Turn Down The Noise

©2017 E. R. Smith

Turn down the noise seeking focus

I can’t play night owl

Volume shakes the floor beneath

I just can’t allow

Commotion crowds my soul,

with dimensions of bulletins unequal

I just can’t snatch my goal,

life can be a sequel

Assaulting my pillow, dominating space

Elbow, flip, lie on my belly

Note, to, self:   to keep self ace

Turn off the damn telly

 

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Star Dancer Blooms

Dancer Maddie Ziegler of the series Dance Moms

©2017 E. R. Smith

espy spirit lift

efflorescence fed limelight

star blooms best in show

 

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.

 

Some Distant Space

©2017 E. R. Smith

Close eyes and breathe

deep into distant perception

Retrieve those gifts planted

at conception

Mine the precious from the quarry

Prepare to make doubters worry

Sending your senses as retrievers

Rebuild the self, make believers

No one can read past the cover

as your small world will discover

X-rays can’t tell what’s at your core

All in one’s hands to show what’s in store

Zip it?

Curious young girl, wondering, staring, on the train

What’s the big mystery?

Should I peek and finally find out?

Ohhh.  Hmmm.

Hearing mother’s voice.

She leans forward to tap a passenger.

Whispers, excuse me sir, your fly is open.

©2017 E. R. Smith

Color My Summer

Image from Sunbelz.com

©2017 E. R. Smith All Rights Reserved

Sun blurry bright sight

Summer skin cooks waves of heat

Attracting magnet

Forged, color of ancient clay

Pulling countless carnal picks