Category: poetry

Feelings of Fear

©2017 E. R. Smith

A block of ice lays the head

Bites into the brain

Crams darkness like lead

Drives one insane

Evil is this blatant insanity

Fear the power consuming

Grave the battle, calamity

Heart-felt power dooming

Icy prickles spread down spine

Just in time to catch doubt

Killing hope of life divine

Leaving  bitter drought

My soul glistens when vaporized

Numb tears shed  its loss

Owning a head beaten traumatized

Phantom unseen touches toss

Quiet mind down and determine

Really, is it there?

Sane is it,  to house this vermin?

Tear now at angst’s snare

Unseat it from the crown

Visualize strength inside

Will Force to beat it sound

X-Gen worries easing stride

Years of prayers  Mighty pound

Zen reached  Love drowned sigh

 

 

 

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Am I Wicked?

I wrote this for the bloggersmeetup; thought I’d share it here too.

 

Source: Am I Wicked?

 

 

Am I Wicked?

©2017 E. R. Smith

Standing before my opinionated mirror, conversing,

“You are so  wicked”, Mirror announces

Cutting eyes, I warn my accessory I will not hesitate to shatter him

“You are a wicked queen”,  Mirror reminds

I ponder,

Yes, I have wicked symmetry to my face

Wicked curves cut my breasts, hips, thighs causing upsets

My tummy is only a bit naughty, four out of six packs

“How wicked am I?”,  I ask, fishing

“Well, I watched you engineer a coup on that young man,”

“He became minion, following an impish grin”,

“Let out fiendish wails as you assaulted him”

“Wayward strands of hair tangled his speech”

“He is enslaved.”

Parting full lips, showing even teeth, a devilish smile

“Yes”,  I admit, “I am a bit vicious”

“But, that young man would concur, my wicked is good.”

Exposure My Heart

beauty

Source: Exposure My Heart

 

Opened much too soon to a lovely face

that erased me as soon as my utterings were done,

Opened myself to a grace

disinterested in being mine,

Skin so lovely my tongue wanted a taste

of that casing only so deep,

Next time I won’t be beguiled

by style and symmetry,

Next time I love, it will be

passionate poetry,

Exposing my soul to a stranger,

strangled my faith in the next.

By Michael Cleaves aka bronxbeyondborders

 

Living The Dream

Sharing my alter ego again.  Hope you like it.

Black Pride

Source: Living The Dream

 

Pic courtesy of http://www.womenology.com

 

-Michael Cleaves

Living The Dream

Got up from the Woolworth’s lunch counter, messy with condiments;

Used prints to create a dashiki

Marched all over the southern land, sight-saw strange fruit;

created jazz

Mixed in my education, like a Benetton ad;

uplifted my community

Wore black boots, with black caps, called myself a Panther;

hypnotised a world with Black Power

Unleashed my abundant hair, called myself Beautiful;

introduced a ‘fro

Police stomped my face, sent shepards called German after me;

mainstreamed Rap

Threw my fist in the air like an Olympian, receiving gold;

started profiling

Remembering that dream hasn’t been easy, changing a klan cherished history;

Rap got gangsta’

Beaten even when one couldn’t breathe, now black lives matter;

Confused as to whether we are beginning anew, causes we forgot to remember?

 

Pound on My Fist

This is my pen name as they say.  I was going to experiment with this site.  Time isn’t always on my side.  But I like the work I started here.

Barbershop

Source: Pound on My Fist

-Cleave Michaels

 

Pound on my fist 

secret handshake lets me in

Man cave of marvels

dusky heroes praised within                                                              

Booths seat comedians

Some you know and those you don’t

Heated towel, sitting high on the throne

A sight in a mirror, curious prying

Grooming cuts along side, boasting and lying

Flexing jokers shout-out hilarious tales

Shop next store lifted up with the wails

Gentlemen sitting in their best starting scandals

Oh, men Gossip Good-light it up like candles

Entertainment tells the youth, one philosophy

Humming clippers- Still -make no apology

Chest puffed out, feeling manhood bloom

Clean, cream of the crop, backstage control room

 

 

Party Girls Why Do You Hate Me?

©2017 E. R. Smith

Party girls why do you hate me?

You dated early choice boys who forsook me

Always invited to the party or to club

Me? Home studying how to live above

How do I move from welfare to fairing well?

Well, I missed the parties, the boys, your circle of love

Party girls why do you hate me, I adore your pretty babies?

Stopped by every shower to shower you with a first paycheck gift

Left wondering at the ousted feeling on my skin,  a bad whiff

Why do you hate me? I wondered at the choices of mates you mated!

Jealous of the choice boys you sampled in the community

Wanting to be held, but more held above other women, highly rated

I waited….a    long    time.   Saw you all from time to time; raising families

Jealous of the love surrounding you, wandering where mine lay hiding

Graduated BS, MSEd., good job, okay looking lady seeking family

God sent him and then my dearest daughter’s love, abiding

Married black family rare and true, but I’ve done nothing to you

So, why do you hate me, when’ve I’ve only envied how God blessed you?

Too Fresh to Pick

©2017 E. R. Smith

Stand side line watching players ball

Sweat flying, limbs sleek and poised

Alphas in their prime, gorgeous and tall

Ten wonders, beyond average boys

Heart pounding, in awe of design

Taking in all of the whole of them

Eyes large with possible, uncross align

Preparing to pick the best gem

Picky girl observing on high bleachers

Recalled she’s fresh fifteen

Life with these  remarkable creatures

Just for now,  a vivid dream