And in the release – How you let them, Go.

So, Grab your ball, Grab your glove; Time to practice, A little love, Back and forth That’s how you play, Sometimes one Will get away Just chase it down, And start again, It’s a game, That has no end, It’s a game, That both can win.

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RIGHT AGAIN

The 4/15/19 April PAD prompt (at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides), was PREDICTION... Don't need to be seer or a swami or a soothsayer to tell where this one might go... Lemme know if you're interested in this, or working up something else entirely...

RIGHT AGAIN G. Smith (BMI) ====||==== I don’t need a crystal ball, To tell me what will happen; Don’t need a Gypsy woman, To read it in her cards. Don’t need bones and stones for, Prognostication, I don’t need a horoscope, To see it in the stars.

She’ll be, Right, again, Like she always seems to be, Right, again, And you know where that leaves me. It’s always so much easier, If I would just agree; That she’s right, again, Like she always seems to be.

I don’t need tea leaves, In the bottom of a glass; Or a medicine man, To divine it from the smoke. I don’t need a prophet, To tell me what will pass, Or a fortune from a cookie, That’s usually a joke.

‘Cause she’ll be, Right, again, Like she always seems to be. Right, again, You know where that leaves me. It’s always so much easier, If I would just agree, That she’s right, again, Like she always seems to be.

The weatherman only gets it, About eighty percent of the time. Heads she wins, tails I lose, And she gets to keep the dime.

‘Cause she’s right, again, Like she always seems to be.

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VIRGINIA

The April Poem-A-Day prompt for 4/14 was to use the name of a State, Province, or Territory as the title and then write something...

Well, here's something... with lines gleaned and cleaned from a radio interview...

VIRGINIA (c) 2019 G. Smith (BMI) ----====|====---- Virginia, my dear, How did, We wind up here? And is this where we both wanted to be? Sometimes our questions, Limit our answers, And sometimes our vision, Limits what we see. Who are we to be with one another? How are we to be, just you and me? Something more than friends, but less than lovers? What will we become, As days so quickly run? What will we become, As the days so quickly run?

How many times have my words bruised you? And how many times have you done what you must do? Does it mean that it’s painful being ‘round me? It’s more than just a feeling, can’t you see? Can’t you see? It’s more than just a feeling; It’s the truth, the truth; It’s more than just a feeling, It’s the truth.

Virginia, my dear, How did, We wind up here? And is this where we both wanted to be?

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FROM THE CURVE

The April PAD prompt for 4/13 was VIEW, and here's what I saw atop the Grady's... FROM THE CURVE © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) =====|×|===== From eight stories up you can see Stone Mountain, From twelve out to Kennesaw; From sixteen all the way up to North Georgia; You think you can see it all.

There's the city's broad skyline, Its towers of steel, glass and chrome, And the bumper-to-bumper Downtown Connector, And the bridges some people call home, call home; The bridges some people call home.

Six Flags is on the horizon, Twinkling there after dark, Like the ferris wheel and the fountains, Down in Centennial Park,

To the south, the world's busiest airport, Next door, the gold Capitol dome, And the State University campus, And the bridges some people call home, call home; The bridges some people call home.

The parking decks, the MARTA trains, The Old Fourth Ward, the Delta planes. Auburn Avenue, Underground, So much to be seen by looking around. So much overlooked when looking around; Like the bridges some people call home.

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A SONG FOR YOU

The 4/11 April PAD Prompt (from writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides) was write a DEDICATED piece...

This one does double duty... About dedication to someone, and dedicated to her as well...

A SONG FOR YOU (for you) © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) ====•==•==•==== This is a song for you, for you; This is a song for you. For the way the you treat me, The things that you do, This is a song for you, for you; This is a song for you.

I know that I'm not perfect, And you think I don't try; You won't tell me more than that, Then leave me asking why. When I said, "I do" I meant I would, Love, honor, and obey; Now I know that you're not listening, By the way you turn away.

Still, this is a song for you, for you; This is a song for you. For the way that you treat me, The things that you do, This is a song for you, for you; This is a song for you.

If it's not a big deal, Then why bring it up? Mountains from molehills, A storm in a cup~ Always looking for reasons, Criticize and complain; I'm trying to pinpoint, When things started to change.

But this is a song for you, for you; This is a song for you. Despite how you treat me, You know I'll be true, This is a song for you, for you; This is a song for you.

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THE OTHER SIDE OF CALIFORNIA

From the Poetic Asides (writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides) April PAD Challenge comes the 4/10 prompt, LONE... And my two cents...

THE OTHER SIDE OF CALIFORNIA G. Smith (BMI) ===×=== Between Mount Whitney and Death Valley, Highest and lowest in the Forty-eight, Is the other side of California, The other side of the Golden State.

I grew up in that small, small town, And here's one thing that I know; Some are bound to hang around, Some are bound to go.

Lone Pine, Lone Pine, What's hers is hers, What's mine is mine. And what we share Will stay back there, In Lone Pine.

Kate and I grew up, and grew, together, Before we grew apart. We took off to San Fransisco, And that's where she broke my heart.

That big city couldn't hold her, Any more than my love could; She missed the other side of California, And when she left, she left for good.

