Surviving Life

©2017 E. R. Smith

Surviving soul seeks

in states of art to master

and plaster to self

so not to be found wanting

when searching Indeed want ads

Advertisements

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

 

 

 

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.”

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