RUNNING ALONE

Better a day late and a dollar short than not showing up at all...

This is my scribbling on yesterday's Poetic Asides 2020 April Poem-A-Day Countdown Challenge - T-9 (what a mouthful...)

The prompt was ESCAPE...

RUNNING ALONE G. Smith (BMI) ===IX=== Daddy was a mill hand up in the hills, and, He worked himself half to death. He came down with gray-lung when he was still young; Couldn’t hardly catch his breath.

I watched Mama crying, knowing he was dying; Nothing anyone could do. She didn’t last long, after he passed on, And my time was coming, too, I knew; My time was coming, too.

My time was coming, too, I knew; My days in Arnco were through.

And when I saw my chance and I took it, I slipped right out the door; Nothing there to hold me; I wasn’t goin’ back for more. It may not have been a bad life, But it felt like a prison to me; With my back to wall, I wouldn’t crawl, I’d rather run all alone and be free, be free; I’d rather run all alone and be free.

I got busted, with a guy I trusted, Who left me there holding the bag. I did the time for my petty crime, But my files were already flagged.

My sister and brother still mourned for our mother, But there was nothing else to make me stay. So I went on the thumb, they could call me a bum, I quit caring what they had to say…

My time had come, I knew, I knew; My days in Arnco were through.

And when I saw my chance and I took it, I slipped right out the door; Nothing there to hold me; I wasn’t goin’ back for more. It may not have been a bad life, But it felt like a prison to me; With my back to wall, I wouldn’t crawl, I’d rather run all alone and be free, be free; I’d rather run all alone and be free.

It’s been so many years, I’ve lost track of all the tears, And all the lonely miles in between. If I could do it all again, I know that in the end, There are many things I’m glad that I have seen,

And traveling the roads, carrying the loads, And the many different choices that I chose; There’s not much I wouldn’t do, but this much I know is true; Leaving Arnco isn’t one of those, Leaving Arnco wasn’t one of those.

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QUARANTINE BLUES

Well, I s'pose you knew something like this was bound to show up sooner or later... with apologies to Jimmy Rodgers... and be sure to wash your hands when you get through... ===+=== QUARANTINE BLUES (c) 2020 - G. Smith (BMI) ===>•<=== Got the quarantine blues, Stay in the house all day; Got the quarantine blues, Stay in the house all day. Got nothing to do, But let the TV play.

Ain’t got no symptoms, But I keep on washing my hands; Ain’t got no symptoms, I keep on washing my hands; I feel for the victims, In all those far away lands.

I got the quarantine blues, I got the quarantine blues; Will I pull through, These quarantine blues?

Keeping social distance, But I sure need a hug; Keeping social distance, I could use a hug. Worried ‘bout my resistance, To this foreign bug.

Working from home, Ain’t as easy as it sounds. Working from home, Ain’t as easy as it sounds. These old quarantine blues, Are running me around.

I got the quarantine blues, I got the quarantine blues; Will I pull through, These quarantine blues?

Can’t go out to dinner, Can’t go to the show; Can’t go out to dinner, Can’t go out to the show; Can’t catch an airplane, There ain’t no place to go.

I got the quarantine blues, Stuck in the house all day; Got those quarantine blues, Stuck in the house all day. How much longer, Lord? Ain’t no way to say.

I got the quarantine blues, I got the quarantine blues; Will I pull through, These quarantine blues? Will I pull through, These cabin fevered, lowdown, quarantine blues?

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MODERN TIMES

Given the current corona crisis, the blog running the annual April Poem-A-Day challenge (writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides), decided to start early due to self-quarantining and social distancing, and today, the "countdown" started with the prompt to write something about TIME...

All that to say... here's what I came up with... ====X==== MODERN TIMES (c) 2020 - G. Smith (BMI) ===X=== Modern times; The old days used to be, Modern times; We'll look back one day and see, Modern times were just the start for you and me; Modern times were just the start for you and me.

Granny used to talk about the good ol' days; We used to think she was just set in her ways. There were tough times, then, it's true, And some bad ones - more than a few; But they faded away with distance in the haze.

Modern times, The old days used to be, Modern times, We'll look back one day and see, Modern times were just the start for you and me; Modern times were just the start for you and me.

We used to dream about the days to come; About the the things we'd do, and not what we had done. When we stopped and turned around, Today could not be found; What made us think we couldn't walk, but had to run?

