I'M SORRY I DIDN'T SAY I'M SORRY

Day 23 of the Poetic Asides November Poem-A-Day Chapbook Challenge is to write an APOLOGY poem (or in my case, song...)

I'M SORRY I DIDN'T SAY I'M SORRY G. Smith (BMI) -------------------- It was frosty when I got up this morning, Still a lirtle chilly when I came home from work; It had nothing to do with the weather outside, And everything to do with me being a jerk.

I came in after a week of Mondays Ready to rock and blow off steam, She had other plans, but I didn't have a clue, I guess I'm not as bright as I sometimes seem.

So, I'm sorry I didn't say I'm sorry, You're right, I should've said you were right; I know I should've said that I should've known, It's all my fault about last night.

I didn't hear what I should've heard, And I didn't see what was plain as day; It doesn't mean what you think it means, And there's only one thing that I can say.

And that's, I'm sorry I didn't say I'm sorry, You're right, I should've said you were right; I know I should've said that I should've known, It's all my fault about last night. It's all my fault about last night.

It was frosty when I got up this morning, Still a little chilly when I came home from work.

***** Robert Lee Brewer's blog, Poetic Asides, is found at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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WAITING FOR YESTERDAY

Here's another one for the Day 22 prompt: Waiting for _____.

WAITING FOR YESTERDAY (c);2015 G. Smith (BMI) ------------------------------------ I come home again to a house that stands empty, I know I was wrong, but that won't change a thing; I've tried and I've tried to tell her I'm sorry, But that's a bell that I'll never unring; That's a bell that I'll never unring.

I turn out the lights, but leave on the TV, Keep the volume at a low him; I sleep a little, but not long enough, Praying for daylight to come, to come, Praying for daylight to come.

I'm Waiting for yesterday, To go back before I say, Those words I'll regret, those words I regret; Waiting for yesterday, Before she drove away, And maybe she'll give me, Another chance yet. Yes, maybe she'll give me another chance yet. I finally get up, pour my cup of coffee Go out and crank up the Ram; Back it around, and turn on the headlights, And see the fool that I am, I am, See the fool that I aam;

For, Waiting for yesterday, To go back before I say, Those words I'll regret, those words I regret; Waiting for yesterday, Before she drove away, And maybe she'll give me, Another chance yet. Yes, maybe she'll give me another chance yet.

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WAITING FOR YOU

Day 22's prompt in the ongoing chapbook challenge is complete the phrase 'WAITING FOR _______"

As it's right at Advent...

WAITING FOR YOU G. Smith (BMI) ———————- We are waiting, Waiting for you, Eagerly, eagerly, waiting for You, We are waiting, Waiting for You; Eagerly waiting for You.

Your name, Shall be, The Prince of Peace, We are waiting, waiting for You. And Your Kingdom, Will never cease; We are eagerly waiting for You.

Yes, We are waiting, Waiting for you, Eagerly, eagerly, waiting for You, We are waiting, Waiting for You; Eagerly waiting for You.

Your name Shall be Immanuel, We are waiting, waiting for You. Of Your Glories We will ever tell, We are eagerly waitimg for You.

Yes, We are waiting, Waiting for you, Eagerly, eagerly, Waiting for You, We are waiting, Waiting for You; Eagerly waiting for You.

You shall, Be called Everlasting Father; We are are wwaiting, waiting for You. You will, Be called, Wonderful Counselor; We are agerly waiting for You.

Unto us, A Child is born; Unto us A Son is given, We are waiting, waiting; We are eagerly waiting for You.

+•+•+•+ Here I where you can find the prompt and other replies: writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides

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STRANGE

The day 21 prompt of the Chapbook Challenge is to write a STRANGE piece...

STRANGE G. Smith (BMI) --------------------- I went back down to where I grew up, Took a walk around the square; Everything seemed smaller than I recall, And half of the stores I remember aren't here.