Lone Pine, Lone Pine; What's hers is hers, What's mine is mine. And what we share, Will stay back there, In Lone Pine.

Between Mount Whitney and Death Valley, Highest and lowest in the Forty-eight, Is the other side of California, And my lovely, darling Kate.

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LOVE LET IT HAPPEN

The Tuesday 4/9 PAD prompt at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides, is/was a two-fer – LOVE / ANTI-LOVE.

So, this is for Easter...

LOVE LET IT HAPPEN © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) ====†==== Anti-love put Him on the cross, Love let it happen; Anti-love called it all a loss, Love let it happen. Anti-love put Him in a grave, Anti-love says I can't be saved, Love simply gave and gave, Love made it happen.

Love let it happen, Love had it planned, Love let it happen, Thorn-scarred head, nail-scarred hands, Love let it happen.

Anti-love had Peter denying, Love let it happen; Anti-love had Mary crying, Love let it happen; Anti-love had me bound in shame, Anti-love said we're all to blame, Love simply whispered our names, Love made it happen.

Love let it happen, Love had it planned, Love let it happen, Thorn-scarred head, nail-scarred hands, Love let it happen.

Anti-love put Him on the cross, Love let it happen, Anti-love called all a loss, Love let it happen. Anti-love put Him in a tomb, Turned midday into darkest gloom; Love rolled the stone away, Turned midnight into brightest day, Love made it happen, Love made it happen.

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JEALOUS MAN

The 4/7 Poet Asides PAD prompt is JEALOUS...

JEALOUS MAN G. Smith (BMI) ===÷===÷=== Some people always hope for the best, But don't expect that will come to pass. They dream of being happy ever after, But aren't surprised when it doesn't last.

Sometimes it doesn't take very much, Just a petty little nothing at all, Something about a small nagging doubt, And that's when the tears start to fall.

I've known you since I was, Twenty-two, And you were just barely twenty-one. But something has changed, and I'm feeling strange, Wondering what I have done.

Is it me, or is there somebody else, Who's made you see me in a different light? I can tell by the way you have nothing to say, That maybe, just maybe I'm right.

I'm not a jealous man, I try to understand; I have faith in you, In everything you do. But there are little things, It's clear the joy they bring, Is something all can see, Doesn't come from me.

There was a time we were never apart, There was a time we shared one single heart; There was a time, it seems that time has run out, And all you have left me is heartache and doubt.

I'm not a jealous man, I try to understand. I still have faith in you, I will have faith in you, In everything you do, I will still love you, too, 'Cause I'm not a jealous man. ≈≈≈≠≈≈≈ writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides

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STOLEN LOVE

The 4/5/19 Poetic Asides PAD prompt is to write a STOLEN poem (or song).

This is sort of a bluegrass thing... Lemme know if your think about working on this – or something like it...

STOLEN LOVE G. Smith (BMI) ====×+×==== Stolen kisses, Ain't a crime; Stolen moments, That's just time. Stolen feelings, Is where it starts, Stolen love, Then broken hearts. Stolen love, Broken hearts.

She & I, Went back a ways, Going out, Since high school days

People thought, We made a pair, With my dark looks, And her blond hair.

Stolen kisses, Ain't a crime; Stolen moments, That's just time. Stolen feelings, Is where it starts, Stolen love, Then broken hearts. Stolen love, Broken hearts.

She met a guy, I knew his name, I didn't worry, But all the same; When I saw her, Kiss his cheek, That's when I felt, My knees go weak.

Stolen kisses, Ain't a crime; Stolen moments, That's just time. Stolen feelings, Is where it starts, Stolen love, Then broken hearts. Stolen love, Broken hearts. :

Her love is hers, And hers alone, He can't steal, What I don't own I thought I had, What I'd never find, He can't steal, What wasn't mine.

Stolen kisses, Ain't a crime; Stolen moments, That's just time. Stolen feelings, Is where it starts, Stolen love, Then broken hearts. Stolen love, Broken hearts.

It goes to show, I thought she knew, But what you thinks, Not always true.

(Check out Robert Lee Brewer's blog at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides)

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MONET

Today's Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day prompt (writersdigeat.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides), was pick a painter, use his/her name as the title, and write something...

MONET © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) =====+===== I wish I had his patience, I wish I had his skills, But I've learned to watch the light change, As it moves across the hills.

His paintings of the church front, At different times of day, Taught me how to pause and look, At stops along my way.

Those rivers in the morning, Haystack fields at noon; Some in late September, Others done in early June.

His garden in the north of France, Make me wish that I was home, But the joy in every brush-stroke, Travels with me as I roam.

And I may be just a driver, Running up and down the roads, Hauling freight and watching weight, Delivering my loads. You may not think about me, Up here in my cab, But the world I carry with me, Is anything but drab. Yes, the world I carry with me, Is anything but drab.

And I think of him in Houston, And hauling hogs across the plains; Along the coast of Oregon, Through southeast Georgia rains.

And I wish I had his patience, I wish I had his skills; But I've learned to watch the light change, As it moves along the hills. I've learned to watch the light change, As I move among the hills.

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