Modern times, The old days used to be, Modern times, We'll look back one day and see, Modern times were just the start for you and me; Modern times were just the start for you and me. Modern times were just the first step on our road to being free. ====X=== Here's hoping y'all're writing/practicing during this downtime... and if you'd like to collaborate on this, or something else you have in mind,, please hit me up...

In the meantime, wash your hands, stay hydrated, and keep 'em in tune...

g

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HAVE A CLUE

Yet another attempt at the prompt "HAVE _____" – This one's real close to being autobiographical...

Your thoughts/comments are, as always, welcome...

HAVE A CLUE © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) :~:~:~:~: Sitting on the curb in front of the Waffle House, Down by the interstate; Me and Renee after graduation, Never been out this late.

Head on my shoulder, neither one speaking, Waiting on the coming day; Something felt like everything was changing, Here's what I wanted to say:

"Have a clue, How much, I love you, Or what, I would do, Just to see you smile, And make it all worthwhile? Do you know, How far, I would go, Just so, I could show, How much you mean to me? Can't you see?"

But the sun came up and the moment past, I drove her home across town. Walked her to her door, but all I could manage was, "See ya later, see ya around."

I went to work and she to Valdosta, Studying for medical school; We promised to write, even mailed a few letters, Still I struggled to keep my cool.

"Have a clue, How much, I love you, Or what, I would do, Just to see you smile, And make it all worthwhile? Do you know, How far, I would go, Just so, I could show, How much you mean to me? Can't you see?"

That was years ago and now she's a doctor, Divorced, and so am I. Think I'll call and ask her to dinner, And this time I'll give it a try.

"Have a clue, How much, I love you, Or what, I would do, Just to see you smile, And make it all worthwhile? Do you know, How far, I would go, Just so, I could show, How much you mean to me? Can't you see? Have a clue, How much, I still love you?"

Sitting on the curb in front of the Waffle House, Down by the interstate, Me and Renee after graduation, Never been out this late.

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HAVE A PIECE OF PIE

The 11/29 November Poem-A-Day Challenge prompt was fill in the blank to "Have _____" and write away.

Given the various feasting opportunities yesterday, here's what I came up with...

HAVE A PIECE OF PIE © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) •=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=• Have a piece of pie for me, And a glass of Grannie's sweet iced tea; I'll be coming home soon from far across the sea, So have a piece of pie, for me.

Sing a little song or two, You know the way we used to do, Especially the one I used to sing for you, Sing a little song, or two.

Say a little prayer tonight, As you're turning out the light; That His hand will bring me home all right; Say a little prayer, tonight; And have a piece of pie, For me.

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MISTER MISS-HER

Still wrangling the November PAD challenge at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

The prompt for today, 11/22, was complete the phrase Mr. (Blank) or Mrs. (Blank)

Lemme know what you think...

MISTER MISS HER © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) :≈:≈:~:≈:≈: The front door's open, And I'm still hopin', Her closet's got more than hangers in there. But I can tell, By the musty old smell, Without having to climb to the top of the stair.

It's been over a week, But when there's a squeak, I want it to be her foot on the floor. I want to see her reading, And despite all my needing, I'm the only one coming in through the door.

Call me Mister Miss-her, If you call me at all, I'll answer the phone, Any time that you call. She may change her mind, And her heart, and let me kiss her; But until that day, all I'll say is, Call me Mister Miss-her.

I saw the turn of her heart, I could've done more on my part. And maybe she could've, too. But the answers weren't clear, And when she packed out of here, I guess it was the only thing she thought she could do.

So, Call me Mister Miss-her, If you call me at all, I'll answer the phone, Any time that you call. She may change her mind, And her heart, and let me kiss her; But until that day, all I'll say is, Call me Mister Miss-her.

She may never come home, still, I pray that she will, Until that day, All I'll say is, Call me, Mister, Miss-her.

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TRAVELING BLUES

The Thursday, 11/21, Chapbook PAD Challenge prompt was to write about TRAVEL...

Here's where I went with it...

TRAVELING BLUES (c) 2019 - G. Smith (BMI) :+:+:+:+:+:+:+: Nashville, New Orleans, San Antone; Making the rounds out here on my own. Chicago, Miami, Los Angeles; How did my days become days just like these? How did my days become days just like these?

Hole in my pocket, hole in my shoe; Hole in my heart when I think about you. How did I know which road not to choose? How do I lose these old traveling blues? How do I lose these old traveling blues?

Walk in the sunshine, run in the rain; Ride on my thumb, hop on a train. Stand on a corner, sleep in a park; Ain’t too much difference between daylight and dark; Ain’t too much difference between daylight and dark.