The bell in the tower still rings the hour, The War Memorial still stands, But the picture show is now a saloon, With froo-froo drinks and hipster bands.

Strange, How time can rearrange, Those things, We thought would never change, Strange, The game Memory plays, How nothing stays, The same. Strange.

I drove by the high school, they're still the cougars, It's still a big game each Friday night. There at the gate, outside the stadium, Nothing remains from our big break-up fight.

Strange, How time can rearrange, Those things, We thought would never change, Strange, The game Memory plays, How nothing stays, The same. Strange.

How can I be home, And still be so homesick; Things so familiar, Now seem so

Strange, How time can rearrange, Those things, We thought would never change, Strange, The game Memory plays, How nothing stays, The same. Strange.

***•°•***

Just like yesterday, the full nine yards can be found at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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ARTIFACT OR ARTIFICTION

DAY 20 of the Chapbook Challenge - Use at least three of the following six words: relent, horrendous, artifact, lagoon, wobble, plunder

I managed all six..

ARTIFACT OR ARTIFICTION G. Smith (BMI) ---------------------- Underneath a crescent moon, We left the blue lagoon; In search of great adventure and treasure. We headed to the west, Where we knew our chance was best, To fill our hold with gold beyond measure.

The weather turned horrendous, The wind and waves, relentless, I knew our little boat was going down. Would we keep our lives and plunder? We seemed to be going under; I knew at once that we were gonna drown.

Artifact or artifction? It's part of my addiction, I always have to have a tale to tell. Artifact or artifiction? It's a pretty strange affliction, But, I think, I handle it real well.

Another day, another time, Another hill we had to climb, Looking for lost cities in the woods. We found a ring of stones, With one set off alone, And we knew that we were on to something good.

Arrow heads and broken pots Crumbled walls and burial plots, And a totem pole that towered to the sky. I bumped it when I stumbled, It wobbled, then it tumbled, Falling and I knew that I would die.

Artifact or artifction? It's part of my addiction, I always have to have a tale to tell. Artifact or artifiction? It's a pretty strange affliction, But, I think, I handle it real well.

I once had a girl, We gave it whirl, But it seemed like it wouldn't work out. When she said goodbye, I didn't cry; On that, you can have no doubt.

Artifact or artifction? It's part of my addiction, I always have to have a tale to tell. Artifact or artifiction? It's a pretty strange affliction, But, I think, I handle it real well. Yes, I think I handle it quite well.

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Like all the other prompts this month, you can find this one at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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IT'S JUST A THING

The day 19 prompt is THING.

Here's someTHING I came up with...

IT'S JUST A THING (c) 2015 -G. Smith (BMI) ----------------------- It's just a thing, Like a chicken wing; No flash or bling-bling, It's just a thing.

It's just a gee-gaw Passed down from Paw-paw, Some kind of bear claw, It's just a gee-gaw.

All the junk, I accumulate, All the this-n-that, All the attic dead-weight. It's a first world problem, So they say; But it's just some things, I can't throw away.

It's just a whatnot, Something else that I've got; It ain't worth a whole lot; It's just a whatnot.

All the junk, I accumulate, All the this-n-that, All the basement dead-weight. It's a first world problem, So they say; But it's just some things, I can't throw away.

It's just a thing; Like a chicken wing. ***•*** The November PAD Chapbook Challenge can be found at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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WHO CAME UP WITH THIS?

The day 18 prompt for the poetry challenge is to write an IDEA poem.

My reply is not intended as commentary on the prompt, but might be read as a critique of my response. :-)

Y'all be the judges... WHO CAME UP WITH THIS? (c) 2015/G. Smith (BMI) ---------------------- I've seen some strange things, In my days on this earth, A lot with no value, A lot with no worth, But this is the one thing That sure takes the cake; It beats all the worst of my, Many mistakes.

Never seen anyone, Try this before; Doubt that I'll ever, See any more. Sometimes I think Outside of the box; But this thought's dumber Than a sack full of rocks.

