Into The Misty Twilight

©2017 E. R. Smith

Awakened by  a whispered call

“Come Forth”

Your time is not yet, stall

Whisper told me whats to come

“Move Forward”

My plans for you are just for some

Hush tones tickled open ears

“Have Faith”

Leave it to me,  lose your fears

In dusk’s after glow,  I am illuminated

“I am the bread of life”

In His mighty spirit,  my soul vindicated

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Wings to Somewhere New #Write Photo

©2017 E. R. Smith

Mom never has much money, but she sure knows how to find fun for free.  Today was Central Park picnic day. Mommy fried a boatload of chicken,  packed apples, and other stuff; time to eat under the sky she always says. Joey and I excited; little sister Mary starts whining about the walking…she’s four with short legs.   I promise to carry her on my back to cheer her up.  Now Migdalia’s looking at me with death eyes cause I really can’t carry her anymore.  Six is way heavier than four. Joey tells her they will run all the way to the fountain then jump in.  Mom would murder us, never will that happen.  Six believes more than twelve knows, Migdalia’s death eyes turn sunny.

We here at the park, mom’s looking for shade.  She let us dip our feet in the fountain since no one was looking. She told Migdalia she was too pretty to drown. Dalia’s happy; pretty staring at her wet sandals. Kids crack me up, so little makes ’em happy.  Fourteen is harder.  I stare at the sky, I love watching clouds change shape.  I watch the birds, wondering where they’re going in such a big group.  I keep my thoughts to myself mostly.  Mom already has too much whining and worry going on. Sometimes I wish I could come here alone with mom. Lay on the blanket look up at the sky and wonder, like when Joe and I were little.  Before Dalia and Mary were born. Now I’m kinda mom’s helper, Joey helps me. I stare at the birds wishing for wings to lift me to an exciting place I’ve never seen before.  I want to be at the tip of the  “V” shape they make, so I can decide where we go. I wanna have lunch in a tree, under shady leaves, with my bird friends.  Listen to them brag about all the places they’ve traveled to. Like Denise does whenever her family comes back from visiting Puerto Rico.  I’ve never been in a plane.  I look up again and ask God to give me wings someday; not like the ones Denise pinned to her shirt from riding a plane.  I want real wings, like St. Michael the Arch Angel.  He’s real.  I told Joey Superman isn’t. Like St. Michael, I’d like to fly, and work for God.  I figure God will send me everywhere. Then when I have vacation time; I can take mom and us somewhere new.

 

Knock #Writephoto

©2017 E. R. Smith

Creeping up long steep stairs, this is what mountain climbing must feel like.  Heart pumping, little brother behind, sort of sliding on the walls away from the railing.  Hey you’re gonna get dirty!  My whisper/shout echoes.  If I didn’t really need to find out, I wouldn’t go.  I clap my lips shut, and keep moving; he’ll wash up when we get home I guess.  I know I’m gonna get blamed for his jacket.  Joey points to a water bug kinda stuck on the railing but still moving.  Guess we’ll both be filthy.  Anyway forth floor, two floors to go.  Stuff just keeps crunching under my sneakers.  I think people still live in this building.  Mom calls it abandoned.  Peeked in some open doors and saw mattresses and sofas; definitely not abandoned.  Can’t tell mom though, cause she’d kill us for being in here solving mysteries.  Fifth floor has music, I think Ms. Maris calls it salsa.  Someone’s cooking something great.  Oh gosh, hungry now; don’t wanna look back to see if Joey stomach has issues too.  Don’t wanna talk.  I just keep side walking to the sixth floor.  I see the door at the end of the hall.  The devil lives there, but I gotta deal with him.  Even his door is decorated like the real Devil’s must be.  A horny cranky animal with a ring through its nose.  Tortured.  Well …sorry animal I’m tortured too, so I have to touch your sticky looking ring and knock.  Wonder if he’s home?

 

The House Was Not a Home #Writephoto

Derelict  dad avoided the chore

He had more fun at the house next door

Couldn’t fix the pipes, the paint, the roof

His love had left, our home was proof

House not a home, just a war zone

Wills at odds, nasty tones

Broken down from the base to jetty

Called each other mean and petty

Sharp points flew from hinges rotten

No nook to hide for the little misbegotten

©2017 E. R. Smith

 

Makes Me Wanna Howl!

“Bennette, now you be a good boy and take care of the house while we run a quick errand.”  “You’ll just be all squished up in the car with baby Joey and the new puppy; now that wouldn’t be fun would it?”

I just stared and held my tongue and tail; people always do say how kids change the relationship.  You just stop putting effort into doing things together.  Eventually someone gets put out.

©2017 E. R. Smith

#Write Photo: Soul Inside Out

Furious rage pushed soul out seeking solace elsewhere

Lost, looking through past for weapons to bring self back

Blackout memories become illuminated with prayer

As faith rises, ancestors are released for support

Found the soul wandering in a pool of doubt

God demanded reentry, the ecclesiastical court

Eased is the fury that tortured the soul

Put out by pure belief in a destined path

Wondrous is God’s power of decontrol

©2017 E. R.Smith

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deep #WritePhoto

©2017 E. R. Smith All Rights Reserve

Deep within cavities

is where I search to see

Exploring the mysterious

caves housing my lovers treasury

Learning unspoken

sealed feelings awoken

Finally owning clarity

on our destiny

Waking from my reverie

with glee