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G. C. Smith / Blog

DEAR KATY

Well... it's the November Poem-A-Day Chapbook Challenge time again over on Robert Lee Brewer's Writer's Digest blog, Poetic Asides...

...and the prompt for Monday, 11/1/21 was "CORRESPONDENCE..."

That said... for your consideration... DEAR KATY (c) 2021 G. Smith (BMI) =====+===== Dear Katy; I'm not sure what to say; I've tried to write this letter, Since the day you went away. I can't count the times I've started, But they all sound so brokenhearted, Dear Katy; I'm not sure what to say.

Dear Katy; Things have slowly come around, But I still see you, Everywhere in town; On the park bench, at the drug store, On the sidewalk, at the front door; Dear Katy; Things have slowly come around.

Now I know it's not my place, And you know it's not my style; To say I miss your face, To say I miss your smile. To say I miss your laughter, To say I miss you touch. Dear Katy; I miss all of you so much.

Dear Katy; I suppose I ought to close; And say I'm sorry, though, My sorrow seldom shows. I carry it inside me, Where I'm the only one who can see; Dear Katy; I suppose I ought to close.

I've tried to write this letter, Since the day you went away, Dear Katy; I still don't know what to say.

===+====

If you like this, or see something else here on the blog page, please don't hesitate to reach out and let's discuss working on something together sometime...

g

LAWN ORDER

Not in response to any particular prompt other than the mindlessness of circling the sod and paying enough attention to not run over septic tank clean out…

LAWN ORDER (c) 2021G. Smith (BMI) ====[ ]==== Riding the John Deere, Now that the sky’s clear, We’ve had so much rain the yard is a mess. Back and forth through the tall grass; Mulching with each pass; But it is kind of zen, I have to confess… Wastin’ a Saturday on lawn order; Seems it takes up all of my spare time; Working the yard ain’t really that hard, Still lawn order, should be a crime.

Rye or Bermuda? Prob’ly Fescue — duh… Maybe it’s simply St. Augustine. Could be it’s clover, That’s spreading all over; Don’t really matter as long as it’s green. Wastin’ a Saturday on lawn order; Seems it takes up all of my spare time; Working the yard ain’t really that hard, Still lawn order, should be a crime.

Trimmin’ the hedge ‘n’, Doing the edgin’ Pickin’ up sticks all over the ground; Feedin’’n’ seeding’, Lord I hate weedin’, Rakin’s back-breakin’ when fall rolls around.

Wastin’ a Saturday on lawn order; Seems it takes up all of my spare time; Working the yard ain’t really that hard, Still lawn order, should be a crime. Lawn order, should be a crime.

NOTHING

Well, it’s that time of year again ~ the April Poem–A–Day Challenge over at Writer’s Digest (writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry) – and yeah, I’m a bit behind).

Today, “countdown Saturday” (4/3/21), had the prompt COMMUNICATION ~

NOTHING (c) 2021 – G. Smith (BMI) ====|||==== I don’t know how to tell you, In ways that you can see, How I feel about you, And what you mean to me.

Sure I run my mouth a bit, But the words escape me now; I know I’ve got to say it, I’m not sure that I know how.

But there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, for you. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. When the world is telling only lies, Know that I’ll be true; No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do – for you, There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.

Love’s more than a feeling, It’s the way I wanna live; It’s not about what I can take, It’s about what I can give.

It’s that little something extra, That comes without a thought; Things I want you to have, Things that can’t be bought.

And there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, for you. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. I’d paint the sky green if you got, Tired of its blue; No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do – for you, There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.

I hope you got the message, I hope you understand, I want you beside me, I wanna hold your hand.

And – there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, for you. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. I’d lay right down in traffic, If you asked me to; There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do – for you, for you; There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do. ====iii====

STILL AND ALL

It being rainy & me still trying to catch up, here’s my reply to the 11/27 PAD prompt, WHAT’S NEXT...

STILL AND ALL (c) 2020 – G. Smith (BMI) ===xxvii=== Rene and I sat at the Waffle House, The night we graduated; We were really only friends, Though once or twice we’d dated.

I was bound for Georgia Tech, She, Valdosta State; We were pondering our futures, When we realized it was late.

What now, That this is over? What’s next, Now that it’s through? When the sun comes tomorrow, I’m still me, and you’re you, But still and all, Where will we go? Who will we be? What will we do? Still and all, still and all; Still and all.

She’s a doctor now in Sharpsburg; I’m in maintenance up in Rome; Our paths have crossed a time or two, When both of us go home, go home.

She’s happy doing what she does; Truth be told, so am I; And I’ve never stopped to ask, “What if?” I’ve never wondered why.

Between that night now, Between that day and this; I know the question we’d‘ve asked, If we had only kissed.

What now, Is this over? What’s next, Now that it’s through? When the sun comes tomorrow, I’m still me, and you’re you, But still and all, Where will we go? Who will we be? What will we do? Still and all, still and all; Still and all.

GOTTA BE

Playing catch up with the WritersDigest.com Poem-A-Day challenge. What follows is a few days late, for the last Monday prompt to write an EXPLANATION piece.

GOTTA BE (c) 2020 - G. Smith (BMI) :::x::: I call it it a reason, You say, “An excuse.” I ask for forgiveness, You say,”What’s the use?” There’s gotta be a halfway point between, Something that won’t turn into a Tarantino scene.

Sure I’ve been late maybe a Time or three; And you’ve always Forgiven me. Was this time just a poor choice of words? Not meaning at all whatever you heard?

There’s gotta be an, Explanation , For the way things are turning out. Never meant to cause you, Frustration, Or given you reason to doubt. Seems something’s got lost in, Translation, You don’t hear a thing I say; There’s gotta be an, Explanation, For things being this way, this way; There’s gotta be an, Explanation, For things being this way.

You know I always put you, At the front of the line; Everything I have, Is yours, not mine. All the things we do, The future that I see; On the other hand maybe, It’s you, not me. On the other hand, maybe, It’s you.

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.

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 ~

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.

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.

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...😁