Yeah, this thought's dumber, Than a sack full of rocks.

I have to ask; Who, Came up, With this? What? Were they thinking? Couldn't they see, This was not meant to be? Are you sure, That they weren't drinking? Who, Came up, With this?

I'm one to talk about, Thinking things through; Grab the bull by the horns, And see what he'll do. Sometimes it turns out, Better than planned, And sometimes my wife says, "Ain't that just like a man."

But still I have to ask; Who, Came up, With this? What? Were they thinking? As ideas go, This one's a no; Are you sure, That they weren't drinking? Who, Came up, With this? (I wouldn't put my name on it either.)

----*---- All the prompts for the November challenge can be found at: writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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LOVE IS FOR THE BIRDS

Being Tuesday, the November PAD Challenge is a two-fer: Complete the phrase and write: "Ode To A _____" ~ or ~ "_______ Is For The Birds"

LOVE IS FOR THE BIRDS G. Smith (BMI) --------------------- Not long ago, Well, that's how it seems, I met a woman, From out of my dreams. Soft hazel eyes, And long auburn hair; I tried my best, To show how much I cared. I loved that woman; Did she ever love me? Love, Is for the birds, And the bees. Love, Is for the birds, And the bees.

Not too much later, It wasn't long enough, She met some Rodeo clown who was tough, She climbed in his saddle, And they rode away; She never asked if I Thought she should stay. I loved that woman, Plain she didn't love me. And love, Is for the birds, And the bees. Yes love, Is for the birds, And the bees.

Love, Is for the birds, And the bees; If you Love something, You should set it free. If it doesn't come back It was not Meant to be; Love, Is for the birds And the bees.

First thing this morning, Or maybe last night, I realized I was still wound too tight. I have to let go, I don't know if I can; Even though it's clear, She'd rather be with that man. I loved that woman, She never loved me. Love, Is for the birds, And the bees. Love Is for the birds.

)+•+(

This prompt, like the others, can be found at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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HAUNTED

The Day 16 prompt is HAUNTED.

So...

HAUNTED (c) 2015 G. Smith (BMI) --------------------- This, Is a funeral, For our love. Throw the dirt, On the grave, And walk away. All, Of the words, Have been spoken, There's not, All that much, Left to say.

And I'm haunted by the memory, Of what you and I were meant to be; Now it feels like a ghost to me; A shadow of what used to be. Haunted bh, The memory.

There's, A long dark road, From our past; Where the stars, Shone on, Our cloudless nights. But now, The moon, Is hidden in the trees, And we walk, Alone together, Without light.

And I'm haunted by the memory, Of what you and I were meant to be; Now it feels like a ghost to me; A shadow of what used to be. Haunted by The memory.

Will The sun Rise in the morning, And reveal This all A dream? The worst Kind of nightmare, Where It's As real As it seems?

And I'm haunted by the memory, Of what you and I were meant to be; How it feels like a ghost to me; A shadow of what used to be. Haunted by The memory.

Haunted by, The memory.

***+*** Found, with other writerly stuff, at: writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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DAY TO DAY

The day 15 prompt for the ongoing Poem-A-Day challenge is a RITUAL poem.

Here's what I pulled together.

DAY TO DAY G. Smith (BMI) ---------------------- I get up every morning at a quarter of dawn, Stumble to the kitchen, turn the coffee pot on; Sit at the table, read one of the Psalms, Then step through the door to the quiet and calm.

With the sun going down, I come through the door, Tired and weary like most nights before. I enjoy what I do, but somedays it's a chore; And sometimes I wonder if there isn't more.

The things that we do And the reasons we do them, The same old routines, Given reasons and rhymes. We can try to find meanings, Or just try to get through them, Be grateful for others and Treasure simple times.

I get up every morning at a quarter of dawn, Stumble to the kitchen, turn the coffee pot on; Sit at the table, read one of the Psalms, Then step through the door to the quiet and calm.

As has been the case all month, everything can be found at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides

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