Hole in my pocket, hole in my shoe; Hole in my heart when I think about you. How did I know which road not to choose? How do I lose these old traveling blues? How do I lose these old traveling blues?

How did I get to wherever this is? Where will I wind up when the winding is through? How did she become suddenly his? How do I lose these old traveling blues? How do I lose these old traveling blues?

Hole in my pocket, hole in my shoe; Hole in my heart when I think about you. How did I know which road not to choose? How do I lose these old traveling blues? How do I lose these old traveling blues?

How do I lose these old traveling blues? How do I lose these old, Traveling blues? =:=:=:=:= You can find this, and other responses, at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides.

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COUNTRY MUSIC CHOOSES YOU

The Poetic Asides 2019 November Chapbook Challenge (writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides), Prompt of the day for 11/18 - MUSIC (how appropriate?)

The following was inspired by a comment in another blog I follow - savingcountrymusic.com - in a review of Ags Connolly's new album (how's THAT for serendipity?)

Enny whey... as always, lemme know... you know...

COUNTRY MUSIC CHOOSES YOU (c) 2019 G. Smith (BMI) Oo=# Some folks like pop songs, Some folks like jazz, Some folks like rock-n-roll, Hip-hop, or rap. Some folks like reggae, Some folks, the blues, But I have found, of all the sounds, Country music chooses you.

It’s a way of life, it’s a calling, More than cowboy hats and boots, That takes you back to being home, And springs up from your roots, That talks about plain living, The good times and the bad, And has way of making things alright, Even when you’re feeling sad. No matter where you come from, Or how you’ve paid your dues; Country music chooses you.

With stories of hard working, And stories of great love, And stories of a greater faith, In the Good Lord up above. Stories of cheating heartbreak, Stories of drowning in booze; Stories of traveling coast to coast; Country music chooses you.

It’s a way of life, it’s a calling, More than sparkly Nudie suits, That takes you back to being home, And springs up from your roots, That talks about plain living, The good times and the bad, And has way of making things alright, Even when you’re feeling sad. No matter where you come from, Or how you’ve paid your dues; Country music chooses you.

Songs about being from Texas, Songs about Tennessee, Songs about wandering California, Songs about being free. Some folks don’t seem to get it, It’s a sad, sad state, but true; Ain’t no way around it, Country music chooses you.

It’s a way of life, it’s a calling, More than cowboy hats and boots, That takes you back to being home, And springs up from your roots, That talks about plain living, The good times and the bad, And has way of making things alright, Even when you’re feeling sad. No matter where you come from, Or how you’ve paid your dues; Country music chooses you. It's just three chords and the truth; Country music chooses you.

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FREE MAN

The Poetic Asides prompt for today, 11/16, is/was FREE____.

Lemme know whatcha think...

FREE MAN © 2019 G. Smith (BMI) ~≈~≈~≈~ The sky is blue, without a cloud, The gate slams shut and sounds so loud. Gray walls behind, I stand in the sun; My sentence here is finally done.

I did the crime, I did my time; What does the future hold for me, Now that I'm free?

I knew better, a dumb mistake, Added to, an unlucky break. No dad at home, and Mama tried, I went my own way, and Mama cried,

I did the crime, I did my time; What does the future hold for me, Now that I'm free?

I found Jesus in my cell, Saved from eternity in hell. Forgiveness for my wrongs; By His love I'm made strong.

I did the crime, I did my time; He holds the future for me, And I am free; I am free. ≠=≠=≠=≠ Poetic Asides can be found at writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides

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NO ROOM (WITH NO VIEW)

Another'n inspired by the challenge prompt "Middle..."

NO ROOM (WITH NO VIEW) ©2019 G. Smith (BMI) -===÷===- Sometimes it’s the window, Sometimes it’s the aisle, But I haven’t had the middle seat, In quite a long, long while.

I haven’t had to share both arms, Or pass the nuts and Coke, And I haven’t been in first class, Now that would a joke.

I’ve shuffled down the jetway, Jammed a bag up overhead, Stuffed one under the seat in front, Gave up on being fed.

Read the dogeared magazine, Try to take a nap, Doesn’t matter where I sit, Everythin is in my lap.

Seatbelt fastened, Tray table up; Where do I put, My coffee cup?

Sitting back in steerage, Feels like walking halfway there. With flight delays on most days; Time to spare? Go by air.

Sometimes it’s the window, Sometimes it’s the aisle, At least I haven’t had the middle seat, In quite a long, long while.

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